Willow kept glancing covertly at Grey while she worked on scheduling for the Dark Arts class. The two of them were alone in the library; she couldn't exactly see what the bald man was reading, but she was curious. Giles had reported his encounter with the mysterious warrior to her. Now, there he was, three seats away. She continued with her surreptitious perusal for almost twenty minutes.
"It's not anything profound and deep," he said without lifting his eyes. Even at such a low volume his voice jolted her.
"S-sorry. Didn't mean to stare," she said nervously. He looked up at her, his face neutral.
"It's no problem." He held up the beat-up book. "Sword of Truth. Terry Goodkind. Ever read it?" Part of him wondered what he was doing, starting a conversation with this extremely dangerous girl. Another part of him, nearly dead, told him they both might need a friend before this whole thing ended.
"Actually, I have," Willow said. She smiled; it lit her face up like a candle. "I read them all. The fifth one, Soul of the Fire? Not so good, but I loved the others."
"Definitely. I wasn't wild about Temple of the Winds either, but overall, the man can write."
"I'm Willow," she said, setting her work down and turning to face him. She thought she caught a hint of a smile on his lips, but it was fleeting, and possibly hadn't been there at all.
"Grey. Giles probably told you."
"He did. Is that your whole name? Grey? 'Cause that would be silly."
"And Willow is a dour and serious name," he said. The sarcasm seemed at odds with his facial expression. She wondered if he had once been cheerful and funny but had stopped. "Dave. Dave Grey."
"Not David?"
"No. Never." The look on his face might have soured milk. His tone would have done it for sure.
"Sorry." She had no idea what to say.
"No, don't be. You didn't know. It's just … bad memories, okay?" It was more than he had offered of himself in a long time, even if she didn't know it. Damn. The girl was really getting to him after two minutes of conversation.
"Okay. Dave it is," she said, smiling again. "So what do you do here? Giles, as my friend would say, vagued that part up."
"Buffy Summers, right?"
"Yeah. How'd you know?"
"Dumbledore briefed me on the staff. I … know about Slayers and the Watcher's Council from some work I used to do. Buffy's a legend."
"She's pretty special. But don't think you're getting out of my question, mister. I want to know." He wanted to laugh at her indignance. And that hadn't happened in a long time either.
"I'm Dumbledore's insurance policy," was his cryptic answer.
"Against what?"
"Do you know about Harry Potter and Voldemort?" he asked.
"I know that Voldemort's this uber-bad wizard and that somehow he couldn't defeat that Potter kid. I read it in one of Giles' Wizarding histories. What does that have to do with Hogwarts?"
"Harry's a fifth-year. Voldemort has tried to kill him several times since he arrived. He killed Harry's parents." He said the name Voldemort as if it was a dirty and offensive word. Willow's face shifted from interested to aghast at the news. She hadn't known Harry Potter was a student here. All of a sudden, Hogwarts didn't seem like such a safe haven from dark magic.
"What does that have to do with you?"
"I'm an old friend of Dumbledore's, with certain useful skills. I'm here to keep an eye on things, said things being Harry and his friends. They wreak havoc without a thought for there safety," he said simply. "I'm the thought."
"Wow. Mucho responsibility, huh?"
"Actually …" He realized he was about to say something personal to someone who had known him for an hour. That didn't happen anymore, and it sure as hell wasn't happening now. "Never mind. I hear they're good kids. It shouldn't be too bad." They looked at each other in horror. "I just said that aloud, didn't I?"