Jess loved muggle popcorn.
Her addiction to it always made Grey laugh; for Christmas every year he would buy her, in addition to her real gift, an enormous tub of it. The tubs came from an elderly widow who lived in London and sold it out of her house. They found it during a search for a nest of vampires, and she made all kinds of odd flavors. Jess favored apple cinnamon and strawberry.
The bag in her hand contained the regular butter variety, which she loved, but she found herself wishing for one of the others. She missed Grey. Times like this, wandering about without the presence of her master or her magic, were by far the worst. Those were the times when she would picture the two versions of him, hers and the one she created, and feel inordinately guilty.
Before Halloween, she watched him on and off for days. With that redhead, Willow, he seemed more like the Grey she had fallen in love with. Open, warm, funny, but with a tiny hint of awkwardness that she loved. He had always been an unrepentant geek, a fact most women deplored and Jess found irresistible.
Away from Willow, she glimpsed her creation. A dark warrior, brooding and silent. Quick to strike and deeply guarded. She hated that side of him. As an auror, he had seen his share of death and loss; his reaction had always been to hide, to spend days in silence until she could coax him out of it. Her change had allowed him to maintain that armor at all times. The part of her that was still Jess O'Brien deeply regretted it.
Shaking off the heavy thoughts, she looked at the two arrow-shaped signs in front of her. Did she want to head for the dragons or the unicorns? Easy choice there. She quickened her pace, hoping to get one more inspection of the dragon cages before closing.
"I feel like we're in one of those movies…"
Willow, naked in the bed beside him, looked at him askance.
"Which movies would that be, exactly? Because I have certain moral limits, buster." Grey laughed. The moonlight seeped through the window, highlighting her alabaster skin. He caressed her shoulder lightly, entranced by it.
"You have a dirty mind." She pouted innocently, then burst out laughing. "I meant, one of those movies where one of the men says 'it's quiet,' and somebody else says, 'yeah, too quiet.' Then they all get sliced and diced. Something has to be brewing."
"You mean with Jess."
"She hates to sit still. Even with Voldemort holding her leash, she must be chomping at the bit. Halloween was a big victory for her, even if it wasn't the one she wanted. With all of the other attacks, they sent our side reeling."
"It's been more than a month, though. Any chance for a 1-2 punch is gone."
"Not really. Those books on the wall? The military ones? One thing they emphasize is that the tendency for a wounded enemy is to lock the barn door after the horse is gone. But if you give them some peace, the doors begin to unlock. Did you notice that no one in the Daily Prophet is yapping about removing Fudge or closing Hogwarts anymore? People have grown complacent. That's when you hit them to make them feel completely unsafe."
"Did you ask Dumbledore?"
"Yeah. No one's heard anything useful, though. I guess I'm just paranoid."
She kissed him.
"Wanna bet I can find a way to take your mind off things?"
"Professor–"
"Hermione, for the last time. We have worked together for months. When we are not in class, I must insist that you call me Giles."
"G-Giles," she said tentatively. With Willow and Tara, it was easy; they were young, like big sisters. Giles and her father were the same age. "Giles, I think I found something."
"What's that, my dear?"
"Look at this spell. It's sort of like the gypsy curse you showed me. Angel's curse? But it looks like it works for evil, not souls. It's not what we want, exactly, but it is interesting."
Giles took the book from her and began to read. Hermione eyed him apprehensively. She had learned more about the workings of magic during these sessions than in four years at Hogwarts. She had been astounded at the depths of the magic that had been discovered. She had also been very, very scared.
"I believe you are correct. This spell seems to draw the essence of evil from somewhere, I can't tell exactly where, and … infect a person with it." He looked at the name. Plague of Hades. A vile title for a vile concept.
"If there's a spell like that, mustn't there be a counterspell? Or possibly the reverse? A spell to infect someone with goodness? If we fail to find a way to remove her magic, we could try something like that."
"An interesting concept, Hermione. It's possible, of course, that one has not been invented. We should certainly look, however. Try the Remnants of Merlin for a start."
"Shouldn't be out and about, this time of night. Creepy crawlies an' all that."
"Oh. The vampire." Draco kicked a pebble off of the roof and watched it spiral out of sight. "Joy."
"Well, you're quite the little arsehole, aren't ya? What are you doin' on my roof?"
"S'not yours."
"Bloody pissant," Spike said, turning to leave. The sound of the boy's voice stopped him.
"How is it that you're a vampire and you're protecting the school?"
Spike spun and walked back.
"So that's it, then? Thinkin' 'bout you're father and his evil ways, eh?" Draco said nothing. "Seen you up here a few nights a week since Halloween, you know."
"You know about my father?"
Spike lit a cigarette. The acrid smell of burning tobacco filled the air.
"Wasn't always a goody-goody. Lucius Malfoy's name is respected in the dark world."
"He's an arrogant prick."
"Of course. How else would his name get to be respected?"
"I'm not like him."
"Never said you were, mate."
"You didn't answer my question."
Spike took a pull on the cigarette and thought about his answer. He knew the boy was wondering if he had no choice about following his father's path.
"Got put in a situation where I couldn't do evil. Hurt my head, literally. After awhile, I needed to work out my frustration. Tried being good, and it worked out. Turns out it's more interesting, you want the truth." Spike decided explaining about Buffy wouldn't be worth the effort.
"Is it hard?"
"Was for me. Wouldn't be as bad for you. You're human; you can change your nature. I had to have it changed for me. I think the question you need to ask yourself, boy, is if it's harder not to."
Later that night, Harry's scar began to burn.
He woke with a start, his hand on his head and the debilitating pain coursing through him. Before he could cry out, everything went black and he began to see.
First he saw the woman from Halloween. She floated, laughing, above a grassy plain. As she laughed, she hurled curse after curse at Grey, who blocked them all. Then she landed, and they began to fight hand to hand.
Harry's vision shifted. He saw Willow and Tara holding hands. They appeared to be chanting, with Dumbledore next to them waving his arms. In the distance, he could see dragons of all colors laying waste to a village with their fiery breath.
The scene changed again. He saw Spike chained to a ceiling. A pale vampiress with dark hair cut his chest and back with an enormous silver knife. Harry recognized Drusilla. The blonde gritted his teeth but refused to cry out. Above Spike, in the balcony of the room, Harry saw Neville, Hermione, and Ron. They seemed poised to strike, and didn't notice the figure in dark robes behind them.
The final scene took Harry by surprise. He and Ginny stood back to back, vampires all around them. Both had looks of grim determination on their faces. Two of the vampires lunged.
The vision ended, and Harry screamed.