"Giles?" Grey stepped into the Watcher's classroom as the last students of the morning filed out.
He looked up from the homework piled on his desk. "Grey! What can I do for you? Hopefully something to keep me away from some of the more infuriating tasks associated with this job?"
"Lots of homework?"
"I believe I hate grading it a bit more than they hate doing it."
Both men chuckled.
"What about Willow?"
"I only give her about half of what I assign."
"Yikes." Willow graded homework at least three hours every night. Sometimes more, if they had too many playful interludes, but Grey wasn't about to mention that here.
"Indeed. But you must have a reason for being here, beyond listening to my prattling?"
"Yeah, I do. I wanted to work the quarterstaff tonight. Spike's okay with it, but not at anything other than sparring, and I need some technique help. Besides, he's a little … preoccupied right now. I thought you might …"
Giles nodded his affirmation. Physical exercise would be a welcome break. "Certainly. The Council trains it thoroughly. I can perhaps give you some instruction, if that's what you seek?"
"That would be great. Thanks. I thought we could talk research while we're doing it?" The Watcher agreed. They had acquired the Eye of the Golem three weeks earlier, and he, Hermione, and Tara had studied it extensively. "Alright. I'm usually up there about eight. See you then."
"That will be another ten points, Miss Granger. Longbottom and Potter need to do their own work."
"But Professor …"
"Talking back. Ten more points. Would you care to try for another ten?"
Stunned, Hermione rocked back in her chair. With those twenty, Gryffindor had lost seventy-five points in fifteen minutes, all for offenses not even Snape would usually trifle with. His foul mood radiated like a newborn sun.
"No, sir." The tone, meek and defeated, should have been enough to mollify him. Today's assignment was to distill aum into a useful anti-bacterial paste, then successfully combine it with the Clew ointment. The resulting concoction had an intense effect on the infection of open wounds, but also the potential of horrendous side effects. She had aided Harry and Neville out of fear that Snape might test it on one of them.
"Hmmm…" The Potions Master looked her over. "Sarcasm. Challenging my authority. How very unlike you, Granger. You're usually not so foolish. Another ten." He offered an icy smile and walked away from her desk to check on the other students.
Hermione turned white. Ron slipped a hand onto her back briefly in support. He and Harry traded a look of anger and disgust, but said nothing more.
Across the room, an equally disgusted Tara decided she had endured enough. Signing on as Snape's assistant had been a terrible idea.
"Goddess, Willow," she muttered, incensed that she had allowed the red-haired witch to talk her into this. Edging along the far side of the room from Snape, she walked among the students, inspecting their potions.
"Oh my, Mr. Weasley," Snape said as Ron added the newt skin too early. His work turned bright green, indicating its worthlessness. "Quite incorrect. I suppose you'll have to start again. And ten points for failing to keep your hands to yourself," he added pointedly. "This is a class, not a bedroom. A class you would do much better in with a bit more study, it seems." Snape cocked his head to the right, peering at Ron's battered textbook. "Or perhaps you might think about some newer textbooks? Not that you could do more than think about them, I suppose."
Ron's face flushed raspberry. He opened his mouth to let loose a furious torrent of insults, points be damned.
Tara beat him to it.
"How dare you!" She strode forcefully across the room, forgetting for the moment that she was not a confrontational person. A month of Snape had pushed her too far. All she could feel was anger. "Forget about the fact that you're a teacher! What kind of a person treats people this way? Publicly insulting these kids? What's wrong with you?!?"
"Miss Maclay," he barked, but Tara would not be put off.
"You … you abuse your power over them. I never thought anyone could be so cruel! What have Ron and Hermione done to deserve that? Or Neville? Or Harry?" Tara stopped a foot away from him; in his black robes, his sinister presence towered over her.
"You are speaking out of turn, little girl!" He slammed his hand down on the desk, knocking over Seamus Finnegan's cauldron and causing the hushed students to jump backwards. "You have no idea what you're talking about! Granger, Potter, Weasley … troublemakers all. Longbottom … completely incompetent. I am disciplining them…"
"A-are you serious?" Tara asked, eyes wide as dinner plates. "You can't honestly believe …" She peered at him, carefully appraising his demeanor. "Y-you do think you're doing the right thing. I-I thought part of you might know … b-but you don't!"
"What are you nattering on about? I'll have you know that I will not …" He fumed, unable to even express his rage that this stuttering buffoon of a girl would speak to him in this manner.
"Well, y-you won't have to," she replied. "I quit."
She stormed out of the room.
"So no luck yet?" Grey ducked under Giles' staff and swung his own toward the Watcher's midsection.
"Not a thing, I'm afraid. We understand," he paused, grunting as he parried Grey's predictable blow. "As I was saying, we understand the use of the Eye and its role within the spell, but Tara is unable to feed much energy into it."
Grey sidestepped another strike before answering. "You're not letting Willow near it, right?" They both had concerns about how much power the Eye might draw out during the spell.
"Correct." A buttstroke whizzed by the Watcher's head, and he landed a counterstroke hard on Grey's shoulder. "Hold on a minute. Your problem is that you're too impatient, which I must admit surprises me somewhat. According to Spike, you're very patient in hand-to-hand."
Grey shrugged. He had always tried for aggressive, assuming it was the best way.
"The quarterstaff is like a dance. You must use the openings you're given. Like this…"
"You just up and left? Like a dramatic storm-off?"
"P-pretty much," Tara confirmed. She shifted her coat around her, trying to block out the icy wind roiling across the rooftop. The intermittent thwacks of Giles and Grey practicing punctuated their conversation.
"What'd you do when Dumbledore came to you? Or were you all 'I'm angry, leave me alone' and didn't talk to him?"
"N-no, w-we talked. He wasn't mad or anything. He said he understood, that he knows Snape isn't the ideal teacher."
"Big duh there," Willow said, shaking her head. All year she had wondered how Dumbledore, who seemed to know everything about Hogwarts at all times, could let someone like Snape stay on as a teacher. "What else did he say?"
"So you're saying I need to follow the rhythm more?"
"Indeed. You haven't trained with this much, have you?" Grey shook his head. "You really should. It will help your hand-to-hand and swordwork."
"Never had anyone who knew how to use a staff correctly." They traded a dozen more strikes, none of them penetrating. He could tell Giles was going easy on him. No matter how quickly he thought he moved, the Watcher intercepted him effortlessly. "What about the other end of it? Undoing something from the inside?"
"We're quite stymied there, I'm afraid," Giles answered, slamming the staff into the Jedi's thigh. "There are any number of spells that could have been used, and more than a dozen that could be tied directly to the Plague," he said after Grey yelped painfully.
"Any patterns to how they're broken?"
"He said he has his reasons for keeping Snape." Tara had been expressly forbidden from explaining Snape's role as a double agent after Dumbledore had sketched it out for her. Dumbledore, though he trusted Willow, had told Tara in no uncertain terms that she could not say anything. If Willow were ever to go bad, Snape would face swift execution. Given his importance to their cause, she understood why Dumbledore felt it necessary to trade an adequate cover for the comfort of some students. "He also a-asked me to reconsider."
"Why was that?"
"I-I think he wants me there as a moderating influence, you know? Somebody to follow in the wake of Snape's meanness with some of the friendly."
"That makes sense." Willow blew into her mitten-clad hands to warm them. Offering to watch Grey practice had seemed like a better idea inside by the fire. "Plus there's the fact that you're, like, queen of the potions."
"I'm okay," Tara said with her normal air of self-deprecation.
"Okay? Okay my … my sweet-patootie!" They both laughed. "You know what I mean, Tara. You're so good at them, it's scary."
Tara blushed at the praise. "Pr-professor Dumbledore sort of said that, too. He said it w-would be a waste not to be trained by Snape, who is as talented as anyone who ever worked at Hogwarts."
"A'course, then you have to be with Snape, which is a minor downside."
"Uh huh."
"What are you going to do?"
"I think I'll give it a shot," Tara said. "Professor D-dumbledore, he was really convincing. And it's better if I can try and balance all the badness in the Potions class, I think. Don't you?"
"Totally," Willow said with a nod.
"No," Giles responded. "In fact, most of them have little information on how to break them at all. I do have some theories, of course."
"Enlighten me," Grey requested as he spun away from the end of Giles' weapon.
"Well, several years ago, Willow did a spell to enter Buffy's mind."
Grey stopped in mid-swing.
"Absolutely not," he barked vehemently. Across the roof, Willow and Tara heard him and turned. He waved at them to stay away. "Those spells are insanely dangerous for the caster."
"I know that," Giles said sternly. "Do you honestly believe I want to put Willow in that much danger? I am saying it may be our only alternative, especially with the message your young lady delivered to us."
"No. There has to be another way."
"I very much doubt it, and preventing Miss O'Brien from doing anymore harm must be our paramount concern. We may simply run out of time to find it."
Grey shook his head and spoke without thinking. "We can't risk Willow like that; that's where I draw the line. If it comes down to that … if it comes down to that, I'll kill Jess myself before letting Willow cast the spell." As he said it, his gut twisted at the truth of the thought. So much for questioning his allegiances. Not that the choice made him feel any better. He thought he could smell vanilla faintly on the wind, and the sadness surged inside him.
"I will try and find an alternative," Giles said, concern evident in his voice. He doubted one existed.