Three days after what Ron would forever call "the longest Saturday in history," Hogwarts had almost resumed its normal pace. The end of the term wasn't far off, and once it became clear that Voldemort would not be returning in the immediate future, everyone seemed to realize that, in fact, the end of the term wasn't far off. While Monday became a holiday, classes were back on as usual for Tuesday, and the Gryffindors found themselves once again buried under a pile of homework (though their role in the weekend festivities earned them more than one generous extension).

          Angel's team returned to Los Angeles on Monday; despite her protests, Dawn went back to Sunnydale, chaperoned by Xander. Buffy stayed with Willow, who needed the support; Grey had been studiously staying far away from her since his awakening, and the witch was slowly coming undone because she didn't know why.

          After a short rest restored her, Jess announced that she knew a way to cleanse Dumbledore's system of poisons. By Monday night, he was back in full health, though more than a bit tired. Following a lengthy debriefing of all of the participants, he decided to allow McGonagall to inform the Ministry of the events and went about preparing for the inevitable arrival of its representatives. He knew that meeting would be thoroughly unpleasant.

          The Tuesday morning sun glistened on the surface of the lake. If Grey looked too long, his eyes burned from the bright sparkles swirling on the water and he had to look away. He didn't care. The morning was too warm and too beautiful to stay out of, and he really had too much to think about to care whether his eyes hurt.

          Could still be dead, he thought with a grim smile. Then they wouldn't burn at all.

          "Shouldn't you be in the infirmary? I know Pomfrey wouldn't have let you go yet; she's too much of a mother hen. And what's with those clothes? Some sorta symbolic thing, now that I'm back?"

          He idly hefted a small rock and skipped it across the water, then ran his hands over the crisp white t-shirt and khakis.

          "Is that what you really think," he said, his voice non-committal.

          "If I had to guess, I'd say it was wash day."

          "Right in one." He still wasn't looking at her.

          "I know you pretty well. You don't look good, new clothes or not, though."

          He nodded curtly. "And you?"

          "Good so far. Your friends were spot on in their research, and Willow … the girl can play."

          "Yeah, she can. So can you."

          "Yeah," Jess said, coming up beside him and dropping down onto the grass, "I can. Lucky for you."

          "Lucky for me." Grey tossed a few more rocks into the water, but none of them skipped decently.

          "Shouldn't you be happier after getting to play Lazarus?" He finally turned, glaring at her with angry eyes. Eyes that wanted to be left alone to brood. She knew them all too well. "Don't you give me that look, David. You've been awake and able to walk about for almost a day, and you've avoided me an' Willow like the plague. Neither of us is happy about it, but she doesn't want to push you."

          "And you do?"

          "It's one of my best things, knowing when you need a push."

          "You need to talk to him, Will, and not through somebody else."

          "Pretty hard to do when he's playing keep-away with himself, Buffy."

She watched through Giles' classroom window as Jess sat down with Grey at lakeside. They had agreed to let the Irish girl approach him first; she seemed to think that he was avoiding Willow because he didn't want to hurt Jess until he could figure out how to explain things between them. Willow knew better. He was avoiding them both because now he could have Jess back and he didn't know what he wanted. She said as much to Buffy.

          "I thought he told you he loved you," Buffy said, trying to keep her voice even. She was heavily worried that Grey would, in fact, walk away from Willow, and she didn't know if her best friend could take the strain.

          "He did. He does. Except he loves her more, I think. Plus, the weight of history isn't exactly on my side, y'know?"

          Grey watched Jess thoughtfully through hooded eyes, choosing his words with great care. He was not ready for this discussion, not by any stretch, but she deserved some sort of answer. "I have to say a lot of things to you, but I don't know how. I thought it was best to …"

          "Bollocks," she broke in furiously. "We both know what you're going to say and do, don't we?"

          "Maybe," he lied cautiously. This was exactly the quagmire he had hoped to avoid.

          "You do, too, you fuckin' lunkhead. Sure and you haven't decided I'm the stupid one?"

          "Of course not."

          "You think I don't know you love Willow? You think I can't see it?"

          "It's not on hers, either. You're the one who described to me, in detail, the scars that make his chest a checkerboard, remember?"

          "I guess," Willow replied, lacking the energy to argue. "Why can't I just find somebody without so much messiness? I mean, yeah, okay, Oz, but Xander was still making me all tingly, and then Tara – oh, everything's great until, by the way, Oz is back. Now this. Know what the worst part is?"

          "Uh uh."

          "I knew this would happen. Knew about it all year. Knew it when Tara came back, knew it at Christmas, and I knew it when I got involved with him. So it's all my fault that I'm gonna be miserable without him."

          She looked like she might burst into tears at any moment.

          "Oh, Will," Buffy said, wrapping her arms around her friend and hugging her with all of the Slayer strength she could muster.

          Grey's mouth dropped open, aghast.

          "Evil doesn't mean blind, David. What I truly can't figure is why you've been punishing all three of us for the last two days."

          "Punishing? What are you talking about?"

          "You punish yourself by feeling guilty, and you go off an' hide to avoid sayin' stuff that'll make it worse. You punish Willow by avoiding her, and she gets all weepy an' scared that you don't love her. You punish me by not just coming out with it when we both know the deal."

          "But …"

          "Tell me you aren't in love with Willow, an' that you're comin' back to me. Go on."

          He hesitantly met a gaze pregnant with unshed tears.

          "I didn't mean to be in love with her."

          One of the tears escaped, making a mad dash down her cheek.

          "Doesn't mean you aren't."

          "I am. I want to be. I just didn't want to say it or express it without telling you, and I wanted to tell you the way that would … I don't know, that would hurt the least? Does that sound too ridiculous?"

          "Makes no difference. Hurts the same however it comes, because the result's still the same." Jess sucked in a deep breath. "You're with her an' not me."

          "Yeah, I guess I am."

          "You guess?" Her accent got thicker as her anger grew. "You better not be fuckin' leavin' me for an 'I guess,' you bastard! It better be the great fuckin' love of Western civilization if you're leavin' me!"

          His eyes widened in surprise as he stammered out, "I-It's not an I guess. It's real. I love her so much. I …" He reached out and gripped her hand lightly, then bent over and pressed it to his forehead. "Jess, I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?"

          Willow and Buffy both saw him take her hand.

          "We … we should leave them, Buffy," Willow said, her voice cracking with pain. "This is a private moment. I don't wanna intrude. I want him to be happy."

          "Will, do you really think …"

          "They're gonna kiss. Which, seeing that? Way high on my real-life nightmare list. I'm – I'll be up on the roof if Giles or anyone comes looking."

          "Want some company?"

          "No." Her green eyes, rimmed with tears, swept Buffy's pitying expression. "Thanks, but I think two people kinda ruin a good wallow, don't you?"

          "If that's what you think," Buffy said, watching Jess and Grey, "but I think you're wrong. I think it'll be okay.

          Willow shook her head slowly as she left.

          Besides, Buffy thought as Grey leaned over, that's not a passionate reconciliation. That's a goodbye.

          Jess laid her other hand on the top of his head as his hot tears dripped across her knuckles. Part of her wanted to scream, to lash out and hurt him for having the temerity to do this to her. But the rest loved him still, and his happiness meant more to her than her own did.

          "I know you are, hon. I know. It's a'right."

          "It is?" The words came through muffled by her hand and a sniffle.

          "I want you to be happy. Nothin' else. If it's with Willow, then it is. I won't condemn you for it, not after … what I did."

          His head shot up and he gripped her shoulders.

          "No. It's not about that. I don't blame you for that. Voldemort's responsible. For all of it."

          "Fine, Grey, whatever …"

          "No!" He shook her for emphasis. "That was him. Not you. You had no choice. This is not retribution for that. This is about me and about Willow and … oh, Jess. She's so amazing. You don't even know. And as hard and as bad as that must be to hear, it's important. This is not because of what you did to me. That would be infinitely worse, and I won't have you thinking it."

          Their eyes locked, and she saw how fiercely he believed this. She wanted to so badly, but she had done so many terrible things …

          At that moment, he saw her pain laid bare and knew it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

          "Jessica, listen to me. It was not you who did those things, no matter what it felt like. The woman who did them? I talked to her. I danced with her. I fought her. She was not you. She would have killed Willow before admitting I might be in love with her. You're here to force me to go to her." He pulled her into a hug, clutching the dark fabric of her robe in his hands as her head rested on his shoulder. "She hated me while she loved me, but she didn't hate herself or what she did. You do. She just didn't care – that's what makes you different. Don't let this drag you down; if you do, she wins anyway. And she's very, very dead."

          Jess made no movement except to cry harder.

          They sat like that for several long minutes, crying in each other's arms, making their break with the past. High above, though she wasn't watching, Willow cried with them.

          "Grey," Jess said finally, "I believe you that you don't feel that way."

          "You do?"

          "Maybe not in my heart," she admitted, "but in my head, yeah, I do. I talked with Willow a little. I can see that it'd be about her."

          He nodded slowly.

"I'm leavin' now."

          "Leaving?" Alarmed, he wiped his tears away and stood to block her path.

          "Not leaving Hogwarts, you ninny. God, you're so thick it scares me. I'm leaving here, 'cos you need to talk to Willow." His stomach clenched with guilt when he realized how much pain he must have caused Willow. "An' be with Willow, and tell her what you just told me." The rest of us need a solid cry, anyways."

          He looked at her with pitying eyes.

          "None o' that, now. We're still partners an' friends. Always that. Just not more."

          He nodded, knowing the words were burning her to say. He wanted to add that he'd always be there for her, but he didn't have to. They both knew it.

          "I want this for you, if it'll make you happy, which I know it will." She touched his shoulder and leaned in, her final kiss a whisper of grace on his lips. Then she brushed past him, and they were through.

          Red hair flashed like a ribbon of fire as the setting sun bathed Willow with radiance. He tried to tread lightly, but the sound of her sniffling made him move too fast. When she heard him behind her, her whole body stiffened.

          "Willow," he said reverently. When he reached out to touch her, she jerked away.

          "Don't. Just … just say it and get out of here." The face that turned to him looked ghastly, eyes red from crying, hair completely tangled, black robe wrinkled and hanging limply.

          Grey felt two feet tall.

          "Are you sure?"

          She looked away and mumbled, "Yeah."

          "I guess the first thing is, I'm sorry …"

          "You're sorry? Sorry? You … you big jerk-person!" She spun fully around, tears coming again, her waving hands emphasizing each word. "How could you? You know me! You know how … how hard this stuff is for me, and you know how I feel about you, but does it matter? No!" One fist pounded his chest for emphasis. "No, Willow's just a nice diversion while you've got no one else to do, o-o-or maybe it's that you needed my help. Yeah! You needed my help to get your girlfriend back, and, ooh, what better way than to tempt me with your fake I-don't-even-know what word I want to use there, but something grossly sexual, and now that she's back, well, into the discard pile goes the ugly little redhead, a-a-and …"

          She trailed off at the look of horror on his face, not even really knowing where her babble had gone.

          "You think that little of me?" His voice was tiny. "How? Why?"

          "I saw you with her down at the lake."

          "And how did that ever give you any of those ideas? Was it the part where I apologized and told her not to blame herself, or the part where we said goodbye?"

          "G-goodbye?"

          "Yeah. Goodbye." When she didn't speak, he continued, "You really think that I could fake any of that? That I thought you were ugly? How could I possibly think that? I've spent hours staring at you. I could do it forever. You're so beautiful it scares me sometimes. And a fucking diversion? I've spent almost every waking hour with you for eight months. That's a hell of a diversion, wouldn't you say?" Willow turned red and let out a tiny half-gasp, embarrassed by her ranting. "I told you I loved you! Not out loud, sure, but you must have felt what was behind it! You think I could fake that?"

          "N-no…"

          "Damn right!" Anger made his face as red as hers. "You know what she said to me, Willow? She said if I was leaving her, it better be for the great fucking love of Western Civilization. I don't know if it is." He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her face so close that his breath tickled her nose. "But it's the best I ever want to do."

          Then Grey kissed her. Hard.

          After the tiniest pause, she kissed him back until they were both gasping for air.

          "I love you," he said. "I haven't had a single thought about you since you said that to me that didn't begin with 'Willow, who I love'. Not one."

          "But you–you ran away," she said softly, totally overwhelmed by everything he was saying. "When you came back. You avoided me."

"I wasn't choosing between you two, though I guess it seemed like that. I've been all about Willow for awhile now. I just didn't want to hurt her; she's still my closest friend. But you … I love you more than I can say."

          The next kiss was soft, tender, and lingering.

          "I love you, too," she said through a sprinkling of tears. "I'm sorry I conclusion-jumped."

          "I'm sorry I was so stupid about this."

          Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and he knew everything would be just fine.

          "It's okay," she said, a sly grin forming on her lips. "I'll find some way for you to make it up to me."