Something went bump in the night.
Harry's chair floated several inches above the rooftop. He whirled it around, his wand leveled at the threat.
"Hold it!"
"EEP!"
His voice fiercely startled Willow; her hands automatically flew up in front of her, igniting a shield of magical energy that crackled purple in the dark night sky.
"Willow?" Harry lowered his wand. "Sorry. Didn't mean to … well, sorry."
"Jeez. Hello cardiac unit. Do they even have one of those here? Yikes." She waved her hand, ending the shield spell, and crossed to his edge of the roof. "Somebody's paranoid."
"Are you alright? I didn't mean to scare you."
"I'm fine, but wow. You don't mess around, huh?"
"Old habits. There isn't much need for it anymore, truthfully, but when Alastor teaches you something, you don't forget it."
"Alastor?"
"Alastor Moody. He taught me a lot of what I know about Defense Against the Dark Arts. Most people called him Mad-Eye, 'cos he had this magical eye that could see through anything. He was an auror."
"Was?"
"He died two years ago."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I guess it isn't a safe line of work, huh?" Good move, Will. Talk to him about his teacher's death. Fabulous, she thought.
"Actually, it was cancer that got him in the end, not a dark wizard or anything." Harry let out a small smile, thinking of Moody taking potions from special flasks and absolutely refusing anything not prepared by handpicked Ministry wizards. Mad-Eye Moody had probably been the worst patient in St. Mungo's history.
"He taught paranoia?"
"That's a fair description. His motto was 'Constant Vigilance.' He had … eccentric habits because he put a lot dark wizards away, y'know? Always thought there was a threat in every corner.
"Oh. Well, I'm not a threat. Right now, anyway. Which is good, because I prefer non-threatening Willow to … well, to the other versions, I guess." She stopped her babble just in time. She had no desire to explain her bout with armageddon to Harry.
"Me too, I think," Harry said, half in jest. He hadn't acclimated to Willow's odd way of speaking, and he wanted to tread lightly. "What brings you up here?"
"Large thoughts and clear air."
"Sounds familiar. What'd you think of what Dumbledore had to say?"
"Sounds big. Very big-sounding. Thus with the large thoughts. I kinda figured it would be, though, if he came to us for help."
"It's a bit more than I had planned for the fall, that's for sure. D'you think Dawn is up for it? There'll be a lot of pressure on her."
Willow hoisted herself up onto a brick outcropping next to him and looked out over the darkened grounds.
"I think she'll do great. You don't know Buffy, but she and Dawn are so alike, and Buffy's the most amazing person I've ever known. I'd trust Dawn with my life."
"You may have to. If one of the students can really get this goddess to grant them wishes or some such, we could be in a lot of trouble."
"Dawn's been through a lot the past few years, Harry. She'll do what's asked of her and a lot more if she has to. You'll see." Two sets of green eyes locked, and Willow admitted something she had been holding in since meeting Dumbledore on the train. "It's the rest of us I'm more worried about."
"The rest of us?" Harry regarded her thoughtfully. "Well, you don't know any of us, so that's understandable, but we'll be fine. We've been through much worse than a rogue student."
"Voldemort?"
Harry nodded. "I don't think I explained it enough on the train. Not if you're still wondering about what we wizards can do."
"Actually …"
"What?"
"Well, I kinda meant …" She glanced at his eyes as she trailed off. He appeared genuinely interested; there was something about him that seemed to be inviting her to talk. She tossed caution to the wind. "I kinda was talking more about me than you guys. Yeah, okay, I don't know you well, but I'm sure you guys are all Sinatra-esque and everything, especially from what Giles has said. And Voldemort's uber-badness is well-established."
"Sinatra-esque?"
"He's a muggle singer."
"I know – I still don't get it."
"Cream of the crop? Top of the heap?"
Harry laughed aloud. "Right, then, I suppose we are. But you are too, according to Dumbledore."
Her eyes clouded. "Can I trust you with something? A-a-about me?"
"Of course."
"I don't always … see, my magic, it's … sometimes Willow and the spellcasting don't mix as well as they should. I don't like to tap too much power because I kinda have a lot andsometimesittriestoeatme," she finished in a rush.
"Hang on – your magic tries to eat you?" Harry looked confused. "How?"
"Have you ever done magic without a wand?"
"No."
"For most people who don't use one, it's pretty simple. You mix the goop, you say the words, and the power that's around you comes through as a spell."
"Sounds familiar."
"Right. For me, that's not so much what it's like. It's more like … some different thing. Have you been to the beach ever?"
The intense look in her eyes surprised him. Whatever's got her all knotted, he thought, it's something huge.
"A'course."
"When I cast a spell, any spell, it's like I'm standing knee-deep in the ocean with a little yellow bucket, and I'm trying to fill it with water, except the waves are, like, eight feet high and drowning me and I have to swim for the shore or get sucked under. Except that makes no sense, because I said the water was knee deep, but all analogies are partial, right? Oh, sorry, I'm babbling. I do that sometimes and then I can't stop, kind of like now."
Harry wanted to say that her babbling was adorable, which he thought it was, but he killed the sentence before it even formed. Where had that come from? Not only was Willow his boss, but he was stuck in this damn chair. His priority was getting out of it, not thinking distracting thoughts about the Dark Arts professor.
"It's okay. I think I understand," he said instead. She had the most wounded look on her face, and he needed to do something to remove it. "Can I ask one question, though?"
"Sure."
"Why's the bucket yellow?"
The nervous giggle bubbled up from her chest, spilling musically into the night air.
"I dunno. I just thought of the beach and there I was with my little yellow bucket."
"I don't suppose I can argue with that. As for the other thing, well, I promise I won't let your magic eat you while I'm around."
He said it with such a combination of intensity and sincerity that Willow's heart leapt into her throat. People weren't supposed to talk that way about her. Not anymore. Not when they didn't know her. Kennedy had talked about her that way, but when the reality presented itself, Kennedy hadn't lasted a week.
Wait a minute, dummy. What are you doing, thinking about Harry and Kennedy in the same sentence? He's a co-worker, and maybe a good friend, but that's all, she thought, clearing her head with a mental shake.
"All right, Willow?"
"Huh? Oh. Sorry. Spacey Willow makes an appearance on the rooftop. I was just thinking more big thoughts that don't need to be thought. But thank you. For not letting my magic eat me, I mean. Or wanting to not let it eat me – the actual process is pretty complicated."
Harry blinked rapidly, trying to catch up with her. This had her really upset. More than he had realized.
"I didn't mean to make your large thoughts larger. You need to stop thinking them, okay? When the trouble comes, if it comes, we'll handle. It's what we do, Ron and Hermione and I. Professor Dumbledore's done it for decades. There's others, too, more than you can imagine, and they've all got talent. The network that stopped Voldemort faded away, but it didn't vanish. Whatever it takes, we'll do. I swear."
Then he smiled. An intense but friendly smile, and Willow let herself relax. He seemed so confident. In a very real way, it was like talking to Buffy – the same conviction, the same feeling of power.
The same sense that she was talking to a true hero.
"Okay. I'll try and calm down until the trouble starts."
"Good. Now listen, I dunno about you, but I'm a bit peckish."
Willow interrupted him with a loud laugh.
"Something funny?"
"Just … peckish. I didn't know people who weren't Spike said that. Yeah, okay, he was talking about blood, but still."
"Peckish for blood?"
"Spike is … was a vampire. A good one, though, well, for a little while anyway. He died awhile back, fighting the First."
"Right," Harry said, stretching the word out and raising an eyebrow. "Anyhow, d'you like pastries? 'Cos I've got this friend in the kitchens who makes great ones. Her name's Winky."
"What kind of a name is Winky?"
"She's a house elf."
"A what?"
"Come on," he chuckled, "I'll introduce you. She's a great cook, now that she's kicked her butterbeer habit."
"Butterbeer habit?"
The first weeks at Hogwarts would always be a blur for Willow and Dawn. They bounced around from meeting to meeting, letting the other Professors acquaint them with the study of magic at Hogwarts. Willow had never known that magical education could be so formal. For once, she felt quite impressed with herself; her own studies had been a thorough grounding in the core Hogwarts curriculum, even though she hadn't meant to organize it that way. Dumbledore arranged for her to be tested in each of the major subjects, both to acquaint her with her new wand and to let her see just what Hogwarts would be all about.
That had occupied the first three days. She performed brilliantly. The biggest surprise was how much the wand made things easier for her. Complex charms came naturally, even as the wand allowed her to perform things like locator spells without tapping more than a fraction of her power. Evil Willow seemed very far away, and Willow began to enjoy working her magic again. Just like everyone here does, she realized one day.
Dawn's crash course went nearly as well. She had spent years watching Willow and Tara; the basic precepts of spellcasting came very easily to her. Except for Snape, who seemed determined to prove that she would never mix any worthwhile potions, the professors were all amazed at her rapid progress through simple magics. Professor Flitwick got so excited when she summoned a Quaffle across his classroom that he toppled off his desk in a squeaking, clapping heap.
She really liked him.
The rest of the month went similarly. Two days before the start of school, Albus Dumbledore was reclining in his desk chair, staring at the images of Willow and Dawn floating by in the pensieve in front of him. His discreet observation of them had reaffirmed his initial impression: they were both intelligent, driven, and quite talented.
He was feeling quite pleased with his decision to hire them when he heard a soft knock at the door.
"Come in."
Ron entered first, holding the door open so Harry could maneuver his chair through.
"Evening, Professor," Ron said.
"You wished to see us, sir?"
"Yes, Harry, I did. You needn't be so formal, though. Please, Ron, sit," he gestured to the plush chair facing his desk, which Ron took. Harry pulled even with him and watched Dumbledore expectantly. He held out a bowl of gray-white candies. "Bullseye?"
Harry declined, but Ron took one and popped it into his mouth.
"That's excellent. Minty, eh?"
"Indeed. I seem to have a craving for them these days. I must remember to ask Miss Rosenberg if she knows a decent muggle sweet shop in London." He smiled and took a candy himself. "The one I go to normally took a most unfortunate turn this spring and closed its doors. My supplies are almost depleted." He popped one into his mouth. "Now, you're no doubt wondering if I've summoned you to discuss the progress of Miss Rosenberg and Miss Summers. I have not. They are doing quite well, don't you think?"
"Very well," Harry agreed. "Though Dawn and Snape sure will have an interesting year."
"You'd think the git would mellow with age. He's got the gray hair an' everythin', but he's as miserable as he was when we started."
"Somehow, I think Miss Summers will come through it just fine. She knows she has more important issues to focus on, which is one of two reasons I asked you both to stop by. Tell me, do the two of you still possess that extraordinary map of the grounds?"
Ron looked at Harry in shock; his friend's eyebrows were raised as well. They had forgotten that Dumbledore knew about the Marauder's Map.
"I dug it out before we came. It still works," Harry added with a sly grin. "I wondered if it would, us being teachers and all now."
"Excellent!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together. Then he spoke in a delicate tone. "Would you be amenable to lending it to Miss Summers?"
The request gave Harry pause. Though it was by now a thirty year-old piece of parchment, it was one of the few things of his father's that he owned.
"I understand if you would rather not. It goes somewhat against the purpose of the document, as well. I doubt she will cause a great deal of mischief with it."
Harry blinked several times and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Professor, I'm being a bit daft. Of course she can use it. I'm certain she'll need it before we're through."
"Thank you, Harry. I wonder, though … perhaps the two of you and Professor Granger could get in touch with Remus and Sirius? I think it might be ideal to create a tapestry with similar properties for the Headmaster's office." He leaned forward and dropped his voice, "I must confess, I've never been quite able to understand how they circumvented the unplottable charms on Hogwarts itself. It has gnawed at me for some years, and my occasional attempts have come to naught."
"We could do that," Ron said, amazed that Dumbledore hadn't been able to make one of his own. "I've always wanted to try an' make another one. Least I did while we were here."
"Good, good." His face turned serious. "Now, one other matter. Hagrid came to me the other night with a most disturbing bit of news. As you are now Professors and not eleven year-olds," he added, "I believe we can put your talents to more official use. It seems he found a unicorn in the forest, quite dead, blood dripping from a wound in its neck and splashed about the corpse."
Both Ron and Harry paled.
"You don't think … he couldn't be … back, Professor?"
"No. He's not back." Harry's voice rang with conviction. He had seen the bastard swallowed by his own darkness. Voldemort had gone forever.
"I agree," Dumbledore said. "However, very few things would commit such an act. It is possible that one of his disciples has taken up residence in the Dark Forest."
"We should flush it out, whatever it is." Harry looked down at his wheelchair. "Not that I'm in much shape for it."
"Me either," Ron said dejectedly, waving his arm.
"You can wield a wand, Harry, and you as well, Ron. I want the two of you to take Professors Granger and Rosenberg with you. Find out what killed the unicorn and rid the forest of it."
They traded an uncertain look.
"I suppose I could owl Draco for help. He seemed most put out that I hadn't invited him to teach here this year."
Ron flushed. "Professor, I don't care if they cut our bloody arms off, we'd still be better to deal with it than Malfoy any day."
"I wasn't implying otherwise, Ron, but given your injuries, it would be understandable if …"
"We'll do it, Professor," Harry cut him off. His voice was intense. "We're injured, not dead." Ron nodded his agreement.
"Very well," Dumbledore said. He thanked and then dismissed the grimly-determined pair with a cursory good luck. When they had gone, he let his restrained smile flow over his face.
"I know that, Harry. And if I have my way, you will certainly know it as well."