As per usual, thanks go out to all of my reviewers. You guys are ravenous! You want to see the next chapter almost as much as I want to write it. Speaking of which...why don't we get to the good part?
Harry sat with Ginny in the Common Room. Perhaps 'sat' really isn't descriptive enough. Fine, then; they sat, and as they sat, they kissed.
It wasn't a very serious make-out session, as Harry had seen in those few movies he'd witnessed throughout his childhood; instead, it seemed more about relaxation than frenzied passion. He wasn't just enjoying this - he felt relaxed, too.
Not quite relaxed, though. Something, at the back of his head, was bugging him. Perhaps it was nothing; he wished that it could just be nothing, because something so often ended with death and pain.
Breaking from the kiss, Harry shifted to the side. "What's bugging you?" Ginny asked.
"I don't know," Harry said. "And that's bugging me, too, but there is something else, that I can't quite put my finger on."
Ginny brushed a hand across his face. "It's the dreaming, isn't it?" she asked.
"What?" Harry asked.
"I'm not sure," Ginny said, recoiling a bit, surprised at herself. "It was like someone else was telling me to ask you that."
Harry gave her a sideways glance, but he lowered his head into his hands. "Yes, it is the dreaming," he said, at last. "But its not one that I understand."
Ginny patted his back, ever the reassuring person in Harry's life. "They're only dreams," she said, and drew him back into their kiss.
Neither was completely aware of the passing of time; which is hardly surprising, given their current activity. When they did look up, though, they were not in the least bit surprised to discover that it was nearing three in the morning.
"Well, we don't have to get up early tomorrow, anyway," Harry said. He was about to kiss Ginny again when he stopped. His eyes widened.
"Did you just hear...?" he asked, but Ginny was already on her feet, sprinting to the portrait hole.
The portrait swung open to allow her to exit. Harry dived out behind her. Besides the Fat Lady, who always occupied the portrait, another figure stood, looking thoroughly winded.
The Fat Lady was attempting to calm her fellow picture. "Alright, there, you're fine, it's okay..."
"Professor Snape and Professor Lupin just got back, and they've got wounded," the other picture breathed deeply. "They're headed for the Hospital Wing...I wanted to tell all the pictures about it tonight, see if we can't set up a vigil for them..."
Neither Harry nor Ginny heard the rest. They both sprinted towards the Hospital Wing, disregarding their own safety in the process and nearly killing themselves on the stairs.
Whatever the meeting had been about...
When the two arrived at the door of the Hospital Wing, Dumbledore was just getting there himself. He was a bit surprised to see them, but he hid it well.
"And what are you two doing out of bed?" he scolded, though his heart was very severely not in it.
"We heard that there had been trouble," Harry said. "Wounded...thought we could lend a hand."
Actually, there hadn't been enough dialogue between them to warrant that statement, but it was plausible enough that they'd bee thinking the same thing. Dumbledore nodded. These two were trustworthy...they hadn't just come to gawk. He pushed open the door and entered, closely followed by Harry and Ginny.
Snape and Lupin were standing bent over two different beds, apparently giving a beleaguered Madame Pomfrey a hand. The nurse herself gave a small cry when she saw Dumbledore.
"There aren't more, are there?" she asked, breathlessly.
"No, Poppy," Dumbledore said. "That will be all."
"Good," she said, turning back to Faith, who lay on a bed, looking exhausted. Snape pulled on one of Angel's legs, causing him to cry out in pain.
"That hurt," he said, unnecessarily.
"I know," Snape said, without a thought of caring.
Lupin bent over Craig, examining a massive head wound. Harry and Ginny both found themselves drawn to his bed. "Is he going to be okay, Professor?" Ginny asked.
Not rising to the use of his old title, Lupin turned to them. "I believe he will be," he said. "The cut to his head isn't as bad as it looks. He should be up and about by the end of the week."
Just then, Harry noticed something. "Where's Willow?" he asked. Dubious glances were exchanged by Angel, Faith, Lupin, and Snape.
"She's...resting," Lupin said, finally.
Willow seemed to glide through uneasy dreams. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't quite escape from the images assailing her brain. Tara... Warren... Kennedy... Oz... Xander... Jesse... Goddess, it had been so long...
Her mind seemed to be reviewing every person she'd ever had an intimate connection to. She had loved Xander, Oz, and Tara; she still loved Tara. And killing Warren had formed an inexplicable bond between them.
And then Buffy. Buffy, the Slayer. The only Slayer. Then Buffy, a leader of Slayers. No, that's not right; Buffy, a leader of scared girls who could someday be Slayers. Then they were Slayers.
Then...she didn't know what happened next. Everything in the past seemed so clouded, yet so clearly painful. She'd caused a lot of pain. She'd done some good, too, but mostly, she'd just hurt people and got other people hurt.
Her consciousness swirled around, doing little loop the loops and always coming back to the inevitable fact that she had tried, for months now, to hide from - her powers, and everything about her, was evil.
When she finally awoke, Buffy and Xander were sitting by her bed. Both of them breathed a sigh of relief when they saw her eyes open. Secretly, that sigh also encompassed the fact that her eyes were no longer black.
"Where...?" She asked, slightly woozy.
"You're in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, Willow," Buffy said. "You're going to be okay."
"Buffy, I can't remember anything," Willow said, suddenly alarmed. "I can't remember where I've been for the past few hours..."
"Its okay, Wil," Xander reassured her. "You're fine, and everyone got out alive."
He kicked himself instantly. Then Buffy kicked him too. That hurt worse. "Got out of where?" Willow asked. And, suddenly, forcefully, the memory of what had transpired came rushing in to fill her cranium with unwanted knowledge.
"Oh," Willow said, her eyes going round and huge as she realized the full extent of what had happened.
Later, Buffy sat with Giles, Dumbledore, and Snape in Dumbledore's office. "Willow is going to be okay," Buffy said. "The nurse gave her some sort of potion when she started to get agitated."
"Dreamless Sleep, no doubt," Dumbledore said. "She will have a sound night of sleep, Buffy, without dreams of any sort."
"And after an ordeal like tonight, I doubt that any of her dreams would be very pleasant," Snape said.
"What, exactly, did happen tonight, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, giving his full attention to the Potions teacher.
Snape explained how they had gotten into the forest clearing okay, and how things had fallen apart from there.
"Lupin and I tried to get them out of the cage, but we just couldn't get close enough to do any damage while the ritual was being performed," he explained. "Once it was nearing completion, though, the Death Eaters retreated a bit to avoid the blast from the completed spell.
"At about that time, Miss Rosenberg destroyed the bottom of the cage, releasing her as well as Angel, Craig, and Faith. We slowed their decent, but Miss Rosenberg didn't require slowing of any kind. She was flying on her own power.
"We fought the demons and Death Eaters along the bank of the Lake. The ritual was completed. Some short time after that, as it appeared as though we would be defeated by Voldemort's forces, the entire area just...blew up."
"What?" Giles asked. "How?"
"Miss Rosenberg," Snape said, simply. "I have talked with the others in the cage, and it appears as though when she woke up, her eyes had gone completely black."
"I thought she was over that," Giles muttered.
"This has happened before?" Dumbledore asked, sharply.
"Well, yes," Giles said, rather reluctantly. "She tried to end the world a few years ago."
There was a moment's pause. "She's been clean for at least a year," Buffy said, finally. "No black magic, nothing."
"That," Dumbledore said, quelling a bit. "Doesn't matter in the least. She could spend the next fifty years doing nothing but gardening, and she could still get up one morning and blow half the world to bits."
There was another pause. "What set her off?" Buffy asked. "Last time, it was Tara's death. What could possibly have driven her to do what she did?"
"That forest," Dumbledore said. "It is a focal point of Dark energy. Even if the forest hadn't been evil to begin with, Voldemort's extended stay there has certainly made it that way. Evil is in the very air there; it is possible that it effected Miss Rosenberg in a more...violent...way then the others."
"She isn't the only one," Snape said. "There were raised some very interesting things about Craig, as well."
He explained what he had learned from Angel about what had transpired between Voldemort and Craig. He explained about the strange, grotesque change of Craig's face. And lastly, he through in the word taedia. Upon the sound of the word, Dumbledore flinched.
"I had hoped that wasn't the case," he said. "Though I had guessed that it might be."
"Do you want to tell us what a 'taedia' is, exactly?" Buffy asked.
So Dumbledore explained. "Taedia were once the dominant race on this planet, in the years between demon rule and human," Dumbledore said. "They had a profound connection with the dead that was, and still is, unsurpassed. Taedia were...vicious creatures. They enjoyed killing more than anything else, because death, to them, was as common a thing as life.
"The taedia were killed off before man could formally take over this planet, about five thousand years ago. No one is quite sure how, or even why it happened. There is a legend of a demon prince who led a crusade against them. However, it is unreliable at best.
"All we do know is that there are no taedia left in the world. Except for possibly Craig."
"And how is it possible, exactly?" Giles asked.
"I haven't a clue," Dumbledore admitted. "To the best of my, and everyone else's, for that matter, knowledge, the entire taedia race has been dead for four millennia."
Silence followed this. Those gathered mulled over the information they had just heard. Finally, Giles spoke. "The Lake ritual worked?"
Snape's smile was full of bitterness. "Yes," he said. "And my cover is blown completely."
"Then it would appear that the mission was a failure," Dumbledore said. "And we are left with several unsettling questions, not the least of which being, can we trust Craig and Willow?"
No one could find an answer.
A week later, the infirmary had cleared of everyone save Craig. The youngest of those to journey into Voldemort's stronghold stayed bed ridden much longer than his companions had. The wound on his head, though not life threatening, had left him weakened more than he'd expected.
As he lay, he reflected on the how incredibly bored he had become. The boredom felt welcome; while here, he didn't have any opportunity to mutate and go crazy.
He balled a fist. He'd been in some bad situations; he'd watched his friends murdered, hadn't he? He gazed at his fist. If he'd been able to call up that power at the AWA...then he'd be dead now, too.
A large part of him didn't mind that scenario at all.
Dumbledore entered the Hospital Wing. "Hello, Craig," he said.
Craig didn't look up. He didn't know what he would see in the Headmaster's eyes, and he didn't want to take the chance at finding out. So he just looked down at his fist and gave a small, growled greeting.
"You seem stronger," Dumbledore offered, gazing, too, at Craig's balled fist.
"And there's a big problem in the making, right?" Craig asked, overcome suddenly by all that had happened to him.
Dumbledore sat down in a chair near Craig's bed. The man looked old. "Craig, I just wanted to ask you..."
He didn't get to finish. "What am I?" Craig asked. "I've been doing these things my whole life, fighting evil, bending reality, defying the laws of physics...now, I want to know how. I want to know what I am."
Dumbledore sighed. This was going to be unpleasant. "You are what Voldemort told you," he said. "As near as I can tell, and I have performed several tests in the last week to verify it, you are a taedia."
"And what is that?" Craig asked.
Dumbledore related to Craig what he had told the others. When he was done, Craig looked around the room, as if there were others there with them.
"Isn't that great? He answers the question without actually answering it! I love it, don't you?"
"Craig," Dumbledore began. "There is no way, now, to know where you came from. It just isn't possible. Your parents are dead, and Whistler is gone again."
"My parents aren't dead," Craig said, suddenly.
"Excuse me?" Dumbledore said.
"My parents aren't dead," Craig said. "I've never heard a word from them, and if they were dead, they'd talk to me..."
"Think for a moment, Craig," Dumbledore said. "People that you know to be dead have refused to speak to you before."
There was a pause. Craig's face twisted into a horrible grimace. "Skye," he said.
"We're looking into your background now," Dumbledore said. "Until we learn more, though, I think you should stop seeing the DA. If your powers go out of control again..."
He rose quickly and left.
"Bullshit," Craig said.
Three days later, he was out of the Hospital Wing. He spent more time outside again, getting back into the harmony of nature that had so eluded him for a week.
He wanted to feel in tune with things again. He wanted to feel connected. He wanted an escape. So naturally, an escape was not forthcoming for long enough to make Craig think he was going to go insane.
It was on that third day that Harry approached Craig on the grounds. "Hello," Harry said, trying not to seem too awkward.
"Hi," Craig said shortly.
There was a pause. Harry considered what he'd wanted to say and found that he couldn't quite remember what it was. So he plunged ahead, thinking that the Craig somehow inspired the direct approach. "We want you to come back to the DA," he said.
"We?" Craig asked, bemusedly.
"After last time, everyone was really excited about where we could go. But we can't do any of that without you."
"You might be surprised," Craig said. "Besides, there's only so much I can teach you. Your power works differently than mine."
Harry ignored this. The American could still teach them a lot. "We want you back," Harry repeated.
Craig regarded him for a moment. "Sure," Craig said, deciding that Dumbledore's orders could go to hell. "When's the next meeting?"
"Tonight," Harry said, smiling. "Eight."
"I'll be there," Craig replied. He didn't look at Harry as the young man went back up to the castle.
That night, in the Room of Requirement, Craig once more stood before the DA. He'd spent the afternoon considering what he was going to say to students, and what he was going to teach them, and how he was going to do it. He settled on the early warning. Always useful.
"When you're fighting multiple enemies, one of the most fundamental things you have to understand is that your going to be getting hit from different directions all at once. You can't allow yourself to get hit in nine cases out of ten, because a hit means your dead.
"This technique is a fairly old one, used by Roman Legionaries when they still used magic. It's an early warning sense that tells you when something is trying to hurt you."
Craig paused there and called for a volunteer. Surprisingly few were surprised when Neville volunteered. As Neville climbed up onto Craig's platform, Craig drew out a sword from the scabbard on his back.
"This sword is enchanted," he said. "I invented the spell myself. The sword radiates harmful intention."
Craig turned to Neville. "I'm going to attack you in a minute," he said. Neville gulped. "I want you to focus on the sword. Focus on it until you can't feel anything else."
Neville nodded and closed his eyes. Craig waited a moment as Neville focused his entire mind on the sword. When he had felt that enough time had passed, Craig raised the sword and swung it at Neville.
Neville didn't move. Craig stopped the sword an inch from Neville's face, the blade quivering right in front of his face. Neville opened his eyes, surprised to find the sword right there in front of him.
"Well, that worked well," Zacharias Smith muttered.
"Actually, it did," Craig said, grinning nastily as he turned back to the crowd.
"What?" Smith asked. "But he didn't even know the sword was right there!"
"Quite right," Craig said. "It wasn't about the sword. It was about the feeling of being attacked when you don't where it's coming from, or when. When Neville focused on the sword, he was focusing on the sword's natural violent intent. He felt that intent swell up when I swung the sword at him. It was only natural that he didn't react - he didn't know what he was feeling, because I didn't tell him. But now he knows."
"I get it," Neville said. He stepped forward, in front of Craig. "I really get it. That's what attack feels like. Amazing. I..."
Craig swung the sword at him from behind. Neville jumped, without seeing what was going on.
"Good!" Craig shouted at Neville, who now lay, dazed, at the foot of the platform. Craig jumped down to join him. "You felt the attack coming. You didn't know what to do about it, but you felt it. That's good! Come on, who's next?"
When it was over, and everyone had left, Harry stood with Craig and looked at the Room of Requirement. Both young men thought the room needed cleaning after the constant attacking, and as was in its nature, the room began to clean itself as the need was apparent.
"I've been lying to them," Craig said.
"I beg your pardon?" Harry said, slightly aghast at such a statement.
"I've been lying to them," Craig said. "Or not telling the whole truth. The Longbottom kid, he said it last time. He said that he though that what was happening was that he was gaining complete knowledge of things. That was just him being na•ve. You can never completely know something. It's just not possible, and that's a fact of reality in all its forms. No, its not knowledge - its power. It's blood. It's belief, and it's strength. That's what does all those things. Not knowledge."
"So why don't you tell them that?" Harry asked.
"Because not everyone has the power," Craig said. "Not everyone has the strength. Half your DA probably doesn't have it. The other half has the potential, like you and Longbottom. But tapping it is painful. This stuff that we've done so far only scratches the surface. The rest, if we get into it, is much more demanding."
"How so?" Harry asked, now worried a bit.
"You can all sense an attack now," Craig said. "So what? You know that someone is about to kill you. What are you going to do about it? Are you going to dodge it? Will you parry it? Can you even parry it, or is it something that can't be parried? Where is the enemy? What is the enemy? How do you kill it?"
Harry felt his head spin a bit as he tried to take it all in. Craig nodded, seeing the look on his face. "It's not so easy, is it? You can't think about it. You just do. See? Knowledge has nothing to do with it."
Harry wanted to change the subject, cause this was getting to difficult to rap his brain around. "How are you doing?" he asked, grasping at one of the most general questions.
Craig gave him a look. Then he shrugged. "Fine," he said. "Better. Not good, but okay enough to get by and do some good. I could use a break from all this, though."
He glanced out the window, and was struck by a sudden, brilliant plan.
"Go get Ginny," Craig said to Harry. "We're going out tonight."
Was that too short? Was there enough? Oh, and I'm terribly sorry that its taken so long to get out. I've been through Hell and back a couple dozen times in the last month. Finals, and my coworker's mother passed away, so I had to pick up the slack at work, and the kids I was taking care of trashed our office, so my job is in question...yeah, its been rough. See you all next time.
Harry sat with Ginny in the Common Room. Perhaps 'sat' really isn't descriptive enough. Fine, then; they sat, and as they sat, they kissed.
It wasn't a very serious make-out session, as Harry had seen in those few movies he'd witnessed throughout his childhood; instead, it seemed more about relaxation than frenzied passion. He wasn't just enjoying this - he felt relaxed, too.
Not quite relaxed, though. Something, at the back of his head, was bugging him. Perhaps it was nothing; he wished that it could just be nothing, because something so often ended with death and pain.
Breaking from the kiss, Harry shifted to the side. "What's bugging you?" Ginny asked.
"I don't know," Harry said. "And that's bugging me, too, but there is something else, that I can't quite put my finger on."
Ginny brushed a hand across his face. "It's the dreaming, isn't it?" she asked.
"What?" Harry asked.
"I'm not sure," Ginny said, recoiling a bit, surprised at herself. "It was like someone else was telling me to ask you that."
Harry gave her a sideways glance, but he lowered his head into his hands. "Yes, it is the dreaming," he said, at last. "But its not one that I understand."
Ginny patted his back, ever the reassuring person in Harry's life. "They're only dreams," she said, and drew him back into their kiss.
Neither was completely aware of the passing of time; which is hardly surprising, given their current activity. When they did look up, though, they were not in the least bit surprised to discover that it was nearing three in the morning.
"Well, we don't have to get up early tomorrow, anyway," Harry said. He was about to kiss Ginny again when he stopped. His eyes widened.
"Did you just hear...?" he asked, but Ginny was already on her feet, sprinting to the portrait hole.
The portrait swung open to allow her to exit. Harry dived out behind her. Besides the Fat Lady, who always occupied the portrait, another figure stood, looking thoroughly winded.
The Fat Lady was attempting to calm her fellow picture. "Alright, there, you're fine, it's okay..."
"Professor Snape and Professor Lupin just got back, and they've got wounded," the other picture breathed deeply. "They're headed for the Hospital Wing...I wanted to tell all the pictures about it tonight, see if we can't set up a vigil for them..."
Neither Harry nor Ginny heard the rest. They both sprinted towards the Hospital Wing, disregarding their own safety in the process and nearly killing themselves on the stairs.
Whatever the meeting had been about...
When the two arrived at the door of the Hospital Wing, Dumbledore was just getting there himself. He was a bit surprised to see them, but he hid it well.
"And what are you two doing out of bed?" he scolded, though his heart was very severely not in it.
"We heard that there had been trouble," Harry said. "Wounded...thought we could lend a hand."
Actually, there hadn't been enough dialogue between them to warrant that statement, but it was plausible enough that they'd bee thinking the same thing. Dumbledore nodded. These two were trustworthy...they hadn't just come to gawk. He pushed open the door and entered, closely followed by Harry and Ginny.
Snape and Lupin were standing bent over two different beds, apparently giving a beleaguered Madame Pomfrey a hand. The nurse herself gave a small cry when she saw Dumbledore.
"There aren't more, are there?" she asked, breathlessly.
"No, Poppy," Dumbledore said. "That will be all."
"Good," she said, turning back to Faith, who lay on a bed, looking exhausted. Snape pulled on one of Angel's legs, causing him to cry out in pain.
"That hurt," he said, unnecessarily.
"I know," Snape said, without a thought of caring.
Lupin bent over Craig, examining a massive head wound. Harry and Ginny both found themselves drawn to his bed. "Is he going to be okay, Professor?" Ginny asked.
Not rising to the use of his old title, Lupin turned to them. "I believe he will be," he said. "The cut to his head isn't as bad as it looks. He should be up and about by the end of the week."
Just then, Harry noticed something. "Where's Willow?" he asked. Dubious glances were exchanged by Angel, Faith, Lupin, and Snape.
"She's...resting," Lupin said, finally.
Willow seemed to glide through uneasy dreams. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't quite escape from the images assailing her brain. Tara... Warren... Kennedy... Oz... Xander... Jesse... Goddess, it had been so long...
Her mind seemed to be reviewing every person she'd ever had an intimate connection to. She had loved Xander, Oz, and Tara; she still loved Tara. And killing Warren had formed an inexplicable bond between them.
And then Buffy. Buffy, the Slayer. The only Slayer. Then Buffy, a leader of Slayers. No, that's not right; Buffy, a leader of scared girls who could someday be Slayers. Then they were Slayers.
Then...she didn't know what happened next. Everything in the past seemed so clouded, yet so clearly painful. She'd caused a lot of pain. She'd done some good, too, but mostly, she'd just hurt people and got other people hurt.
Her consciousness swirled around, doing little loop the loops and always coming back to the inevitable fact that she had tried, for months now, to hide from - her powers, and everything about her, was evil.
When she finally awoke, Buffy and Xander were sitting by her bed. Both of them breathed a sigh of relief when they saw her eyes open. Secretly, that sigh also encompassed the fact that her eyes were no longer black.
"Where...?" She asked, slightly woozy.
"You're in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, Willow," Buffy said. "You're going to be okay."
"Buffy, I can't remember anything," Willow said, suddenly alarmed. "I can't remember where I've been for the past few hours..."
"Its okay, Wil," Xander reassured her. "You're fine, and everyone got out alive."
He kicked himself instantly. Then Buffy kicked him too. That hurt worse. "Got out of where?" Willow asked. And, suddenly, forcefully, the memory of what had transpired came rushing in to fill her cranium with unwanted knowledge.
"Oh," Willow said, her eyes going round and huge as she realized the full extent of what had happened.
Later, Buffy sat with Giles, Dumbledore, and Snape in Dumbledore's office. "Willow is going to be okay," Buffy said. "The nurse gave her some sort of potion when she started to get agitated."
"Dreamless Sleep, no doubt," Dumbledore said. "She will have a sound night of sleep, Buffy, without dreams of any sort."
"And after an ordeal like tonight, I doubt that any of her dreams would be very pleasant," Snape said.
"What, exactly, did happen tonight, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, giving his full attention to the Potions teacher.
Snape explained how they had gotten into the forest clearing okay, and how things had fallen apart from there.
"Lupin and I tried to get them out of the cage, but we just couldn't get close enough to do any damage while the ritual was being performed," he explained. "Once it was nearing completion, though, the Death Eaters retreated a bit to avoid the blast from the completed spell.
"At about that time, Miss Rosenberg destroyed the bottom of the cage, releasing her as well as Angel, Craig, and Faith. We slowed their decent, but Miss Rosenberg didn't require slowing of any kind. She was flying on her own power.
"We fought the demons and Death Eaters along the bank of the Lake. The ritual was completed. Some short time after that, as it appeared as though we would be defeated by Voldemort's forces, the entire area just...blew up."
"What?" Giles asked. "How?"
"Miss Rosenberg," Snape said, simply. "I have talked with the others in the cage, and it appears as though when she woke up, her eyes had gone completely black."
"I thought she was over that," Giles muttered.
"This has happened before?" Dumbledore asked, sharply.
"Well, yes," Giles said, rather reluctantly. "She tried to end the world a few years ago."
There was a moment's pause. "She's been clean for at least a year," Buffy said, finally. "No black magic, nothing."
"That," Dumbledore said, quelling a bit. "Doesn't matter in the least. She could spend the next fifty years doing nothing but gardening, and she could still get up one morning and blow half the world to bits."
There was another pause. "What set her off?" Buffy asked. "Last time, it was Tara's death. What could possibly have driven her to do what she did?"
"That forest," Dumbledore said. "It is a focal point of Dark energy. Even if the forest hadn't been evil to begin with, Voldemort's extended stay there has certainly made it that way. Evil is in the very air there; it is possible that it effected Miss Rosenberg in a more...violent...way then the others."
"She isn't the only one," Snape said. "There were raised some very interesting things about Craig, as well."
He explained what he had learned from Angel about what had transpired between Voldemort and Craig. He explained about the strange, grotesque change of Craig's face. And lastly, he through in the word taedia. Upon the sound of the word, Dumbledore flinched.
"I had hoped that wasn't the case," he said. "Though I had guessed that it might be."
"Do you want to tell us what a 'taedia' is, exactly?" Buffy asked.
So Dumbledore explained. "Taedia were once the dominant race on this planet, in the years between demon rule and human," Dumbledore said. "They had a profound connection with the dead that was, and still is, unsurpassed. Taedia were...vicious creatures. They enjoyed killing more than anything else, because death, to them, was as common a thing as life.
"The taedia were killed off before man could formally take over this planet, about five thousand years ago. No one is quite sure how, or even why it happened. There is a legend of a demon prince who led a crusade against them. However, it is unreliable at best.
"All we do know is that there are no taedia left in the world. Except for possibly Craig."
"And how is it possible, exactly?" Giles asked.
"I haven't a clue," Dumbledore admitted. "To the best of my, and everyone else's, for that matter, knowledge, the entire taedia race has been dead for four millennia."
Silence followed this. Those gathered mulled over the information they had just heard. Finally, Giles spoke. "The Lake ritual worked?"
Snape's smile was full of bitterness. "Yes," he said. "And my cover is blown completely."
"Then it would appear that the mission was a failure," Dumbledore said. "And we are left with several unsettling questions, not the least of which being, can we trust Craig and Willow?"
No one could find an answer.
A week later, the infirmary had cleared of everyone save Craig. The youngest of those to journey into Voldemort's stronghold stayed bed ridden much longer than his companions had. The wound on his head, though not life threatening, had left him weakened more than he'd expected.
As he lay, he reflected on the how incredibly bored he had become. The boredom felt welcome; while here, he didn't have any opportunity to mutate and go crazy.
He balled a fist. He'd been in some bad situations; he'd watched his friends murdered, hadn't he? He gazed at his fist. If he'd been able to call up that power at the AWA...then he'd be dead now, too.
A large part of him didn't mind that scenario at all.
Dumbledore entered the Hospital Wing. "Hello, Craig," he said.
Craig didn't look up. He didn't know what he would see in the Headmaster's eyes, and he didn't want to take the chance at finding out. So he just looked down at his fist and gave a small, growled greeting.
"You seem stronger," Dumbledore offered, gazing, too, at Craig's balled fist.
"And there's a big problem in the making, right?" Craig asked, overcome suddenly by all that had happened to him.
Dumbledore sat down in a chair near Craig's bed. The man looked old. "Craig, I just wanted to ask you..."
He didn't get to finish. "What am I?" Craig asked. "I've been doing these things my whole life, fighting evil, bending reality, defying the laws of physics...now, I want to know how. I want to know what I am."
Dumbledore sighed. This was going to be unpleasant. "You are what Voldemort told you," he said. "As near as I can tell, and I have performed several tests in the last week to verify it, you are a taedia."
"And what is that?" Craig asked.
Dumbledore related to Craig what he had told the others. When he was done, Craig looked around the room, as if there were others there with them.
"Isn't that great? He answers the question without actually answering it! I love it, don't you?"
"Craig," Dumbledore began. "There is no way, now, to know where you came from. It just isn't possible. Your parents are dead, and Whistler is gone again."
"My parents aren't dead," Craig said, suddenly.
"Excuse me?" Dumbledore said.
"My parents aren't dead," Craig said. "I've never heard a word from them, and if they were dead, they'd talk to me..."
"Think for a moment, Craig," Dumbledore said. "People that you know to be dead have refused to speak to you before."
There was a pause. Craig's face twisted into a horrible grimace. "Skye," he said.
"We're looking into your background now," Dumbledore said. "Until we learn more, though, I think you should stop seeing the DA. If your powers go out of control again..."
He rose quickly and left.
"Bullshit," Craig said.
Three days later, he was out of the Hospital Wing. He spent more time outside again, getting back into the harmony of nature that had so eluded him for a week.
He wanted to feel in tune with things again. He wanted to feel connected. He wanted an escape. So naturally, an escape was not forthcoming for long enough to make Craig think he was going to go insane.
It was on that third day that Harry approached Craig on the grounds. "Hello," Harry said, trying not to seem too awkward.
"Hi," Craig said shortly.
There was a pause. Harry considered what he'd wanted to say and found that he couldn't quite remember what it was. So he plunged ahead, thinking that the Craig somehow inspired the direct approach. "We want you to come back to the DA," he said.
"We?" Craig asked, bemusedly.
"After last time, everyone was really excited about where we could go. But we can't do any of that without you."
"You might be surprised," Craig said. "Besides, there's only so much I can teach you. Your power works differently than mine."
Harry ignored this. The American could still teach them a lot. "We want you back," Harry repeated.
Craig regarded him for a moment. "Sure," Craig said, deciding that Dumbledore's orders could go to hell. "When's the next meeting?"
"Tonight," Harry said, smiling. "Eight."
"I'll be there," Craig replied. He didn't look at Harry as the young man went back up to the castle.
That night, in the Room of Requirement, Craig once more stood before the DA. He'd spent the afternoon considering what he was going to say to students, and what he was going to teach them, and how he was going to do it. He settled on the early warning. Always useful.
"When you're fighting multiple enemies, one of the most fundamental things you have to understand is that your going to be getting hit from different directions all at once. You can't allow yourself to get hit in nine cases out of ten, because a hit means your dead.
"This technique is a fairly old one, used by Roman Legionaries when they still used magic. It's an early warning sense that tells you when something is trying to hurt you."
Craig paused there and called for a volunteer. Surprisingly few were surprised when Neville volunteered. As Neville climbed up onto Craig's platform, Craig drew out a sword from the scabbard on his back.
"This sword is enchanted," he said. "I invented the spell myself. The sword radiates harmful intention."
Craig turned to Neville. "I'm going to attack you in a minute," he said. Neville gulped. "I want you to focus on the sword. Focus on it until you can't feel anything else."
Neville nodded and closed his eyes. Craig waited a moment as Neville focused his entire mind on the sword. When he had felt that enough time had passed, Craig raised the sword and swung it at Neville.
Neville didn't move. Craig stopped the sword an inch from Neville's face, the blade quivering right in front of his face. Neville opened his eyes, surprised to find the sword right there in front of him.
"Well, that worked well," Zacharias Smith muttered.
"Actually, it did," Craig said, grinning nastily as he turned back to the crowd.
"What?" Smith asked. "But he didn't even know the sword was right there!"
"Quite right," Craig said. "It wasn't about the sword. It was about the feeling of being attacked when you don't where it's coming from, or when. When Neville focused on the sword, he was focusing on the sword's natural violent intent. He felt that intent swell up when I swung the sword at him. It was only natural that he didn't react - he didn't know what he was feeling, because I didn't tell him. But now he knows."
"I get it," Neville said. He stepped forward, in front of Craig. "I really get it. That's what attack feels like. Amazing. I..."
Craig swung the sword at him from behind. Neville jumped, without seeing what was going on.
"Good!" Craig shouted at Neville, who now lay, dazed, at the foot of the platform. Craig jumped down to join him. "You felt the attack coming. You didn't know what to do about it, but you felt it. That's good! Come on, who's next?"
When it was over, and everyone had left, Harry stood with Craig and looked at the Room of Requirement. Both young men thought the room needed cleaning after the constant attacking, and as was in its nature, the room began to clean itself as the need was apparent.
"I've been lying to them," Craig said.
"I beg your pardon?" Harry said, slightly aghast at such a statement.
"I've been lying to them," Craig said. "Or not telling the whole truth. The Longbottom kid, he said it last time. He said that he though that what was happening was that he was gaining complete knowledge of things. That was just him being na•ve. You can never completely know something. It's just not possible, and that's a fact of reality in all its forms. No, its not knowledge - its power. It's blood. It's belief, and it's strength. That's what does all those things. Not knowledge."
"So why don't you tell them that?" Harry asked.
"Because not everyone has the power," Craig said. "Not everyone has the strength. Half your DA probably doesn't have it. The other half has the potential, like you and Longbottom. But tapping it is painful. This stuff that we've done so far only scratches the surface. The rest, if we get into it, is much more demanding."
"How so?" Harry asked, now worried a bit.
"You can all sense an attack now," Craig said. "So what? You know that someone is about to kill you. What are you going to do about it? Are you going to dodge it? Will you parry it? Can you even parry it, or is it something that can't be parried? Where is the enemy? What is the enemy? How do you kill it?"
Harry felt his head spin a bit as he tried to take it all in. Craig nodded, seeing the look on his face. "It's not so easy, is it? You can't think about it. You just do. See? Knowledge has nothing to do with it."
Harry wanted to change the subject, cause this was getting to difficult to rap his brain around. "How are you doing?" he asked, grasping at one of the most general questions.
Craig gave him a look. Then he shrugged. "Fine," he said. "Better. Not good, but okay enough to get by and do some good. I could use a break from all this, though."
He glanced out the window, and was struck by a sudden, brilliant plan.
"Go get Ginny," Craig said to Harry. "We're going out tonight."
Was that too short? Was there enough? Oh, and I'm terribly sorry that its taken so long to get out. I've been through Hell and back a couple dozen times in the last month. Finals, and my coworker's mother passed away, so I had to pick up the slack at work, and the kids I was taking care of trashed our office, so my job is in question...yeah, its been rough. See you all next time.