A/N: I really have no idea how detailed Cordy's visions generally are, so for plot purposes I'm taking liberties – hence the detail. It's important for later, I promise.
And you just *know* you're dying to hit the 'review' button, or send me an email at waiting_to_fly@hotmail.com. Pretty please?
One more thing – this particular chapter has a B/H pairing. It has to happen at this point coz it ties in with where I want the story to eventually go. The length and depth of this 'ship is entirely dependent on *my* thoughts, and I don't respond well to flames or demands that I change the pairings. Just so we're clear.
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Chapter 14: Calm Before the Storm
#Sunnydale#
It was times like these when Angel could feel Angelus pulsing under his skin.
The demon was straining against its cage, begging to be let loose to sate the angry fire roaring through his lifeless body. It was this urge for violence that had driven Angel to flee the Summers house in search of something to fight – anything to quiet the screaming inside.
The rhythm of his footsteps on the pavement beat in time with his aching heart as he raced to put as much distance as possible between himself and the house. Revello Drive was filled with painful reminders of what he'd lost – no, not what he'd lost.
What he'd walked away from years ago.
How many times had he stood in its kitchen while Buffy ate her way through the fridge in a fit of post-Slaying hunger? How often had he slipped in her window to gather her in his arms, to tend to battle injuries - to watch over her while she slept?
Angel had left so that she could have a normal life, and in those first lonely nights in Los Angeles he had dreamt of one day returning to Sunnydale, standing in the shadows of a house with a white picket fence, watching her children grow – watching her basking in the love of someone who could give her all that he could not.
In truth, it had not only been his grief that had kept him in his room the weeks after her death, staring at the stained ceiling day after agonizing day, seeing her face in every water mark, hearing her voice with the rising of the sun.
It was the thought that, had he stayed, he could have helped her. He could have succeeded where Spike had not; been there to send Doc flying from the tower behind his childe. Taken the knife in his cold hand and bent the steel until he felt it pierce his palm. Loosened the ropes binding Dawn while Buffy fought Glory below: carried her in his arms to meet Buffy on the ground.
He could have saved her, and instead he had locked eyes with her through a cloud of crispy-fried-Mayor smoke, drinking her in as though to pull her inside him for eternity.
Angel had told her once that he wanted to keep her heart from being bruised or torn – to warm it with his own. Had he walked away to give her the gift of life, only to seal the wrapping on her death?
Icy rain trickled down his neck as Angel ran from everything he had been and everything he would never be. Headlights swerved, angry drivers leaning on their horns as his feet carried him across achingly familiar streets. A crumbling stone wall loomed in the distance, a barrier between the living and the dead.
This town, *her* town, was divided by these walls – and yet they did nothing to keep the dead from wandering among the living, rising from the damp earth and making it their playground. Which side did he truly belong to?
Angel vaulted the wall in a single leap, stone crumbling under his feet and sending him sprawling ungracefully across the spongy ground drenched thickly with the smell of newly cut flowers; of promise; of rebirth.
How ironic that even in a place devoted to death, the grass continued to flourish, regardless of how often it was stripped bare to pave the way for yet another monument of a life stolen.
He had read countless books, was familiar with Darwin and his theories. Survival of the fittest. Those who can not adapt will die, and be replaced by those who can. Climbing to his feet, Angel felt death press in on him from every side, the cloying sweetness of decay steaming from the earth.
Death was in his heart, his fists, his fangs. It was the terrier constantly nipping at his heels, following his every move. Angelus had drained a dog once, a child's pet, luring it toward him with false promises of food and affection, snapping its scruffy neck and drinking it dry. He had left the pitiful ball of fur where the small girl could find it, watched her clutch it to her chest and sob as though her heart had been torn out.
Five minutes later, it was pulsing in his hand.
Angel felt his soul roar in defiance, against whoever it was that held the strings, controlled fate and destiny and the other things he had come to hate. Amid the rain, he imagined he could see a flash of golden blonde; smell vanilla and….
Cigarette smoke and damp leather?
"Spike."
His childe did not speak for a moment, simply took a deep drag on his cigarette and fixed his eyes on the ground. Flicking the spent butt into the rain, he surveyed Angel's sodden clothing, his dripping hair. Rising from his sheltered spot under the entrance of a lichen-covered crypt, Spike tilted his head slightly.
" Only a wanker would go jogging in this rain. C'mon."
Angel followed blindly, not knowing where Spike was leading him and not particularly caring. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. Occasionally Spike glanced over his shoulder, duster flaring as he weaved through the headstones. Checking to make sure that yes, his sire was still following him like a lost puppy. He turned abruptly toward one of the larger crypts, kicking the door open and lighting another cigarette.
" Home sweet home."
Angel stood in the doorway, dazed and dripping. Spike frowned and blew acrid smoke directly into his sire's face.
"Bloody hell Peaches, get your great lump of an arse inside and shut the damn door. You're melting hair gel all over my rug."
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#Meanwhile, at the Summers' house#
There was blood on the rug.
Not much, granted – only a few spatters of ruby red staining the covering. It wasn't the first time something had been soiled or damaged; and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Lamps, tables, windows – even the front door had fallen victim to eager demons in search of the Slayer.
Dawn could recite twenty-three different ways of removing demon gore from fabric, and yet she couldn't tear her gaze from the nickel-sized drops of human blood.
Wesley's blood.
Giles and the others had left her alone in the living room while they 'discussed the prophecy' in the kitchen, as though she was five and not almost fifteen.
Even from her place on the couch she could hear every word. There hadn't been a door for as long as she could remember – if ever - and nobody seemed to care how loud they talked.
" We assumed id didn't haf any meaning; thad the Powers thad Be bade a bistake of sub kind. After all, Cordelia usually gets bessages about people who are… in need of savig."
Definitely Wesley, talking through his swollen nose. So, they were talking about Buffy, and not the prophecy after all. Dawn bit her lip until she could taste salty blood, the sharp pain bringing tears to her eyes. What was Willow saying?
" Cordy, you said the Buffy in your vision looked different. What did you mean?"
" It was like being back in high school – the chunky highlights era. You know, just before Angel went all grr and Buffy sent him to Hell."
Cordelia's voice was muffled by a faint hissing sound. Was it the kettle? Despite herself, Dawn heard her sister's voice echo in her head, smirking at Giles.
* Your predictably British answer to the new beastie in town? Tea and scones. Me, I'd choose Option B - a big shiny sword and some quality severing of limbs.*
One of the droplets seemed to transform into a crude smile, mocking her. Dawn blinked hard; opened her eyes to see normal round-shaped drops. In the kitchen, china clattered as tea was made. Giles was asking Cordelia to explain the vision fully, his voice suddenly guarded.
Dawn knew that tone – it echoed with the steely resolve of someone preparing themselves for something they had no wish to hear. The Powers had made a mistake, sent Cordelia a cruel reminder of all that they had lost, and now the gauze had been ripped painfully from a wound that had only just begun to heal.
Under Dawn's clothing, the twin scars on her abdomen began to throb in time with the frantic beating of her heart. The blood that still pumped through her veins had torn down the walls between dimensions, the catalyst in a chain reaction of hurt that seemed stuck on continuous replay.
Dawn was the Key, and because of the Key, the Slayer was dead. Because of Dawn, Buffy was dead.
Pushing that thought to the back of her mind, Dawn edged closer to the doorway until she was crouched just out of sight of the kitchen. Cordelia had explained before that she not only saw the visions, she felt them. Dawn wondered what it was like to feel anything but numb.
She braced herself against the wall to listen, Cordelia's description drawing her in slowly…
***
She was Buffy, and Buffy was crashing through the undergrowth of an unnamed forest, running from something – no, someone. More than one someone, judging from the noise behind her.
How many, and what species eluded her – the finer details Slayer hearing usually provided were muffled by the sound of her heart pounding furiously in her ears.
There was a familiar ache in her chest – one, maybe two ribs broken. She could feel the jagged edges grating with each gasping breath, every step bringing only more pain. One arm flapped uselessly against her body, her shoulder a bloody and mangled mess.
How long had she been running? It seemed like forever. No matter how far or how fast she ran, her pursuers were on her heels, and gaining every minute.
It was bitterly cold, the kind that sinks deep into your bones and makes your very soul shiver. She couldn't tell whether it was day or night – the darkness of the forest stretched as far as she could see, thick tree trunks leading to a dense layer of branches that blocked the sky from view.
She felt the painful sting of a low branch whipping across her face, blinding her for one terrifying moment. The pounding of her feet was broken as she stumbled sightlessly over rocks and roots, her good hand stretched out in front in an attempt to protect herself. The red haze cleared almost without her noticing, all her energy focused on running.
One foot in front of the other. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don't let them catch you. Breathe in. Lead them away. Breathe out. Step. Step. Step step stepstepstepstep.
She was sure there were others in the forest, silent eyes watching her from the thick undergrowth. Whether they were friend or foe, they acted as spectators in this endless race for her life, not appearing, not helping. The air was thick with mystical energy, writhing and twisting around her as she gave up hope of being stealthy and crashed through the bushes with abandon.
The Slayer in her refused to sob with exhaustion, drove her to the point of breaking and then demanded that little bit extra. The footsteps behind her were closing in, getting faster.
To her horror, she realized it was not they who were speeding up, but she who was slowing down. There was nowhere to hide, and she didn't know where she was running to. Behind her, there was a triumphant cry as though they had only just noticed this, and the air was suddenly filled with shouts and streaks of light, speeding around her. Magic?
Duck, weave. Breathe in. If they catch you, you die. Breathe out.
A few of the streaks collided with her stumbling form, increasing the previously only-just-bearable pain to agony that made her breath catch in her throat. Not caring who heard her, she gave in and began to sob, each gasping breath harder to draw.
There was a terrible ripping sound as trees were uprooted and flung into her path by an unseen force. In desperation, she chanced a glance behind her, tearing her eyes from the faint path ahead only for a split second.
It was enough. A felled tree loomed ahead and she stumbled and fell hard on her injured shoulder, dirt and leaves mixing with sticky blood, grinding into the open wound. White spots danced in front of her eyes as she tried desperately to get up and found she no longer had the strength.
She was crawling now, fingernails split and bleeding as her hands clawed the dirt, inching toward a particularly thick shrub that would at least provide some cover from whatever was out there. She curled into a tight ball amongst the prickly leaves, tears of pain streaming from her eyes as thorns embedded themselves in her exposed skin.
Too late, she realized her mistake. A bloody trail stretched from the tree to her hiding place, drag marks clearly visible to someone with even the poorest eyesight. Bile rose in her throat as her pursuers leapt over the log nimbly and turned toward her, cruel eyes seeking her out within seconds.
There was a high, cold laugh. She was dragged from the bush by her hair, her aching body banging against every possible hard object on the muddy forest floor. Unable to do anything but fight for consciousness, she bit back her sobs.
She refused to let these –things- think that she was beaten.
"Little, little girl. So fragile, so broken. Why are you here, fighting a war that is not your own?"
Harsh orange light, and pain exploded throughout her entire body, shaking her slight form with tremors no human could withstand for long. From far away, the same hissing voice rose in triumph.
" You think you know…what you are…what's to come…you haven't even begun."
The world faded to black.
***
"Dawn? Dawn honey, what's wrong?"
Warm hands were patting her face gently, trying to wake her up. Dawn opened her eyes a tiny crack and furtively peered up at the worried faces of the entire Scooby gang, extended style.
Even Fred had appeared to see what the fuss was all about – though she had that scared-rabbit look that suggested she'd really rather be somewhere else. Grilling captive vampires for information in the Summers' basement with her potential honey, perhaps.
They hadn't noticed that she was awake, and that was just fine by the former Key. There was something niggling at the back of her mind – something she needed to remember. Yet every time she tried to search her mind, the elusive thought wormed further and further out of her grasp.
As if it didn't want to be found.
Dimly, she heard one pair of footsteps leave the group that was apparently still staring at her. She could feel her skin crawling under the scrutiny of so many eyes as she mentally flicked past hundreds of monk-created memories, searching for…
"OH!!"
The footsteps had returned, and with them came a shock of cold water, drenching her face and hair. Dawn bolted upright, her eyes snapping open with a force that sent droplets of water flying every which way. She ignored the surprised cries of Buffy's friends as the memory she had been searching for leaped into the forefront of her mind with a ferocity that left her breathless.
* Orange light, and pain, and that voice…Buffy, bleeding and broken – darkness*
To the alarm of everyone in the room, Dawn began to thrash, choking and sobbing until it seemed her body would shatter.
The Scoobies tried everything they could think of – magic, soothing words, brute force, more cold water, ropes… Nothing worked.
Giles had just picked up the phone to call an ambulance when Dawn took a deep breath and lay still. There was a collective sigh of relief from everyone present.
Then Dawn began to scream.
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#Hogwarts#
The Gryffindor common room was unusually full for a Saturday, owing to the fact that the weather had turned vicious almost overnight. Outside their window, the wind was positively howling, rain assaulting the earth as though it had committed a terrible crime.
Much to the dismay of the students, Dumbledore had announced that nobody was to set foot outside the castle until further notice was given. Thus, the Gryffindors were slowly going stir-crazy.
" No Quidditch practice! I'll die! By the time this clears up, I'll have forgotten how to fly, they'll kick me off the team, and…"
Lily and Hermione looked up from their books, grinning at Ron's complaining. The foursome were sitting in their usual chairs near the fireplace, hot mugs of cocoa at their sides. Lily speared a marshmallow on the end of a pronged fork and poked it into the fire to toast.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said if you ate one more thing, you'd explode."
Lily looked at her friend as if she were crazy. " Who, me? There's always room for marshmallow goodness. Did I mention lately how much I love Dobby for the snacks?" Hermione looked as though she was going to start up about S.P.E.W, so Lily hurriedly changed the subject.
"Plus, I'm really sick of being research-gal. We've read about a hundred books and still no Watcher references."
Pulling the gooey sweet from the fork, Lily popped it whole into her mouth, licking her fingers and looking thoughtful. Beside Hermione, Ron continued to moan.
" By the time this blasted rain stops, I'll be like a first-year on a broomstick! I'll…"
Harry leaned past Lily to interrupt. " Ron, you won't get kicked off the team."
"Oh yeah? How come you're so sure?"
" Er… possibly because you're Quidditch Captain? Unless you're planning to kick yourself off, of course. In which case, I'll have to take over from you and you know what time of year it is…"
Ron brightened considerably for a moment before frowning in confusion. "Er… did I miss someone's birthday?" His face cleared in recognition. " Oh yeah – it's almost grave danger season again!"
Hermione's grin widened. " At least we know what to get Harry for Christmas," she announced to a giggling Lily, " one of those novelty mugs with 'Mortal Peril Free For *insert number of days* Now' written on it."
Harry scowled half-heartedly at his friends, trying to keep a straight face. " Well, I'm glad to hear you think it's just *so* funny that I'm a big lightning rod for danger!" His dancing green eyes betrayed his sarcasm. Lily moved swiftly, perching on the arm of his chair, legs stretched casually across his lap. She smirked playfully at him.
"Big lightning rod, eh?"
Harry assumed a cowboy-style leer he'd seen done on one of Dudley's favorite tv shows, pulling her down so she was seated on his lap. He attempted to imitate an exaggerated Texan drawl, failing miserably.
"Tha's right lil missy, big lightnin' rod is what I 'ave. What ya'll gonna do 'bout it?"
Lily was laughing so hard she couldn't speak. On impulse, she leaned over and planted a big kiss on his cheek. Taken by surprise, Harry gaped at her for a split-second before he retaliated with an equally large kiss on her own rosy cheek. Hazel and emerald locked as the air around them seemed to thicken.
"Ahem!" Ron cleared his throat meaningfully, waving a rolled piece of parchment in his hand. Lily swiveled around to look at Ron, not making any attempt to move back to her own chair.
"Pig just dropped this off – letter from Fred and George. Dunno how he can fly in this weather what with…" He broke off, obviously embarrassed to have interrupted. "Er… I can read it later, if you want."
Lily shifted unconsciously in Harry's lap, sending a rush of heat to his face and prompting certain – stirrings- below. Harry hoped his voice sounded normal as he thought frantically of cold showers and other decidedly unsexy things.
" Er…that's okay. Read it now if you like."
Eager to make up for his mistake, Ron unfurled the soggy parchment covering the letter and read quickly.
*
Ronniekins,
Just thought we'd owl about the holidays – Mum's got this idea to invite the whole Weasley clan around for Christmas dinner (all forty-nine of them, including Uncle Fidus – you remember, the one who hexed the pudding the last time). Must be the Christmas spirit, coming a whole month early. We think she's off her rocker, but she insisted that you and Gin come home for the occasion.
Of course, Hermione and Harry are welcome too. (At this Ron paused, glancing at Lily's downcast face) Mum's invited Sirius and Lupin, or sent the owls at least – no reply from Sirius yet, Dad says he's in America on Ministry business. Lupin's here now, helping Dad with something top-secret for Dumbledore (tell you all about it when you get here).
Send Pig with your reply as soon as possible, and give our love to Malfoy and Snape (a good holiday hex ought to do brilliantly).
Gred and Forge
*
The four Gryffindors were silent as Ron rolled up the letter and stuffed it in a pocket. Hermione turned to Lily, her eyes troubled. " I'm sure they meant to invite you too, it probably just slipped their mind."
Ron jumped in quickly, eager to smooth things over. " 'Mione's right, I'll just write to Mum and ask her to…"
Lily rose from Harry's lap, a tight smile on her face. Her voice was just a little too bright when she answered, eyes shining with what looked horribly like disappointment.
" It's okay, you guys go – I'm sure some of the others will be here for the holidays too. The quiet might be of the good: y'know, I can be study-girl and all."
Harry wasn't fooled. He reached for Lily's hand, but she shook him off roughly.
" There's this book I need from the library, could break open the whole Watcher thing. See you at dinner." Before the Trio could react, she had disappeared out the portrait hole. Hermione looked as though she wanted to follow, but Harry shook his head slightly. Ron sank into his chair, tossing the letter into the flames.
With a squeal, two of the second years recoiled from the window as a sodden shape collided with the glass. Cautiously, they opened the window a crack, and another owl flopped onto the floor, a letter clutched in its beak. Ron turned, rising when he recognized the ball of feathers as Errol, the Weasley family owl. Hermione covered her mouth with her hand as Ron set the unconscious Errol near the fire to dry out, ripping open the letter. His eyes brightened considerably.
" This one's from Mum – only a note really."
*
Ron – Please let your friend Lily know that she is more than welcome to join us at Christmas, and apologize for Fred and George's mistake in leaving her out. Hope everyone is well (and if I hear that Draco Malfoy has been hexed at all you will be scrubbing dishes the Muggle way for the remainder of your life.) – Mum.
*
"Harry!"
Harry turned from Ron to see Dennis Creevey's anxious face. Dennis rushed on before Harry could speak. " Lily – she's sitting outside in the corridor behind one of the suits of armor…I think she's crying!"
Silently, Harry thanked Merlin that Dennis had had the sense to keep his voice down – the last thing they needed was half of Gryffindor rushing out to see what the problem was. He smiled gratefully at Dennis before leaving the common room, heading toward the suit of armor.
Lily was almost hidden in the corner, knees drawn to her chest. Having learnt the hard way what happened when she was startled (he had once been flipped onto his back for sneaking up on her), Harry approached quietly, stopping a few feet away.
"Lils?"
He didn't wait for her response, closing the gap between them and settling himself on the cold floor next to her. Lily's blonde hair hid her face from view. Harry waited patiently. At last, she scrubbed her face with her hands and looked at him. He held out Mrs Weasley's letter, watching her closely as she read it. The corridor was silent for a long time.
"You must think I'm being stupid, crying 'cos I didn't get invited to a party."
Unearthing a tissue from his pocket, he handed it to her. She managed a watery smile which was followed by a slight shiver, her thin tank top doing little to protect her against the cold. Harry pulled his jumper over his head and handed it to her, smiling when he saw how it engulfed her slight frame.
"Better?" Lily nodded. Harry thought for a moment about what she had said, then turned her face to his.
" This is about more than the party, isn't it." A tiny nod. "Lily Asher, you are many things – but stupid isn't one of them. I've heard that's something that comes naturally – take a look at Malfoy's goons for example."
This time her smile was genuine. Harry stretched an arm around her shoulders gently, as if she was likely to shatter. " Ron's probably told you how hopeless I am at talking to girls, so what if we skip the small talk and go for Galleons? Want to give me the four-one-one?"
"Harry Potter – you're starting to sound like me!"
Harry threw his free arm to his forehead in horror, making Lily giggle. " Blast! I've been Americanized! Merlin help us all – I'm doomed to start using hair care products and add a 'y' to every second word!"
" I *so* don't do that!" Lily swatted him lightly on the arm. " Okay – maybe sometimes I do." The pair were silent in their corner as their housemates left the common room and headed down to dinner, Hermione and Ron glancing quickly toward the suit of armor but thankfully not coming over.
Harry could sense Lily was struggling with something, and he suddenly realized what it was.
"All this talk of Christmas got you thinking about your family, what they would be doing – whether they miss you?" It wasn't really a question. He could have kicked himself for not realizing earlier.
Lily turned to him, faintly surprised. "Yeah. How did you know?"
" I do it every year. Wonder whether my mum and dad would want me to come home for Christmas – have a big party like the Weasleys. Do all the things that families do – other than hex puddings, of course."
Lily sighed. " I don't even know my family. They could be dead, and not be able to have me – or they could be alive, and just not want me. Maybe I don't have a family at all – nobody knows where I came from, not even Dumbledore. At least you…" Lily stopped short, wide-eyed at what she'd almost said. "Oh Harry, I didn't mean…" Her eyes filled with tears again.
*At least I know that they're dead* Harry thought painfully. Lily had pulled away from him to bury her head in her hands. The only sign that she was crying was a slight shake of her shoulders – at some point in whatever life she'd had before Hogwarts, she'd learnt to cry silently. Did that even matter?
Numb from sitting on the stone floor, Harry stood slowly, checking the corridors for stray Gryffindors. When he was sure everyone had gone to the Great Hall, he touched Lily gently. " The common room's empty, will be for awhile – C'mon." He gave the password to the Fat Lady ('Codswallop') and they settled into their usual chairs, Lily still wearing Harry's jumper.
Once more Lily scrubbed furiously at her face, but this time she refused to look at Harry, keeping her head turned. Not for the first time, Harry felt his heart clench at the sight of her curled so tightly in the large chair, looking young and vulnerable.
"Lily." She flinched, but didn't respond. Harry reached over and touched her shoulder softly, turning her body so she would have to look at him. "Lils, it's okay – it doesn't matter what you said."
Her head turned slightly, and Harry was startled. He knew enough to recognize the 'whatever-you're-asking-I'll-do-because-I-want-the-world-to-just-go-away' look in her eyes, had seen it in his own eyes some mornings when he looked in the mirror.
"It *does* matter, because I…for a moment there I was jealous of you because…because…" Lily bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak. Beneath his hand, Harry could feel her shoulders coiled like a cat ready to run. He reached for her hand, pulling her toward him.
To his surprise, Lily didn't fight it, just let him pull her onto his lap. He kneaded her shoulders gently, his hands moving slowly against the tension until he felt her relax. She leaned back against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Lily… I'll always be here if you need me. You know that, right?"
Tilting her head, she smiled gratefully at him. Harry was struck with a flash of déjà vu that would have made Trelawney proud as their eyes locked for the second time that night.
"More days like this one would mean happy Lily." She paused. "I mean, minus the total mind meltdown. Just the beginning and the end part. Can we have more?"
Harry smoothed blonde hair away from Lily's forehead, kissing it tenderly.
"Provided Voldemort doesn't show up right now and try to kill me – again – we can have as many as you want."
In the days that followed, Harry would curse whoever it was that had allowed his Lightning Rod of Danger to also tune to Irony.
Their comfortable silence was shattered when the portrait door flew open, spilling Ron and Hermione into the common room in a tangle of panicked limbs. Lily was on her feet immediately as both Gryffindors began shouting at the same time.
"What's wrong? What happened?" Hermione and Ron were in no state to listen.
"STOP YELLING!!" The pair fell silent at Harry's raised voice, before Hermione began explaining breathlessly.
"Vampires…all over the school…trapped everyone in the Great Hall….killing students…we escaped… Invisibility Cloak, Harry, I summoned it from your trunk. They can't be stopped with magic – most of them anyway. Nobody can fight them….eleven students dead already…"
Lily listened in growing horror as Hermione blurted the story out. There was something else – something stirring deep within her – it was as though a part of her was fighting to take control.
At first, she tried to shove it back where it came from, but it was like shoving a fully grown, very angry elephant into a matchbox.
The last thin threshold of her control snapped and the fire engulfed her, roaring in her ears like a freight train. Every instinct screamed at her to harness this strange entity – to use the power it provided. As though a fog had lifted, Lily knew what she had to do.
What she was *born* to do. She couldn't name it; but she could *feel* it.
The Trio watched in disbelief as the Lily they had come to know and love was replaced by someone different, scanning the room for potential weapons, and when she found none, splintering the coffee table with no more than a bare fist to create stakes.
Harry was openly gaping at the girl who only a short time ago had seemed so fragile, lying in his arms. Did he know her at all? She was a blur of movement, handing stakes to each of them and taking a number for herself, tucking her wand into the band of her sweat pants. Again, his mind flashed back to Dudley and his tv shows – Lily was acting like an Army General. Like she had been doing it all her life.
Ron timidly raised his hand. Harry could see in his friend's eyes that he was scared of Lily. Thankfully, she didn't notice.
"Er…Lils…we can't fight. I mean, there's a difference between fighting with Fred and George for Knuts and fighting…er… *vampires*!"
Lily looked at him, then at Hermione. She grinned suddenly at Harry, who had hiked up his sweat pants to conceal a stake in his left sock, bright red with a pattern of broomsticks (courtesy of Dobby in his fourth year, and only worn on laundry day or when Harry dressed in the dark). Lily's eyes fixed on the pattern, inspiration lighting in her eyes.
"You don't have to fight. You just have to fly."
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A/N: Whew! You have no idea how long it took me to get to that point. This chapter has been revised 6 times, deleted and re-written twice, and shouted at…a whole bunch of times. Also, at 19 pages and over 7,000 words, it's the longest chapter so far.
I'm sure you can guess what's going to happen next… so no hints this time. I'll just say that Chapter 15 is when everything comes together….or, if you're looking at it from the characters point of view, falls apart.
Buckle up, we're headed for a bumpy ride…
