A/N: Well, it would be the understatement of the year to say that a couple of people have been waiting not-so-patiently for this chapter….so we'll get right into it, shall we?

For once, I've bowed down to peer pressure and cranked out this chapter as fast as I can type. For the record, this is a one time only deal – getting through this chapter nearly killed me.

Dedicated to: Lilfirecracker, my faithful beta, who has worked like a dog to get this one finished as soon as possible. I don't think she knew what she was signing up for really. Thanks ever so much hon. : )

**

If blood will fall when flesh and steel are one

Drying in the colours of the evening sun

Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away

Though something in our minds will always stay

Perhaps this final act was meant

To clinch a lifetime's argument

That nothing comes from violence, and nothing ever could

For all us born beneath an angry star

Lest we forget how fragile we are

********************************************************************

Chapter 15: Fragile

#Hogwarts#

To say that Hermione was apprehensive about this whole plan was a complete understatement. Here she was, creeping through the corridors of Hogwarts behind someone who had quite possibly gone insane, or at the very least, been possessed by a violence-happy entity.

Clutching a broomstick, of all things.

Not only that, she hadn't really the faintest idea what was really going on. One moment she had been eating dinner with her fellow Gryffindors, listening to Ginny chatter about the approach of Christmas and the potential disaster that was dinner with the entire Weasley family, while beside her Ron had been inching deliciously closer.

The next, the heavy doors to the Great Hall had been thrown open to admit at least thirty vampires and the air had been filled with screaming. Summoning Harry's invisibility cloak – that was the kind of thing Hermione was good at. Logic and magic (and making Ron blush) came as easily as breathing after her years at Hogwarts.

Flying, on the other hand…..

It wasn't that she *couldn't* fly. There had been the obligatory lessons in first year with Madame Hooch, and sure, Hermione knew how to mount a broomstick and move forward, turn, even stop. She'd quickly found however, that she was a feet-on-the-ground type of girl, and had never really understood why Harry and Ron loved darting about the Quidditch pitch like madmen just waiting to get knocked off their brooms by a bewitched ball.

Beside her, Harry was silent, his eyes seemingly glued to the back of Lily's head. Ron, on the other hand, was full of questions as Lily motioned them into an empty classroom to avoid a group of vampires patrolling the halls.

"Er….what exactly are we going to do once we're in there?" he asked in a whisper.

Lily turned and looked at them, and once more Hermione was struck with the thought that they didn't really know her at all. From the way Harry stiffened, she could tell he was thinking exactly the same thing.

"Simple, really. You guys are gonna try to thin the pack from the air. Stakes, fire, beheading – knock them out if you have to. Get everyone with a pulse out of the way. Try not to get knocked off your brooms, or bitten. And remember the first rule of slaying."

Lily opened the door a crack and seemed to concentrate hard – almost as if she could sense the vampires. Stepping into the hall, she waved them out behind her.

"Er…..Lils? What's the first rule of…er…..slaying?"

Without looking at Ron, Lily answered in clipped tones.

"Don't die."

Hermione breathed sharply, reaching for Ron's hand. Finding it, she drew comfort from its warmth as they stopped in the shadows directly in front of the heavy wooden doors leading to the Great Hall. Lily scanned the area, and finding it clear, stepped up to the doors and tried the handle. Locked. Hermione could see Lily roll her eyes, and was just about to jump forward with her wand when the younger girl muttered under her breath.

" Nope, couldn't make it easy, could they. Time for the old Lily skeleton key. Hope they can deliver handles by owl post, Dumbledore." She turned to the Trio, her eyes meeting Harry's for a split second before she lowered her gaze. " Be ready."

Hermione mounted her broom nervously and joined Harry and Ron hovering behind Lily. The blonde girl gave the handle one last hopeful turn, before drawing back and kicking the door down with an almighty crash.

Hermione flinched as time seemed to stop, all heads turning their way. Strangely, Lily seemed completely at ease, almost…..cheerful?

"Hi there. Heard you were having a wild party down here, and I'm a little hurt that I didn't get invited…." A vampire rushed her, and before Hermione could blink, Lily's stake pierced his heart and he exploded in a shower of dust. "But I'll get over it."

She motioned for the Trio to take off, and they obeyed. Brushing vampire dust from her clothing, she grinned at the stunned Hall.

"Now, who's up for a spot of violence?"

***

Draco Malfoy had been surprised to see how many Slytherins were absent from the dinner table that night, but not entirely upset. After all, he was in no mood to be sociable tonight.

When the first vampire had entered the Hall, everything had suddenly become clear. Someone – quite possibly Voldemort – had set this little display up, and his housemates had been warned ahead to eat in their common room.

Draco had just enough time for two thoughts – firstly, that his bastard of a father would certainly have known about this and had purposely left his son in the cold, and secondly, that they were all utterly screwed.

In the panic, some students were getting eaten, others were screaming and crying, and a select few (mostly Gryffindors, insultingly brave to the last) were actually trying to fight the intruders, with very little success. Voldemort really *had* thought of everything, including making the vampires impervious to magic.

He dimly noticed that Weasley and Granger had disappeared from view, before his attention was diverted by a vampire currently draining the blood of a first-year Slytherin.

As tiresome as most of his house-mates were, it just wouldn't do to have them bleeding all over the place. Besides, as a Prefect, it was in part his responsibility to keep his charges alive until school ended.

Seizing a blazing torch from a bracket on the wall, Draco strode over to the vampire, tapping it on the shoulder before thrusting the torch directly into its face. The vampire exploded in a shower of dust, the first-year falling to the floor.

Draco bent down to check the girls pulse, only to be blindsided by another vampire with a force that left him seeing stars. His response was to spin his flaming weapon around and embed the pointed wooden end into its heart. As he choked on dust, the doors to the Hall flew from their hinges to reveal none other than the Dream Team....hovering on broomsticks directly behind one Lily Asher.

Draco stared. "Bloody Hell."

Her voice carried throughout the silent Hall, the vampires having stopped their random slaughtering to assess this new threat. Even Draco had to admit she looked rather imposing, despite her diminished size. The girl simply *radiated* power.

He listened closely, then groaned. Hogwarts was under attack – and Asher was making *jokes*?

Draco heard her taunting invitation in crystal clarity. There was a moment of silence as the vampires looked incredulously at the petite girl, before at least six abandoned their prey and rushed her as one.

Time seemed to start again, and all Hell broke loose.

***

Lily's words rang in Harry's ears as he sped above the pandemonium, wand in hand.

* Get everyone with a pulse out of the way. Kill as many as you can. First rule of slaying – don't die.*

He could see that for some, it was already too late. Students were bleeding left, right and centre. It was almost impossible to tell who was alive and who was dead among the throng.

Urging his broom into a dive, Harry skimmed the top of the Gryffindor table, ramming his wand through the heart of a vampire who was snacking on Seamus. Seamus glanced up at Harry dazedly, before slumping to the floor, unconscious but thankfully still breathing.

Circling, Harry spotted Malfoy wielding a nasty looking torch, randomly setting fire to vampires who came near him. Three beefy-looking vamps were approaching him from behind, fangs glistening. Harry shot toward his nemesis, wand poised. The vampires couldn't be affected by magic, but Malfoy certainly could.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry roared, wand pointed at Malfoy.

To his relief, the Slytherin rose rapidly into the air just as the vampires reached for him. The fiery end of Malfoy's torch caught the biggest vampire's clothing, setting him alight. In his panic, the vampire stumbled, taking the other two down with him. All three were dust within seconds, by which time Harry had caught Malfoy on the back of his Firebolt. Incredibly, Malfoy still found time to be snarky.

"What the bloody hell did you do that for, Potter! I don't need *you* to be my knight in shining armour! Let me down!"

Harry was in no mood for Malfoy's posturing, having spied Neville Longbottom struggling in the grasp of yet another vampire.

"Shut up and start burning, Draco."

To his amazement, his arch-enemy did just that, using the torch as a double ended weapon as Harry sped in Neville's direction. On the steps of the Hall, he could see Lily holding her own against at least four vampires, fighting with the effortless grace of a seasoned warrior. Not wanting to watch her move as a stranger, he turned his gaze to Neville, forgetting what he had been told and using his wand.

Harry blinked in disbelief as the vampire burst into flames when hit by his spell, recovering quickly and pointing his wand at Neville.

Like Malfoy, Neville rose into the air, bleeding slightly but fully conscious. Instead of taking the Gryffindor on his broom, Harry bent down to shout above the din.

"Neville! I need you to get the other students up to the staff platform. Put this on and go as soon as you hit the ground!" Harry threw the trembling boy his Invisibility Cloak. Thankfully, Neville caught it, resolve entering his eyes a moment before he hit the ground running and disappeared from view.

Malfoy snorted, wrenching the pointed end of his torch from the heart of a vampire.

"Potter, have you gone insane? You're entrusting Longbottom, patron saint of fools, to round up lost sheep?"

Harry ignored him, waving frantically at Ron and Hermione who were doing whatever they could to lessen the vampire population. Ron sped over, Hermione slower but still right behind him.

" Some of them can be killed with magic! Use whatever you can to get everyone who's human onto the staff platform, then wait for my signal."

Without being told twice, Ron and Hermione began blasting random vampires with every hex and curse they could think of, clearing a path for the frightened students who began streaming onto the staff table. On the ground, the Professors were using magic to project stakes into hearts, as well as throwing the occasional curse.

Harry and Malfoy whipped past Dumbledore, who had seen them coming and started to use a levitating charm on unfortunate vampires. As the vampires rose, Malfoy set them ablaze, showering the room with dust. Slowly, it appeared that they were winning, the vampires were considerably less than before. Harry allowed himself a moment of hope amongst the chaos.

Predictably, as soon as he entertained the thought that they might actually win, a dozen vampires burst through the entrance of the Hall, obviously the guard searching the school for any escaped students. To Harry's horror, they immediately swamped Lily.

Draco, having set fire to the lone remaining floating vampire, had noticed this, and yelled in Harry's ear.

"Scarhead! Bloody MOVE IT!!"

The combined weight of the two was enough to slow the Firebolt slightly as Harry strained to push it toward the opposite end of the Hall. He realized with a jolt that he could no longer see Lily, her blonde head having disappeared under the fresh wave of vampires.

Passing Ron and Hermione, he signaled them to erect a wall of flame around the students gathered on the platform, before speeding toward Lily, panic rising in his throat.

***

*Vampires*, Lily thought, *could be incredibly stupid*.

Many of them had simply rushed at her, only to find themselves impaled on a stake. Harry, Ron and Hermione had become blurs as she concentrated solely on the fight in front of her, ducking and weaving.

Hissing in pain as a cold fist connected hard with her ribs, Lily was momentarily winded. Months of being inactive were beginning to take their toll, the first waves of fatigue beginning to overtake her.

Shaking it off with difficulty, Lily whirled around to snap the neck of a lone vampire creeping up behind her with a force that separated its head from its body. Three to go.

Her fist drove hard into the windpipe of another, sending the vampire flying against a handily placed torch. Without pausing, Lily snatched at a fourth stake in the waistband of her pants, only to have the world explode with pain as her arm was twisted savagely.

The stake clattered to the floor as Lily stretched her injured hand to reach it, biting clear through her lip as a foot ground down on her exposed hand before kicking the stake out of reach.

Something in her brain suddenly went crazy, and a second later, fresh vampires were pouring through the doors and surrounding her, eyes gleaming at the prospect of blood. With only one good hand, and black spots dancing in her vision, Lily abandoned all pretence of banter and began fighting for her life, blow after blow rocking her body.

Struggling to stay conscious, Lily gritted her teeth, ignoring the blood from her lip running down her chin. At the other end of the Hall, vampires were floating in the air before exploding.

One eye swollen shut, Lily wanted to laugh at the thought of flying vamps, but found she lacked the strength.

A savage kick to her left leg sent her to her knees, vampires closing in around her. Sheer weight of numbers, plus the fact that they were at full fighting strength, meant that it was almost impossible for her to gain any ground at all.

Dimly, Lily could see a ball of fire speeding toward her. Drawing deep within herself, she managed to rise to her feet and continue the fight, actually succeeding in taking out a couple of extremely unskilled vampires. The fire was getting closer, and Lily could make out the shape of two figures on a broomstick, one holding a flaming torch.

"Asher!"

The torch bearer – Draco Malfoy, she realized with a start – was yelling at her, eyes wild. The torch was suddenly spinning through the air toward her, and despite her injured knee, Lily used the stone steps as momentum to spring for it, almost sobbing in relief when her hands closed around the warmed wood.

Landing heavily, she swept the torch in an awkward circle, igniting the remaining vampires and somehow managing to stay on her feet as they exploded into dust around her. Thirteen little piles of dust, she thought absently, before her injured leg gave out and she sank toward the ground.

Unable to stop herself falling, Lily braced herself for the impact, only to feel strong hands close around her upper arms and support her. Male hands….and that meant….

"Harry?" Her voice was barely a whisper. Tilting her head, Lily caught a glimpse of blonde hair and clear blue eyes, set in a face that had lost its usual arrogance under a coating of sweat and grime. Malfoy.

Her eyes flickered upward, where Harry hovered on his Firebolt, equally dirty. Unlike Draco's concerned blue orbs, Harry's were bitterly cold and empty. Without a word, he whipped his broom around and headed toward the other end of the Hall.

" Well bugger me, Asher. You really *are* full of surprises. C'mon – let's get you down the other end with all those other wankers."

Tears bloomed silently in Lily's eyes as she allowed Draco Malfoy, the one person she despised at Hogwarts, to help her limp toward staff and students waiting at the other end of the Great Hall.

Hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, the last thing Lily saw before she gave in to the darkness was Dumbledore's kind face, and behind him, Harry's stony gaze.

*********************************************************************

#The Noble and Most Ancient Crypt of Spike#

Two months ago, Spike would have laughed out loud if someone had suggested he spend a perfectly good hunting night babysitting his Grand-Sire. Laughed like the evil creature of the night he had once been (his future as said evil creature was currently uncertain), then snapped the neck of the fool who'd spoken.

Or if they had a heartbeat; glared really, really hard in their direction.

The scene before him was almost comical. Angel, potential cover-vamp for Haircare Weekly, was crouched silently in a corner, hair dripping limply across his overhanging forehead, lost in the mother of all broods.

There were probably icebergs floating in Hell right now that were more sociable.

"Say, Peaches, you planning to come out of there anytime soon? I've improved things a bit since last time you dropped by – colour telly, bar fridge, actual furniture. Fresh blood even – not human of course. Pretty sure it's pig, but then Willy always was a bit shifty about his sources."

Still no response. Spike crossed to the fridge for a blood-bag, retrieving two from the bottom shelf and biting into one before he tossed the other at Angel's feet. Shuddering at the taste of cold, stale blood, he shrugged off his faithful leather duster before flicking the channels on the television randomly. Sports. News. Some kind of music program. Home Shopping Channel.

Spike watched with raised eyebrows as a blonde tart smiled beneath layers of candy pink lipstick, five inch nails pointing at what she declared 'the very latest in state-of-the-art vegetable peelers'. Looked suspiciously like a bit of metal on the end of a lump of wood. Who bought this crap anyway?

" Peaches, doesn't this bird look like what's-her-name, the one you snacked on during the bullfight in Spain? Not bad for her age – almost lifelike."

Silence from the dark corner. Right. Spike had had enough. Snatching his duster from the chair, he planted his combat boots almost on top of Angel's coat. The untouched bag of blood burst with a satisfying squelch, thick red liquid adding to the mess on the floor. His Grand-Sire looked up at him blankly.

"Get up. We're going out. Rain's stopped and there's talk of a vamp nest in Shadyside Cemetery. Who's up for a spot of violence?"

Spike had no possible way of knowing that at that very moment, a very much alive Buffy Summers was echoing his phrase halfway across the world. Still, he felt an odd tremor pass through his spine. Ignoring it, he pulled a sword from a ledge above Angel's head, smirking with satisfaction as the finely honed edge shaved off a clump of dark hair.

Apparently violence sounded like a better idea than brooding, because Angel stood slowly and followed Spike into the night.

It seemed like an eternity since Spike had last walked this path, treading silently among the marble and wilted flowers of the cemetery. The grass under his feet felt the same – soft and springy, it gave way under his footsteps before rising again to cover the evidence that someone had indeed walked this path.

That Spike himself existed, however pitiful said existence might be.

The night sky was just as black, the stars glittering high above mocking him with each glorious shimmer. The wind swirled black leather around his legs in exactly the same way.

For a brief moment, Spike allowed himself to concentrate on these things, to ignore the little details that beat upon his skull, insisting over and over that things would never be the same, now that *she* was gone.

There was one thing, he thought grimly as they leapt the wall surrounding Shadyside Cemetery, that was getting harder to ignore. It sang to him in the darkness, an eerie song of bloodlust and violence, growing stronger day by day. Spike knew all too well what it was – the Hellmouth was calling.

The thought crossed his mind to ask his Grand-Sire if he too felt it, but he dismissed it as quickly as it had formed. He doubted Angel would understand what it felt like to have his demon tug at it's bonds. Though the Great Poof had been a master of subtle cruelty in his glory days, these days he was an all-or-nothing kind of bloke. The terms were simple – shag or no shag, soul or no soul.

Sure, his demon was still in there, but as there was little chance that Angel would get that moment of happiness anytime soon, it was a pretty sure bet that Angelus was locked tight under all that brooding.

It wasn't as if the pull of the Hellmouth was a new phenomenon – even before he had brought Dru to SunnyHell he'd heard whispered tales among other demons. He dimly remembered driving the DeSoto steadily toward the borders of the town, feeling his demon stir with glee the closer they got.

In retrospect, he realized that the pull had always been nestled in the bottom of his gut. Over the years, he had developed a sort of tolerance for it, until it faded into the background of his mind. Like the scar above his eyebrow, it never vanished completely, a reminder of what he was and where he'd been.

 Part and parcel of having a demon animate his long-dead body, he supposed.

Now was a different story. The undead and evil in this town were growing bolder, whipping themselves into a frenzy courtesy of Hellmouth energy. The newspapers reported an increase in what they'd dubbed the 'Halloween murders' after hearing accounts of people in grotesque costumes slaughtering Sunnydale residents. The first daytime murder had made yesterday's papers.

The Hellmouth was awakening – more to the point, *something* with a great deal of power was prodding it toward new and potentially  more lethal heights.

Arriving at the location of the vampire nest, Spike vented his frustration on the heavy door, which gave under his furious kick. It seemed he wasn't the only one with tension to release – Angel had brushed past him swiftly, disappearing in a blur of black fabric and bared fangs.

Staking a few stragglers half-heartedly, he leaned against a wall, content for once to sit back and watch the comic scene before him: inexperienced vampires foolishly trying to fight back against Angel.

Just as the last stake was plunged into the remaining vampire, the ground beneath them shuddered, sending both Spike and Angel to their knees. Inside, his demon was attempting to split his body in two, fighting against the piece of silicone and metal that was his curse - and yet, also his blessing, for without it he would not have been thrust into the White Hat Brigade - would not have fought beside the Slayer rather than against her…

"Spike?"

With a start, Spike realized two things. First, that the tremor appeared to be over - the night air was now filled with a cacophony of car alarms - and second, that he had been sodding *brooding*.

Without a word, he rose and started in the direction of his crypt, no longer caring whether Angel was following. However uncomfortable the feeling of one's body dividing may be, it at least offered a moment of respite from the endless game of 'what if'.

Peaches, to his annoyance, was close on his heels, now all recovered and apparently wanting to play let's-be-friends. Despite his deep dislike of Angelus, Spike would have rather been raped and taunted than submit to Soulboy's version of Twenty Questions.

"Bugger off."

When Angel spoke again, his voice rang with a terrifying undertone that made Spike stop dead in his tracks.

"You feel it too."

Spike did not move, did not turn around lest his face betray him. He forced scorn into his words.

" What do you think I am, a bleeding idiot? This is California, Peaches. Earthquakes aren't that rare around here. So the ground shook. Big fucking deal. Now, if you're quite done…"

"Not the quake. The Hellmouth. You feel your demon stirring beneath your skin."

So Angel *had* felt it. With forced calm, Spike replied, feeling as he did that he was waist-deep in water and about to take a step into quicksand.

"This may come as a shock to you, Peaches, but I *am* a demon. No handy soul to stop me from doing whatever the hell I want - just a chunk of plastic speared through my brainstem. An evil, bloodsucking fiend, despite the Slayer's best attempts to make me her lap-dog."

The ferocity of the lie surprised even him. Angel was growling in anger. Somehow, Spike couldn't stop the words pouring from his mouth.

"Bitch always did have a soft spot for the neutered puppies."

With a roar, Angel tackled him from behind, but Spike had been ready for this. Bending low, he sent his Grand-Sire flying into a headstone, which cracked under the weight. In a heartbeat, Angel was on his feet again, eyes yellow. Still Spike continued to taunt him.

" Taught me some new tricks along the way, too. 'Course, most of them are sorta *personal*, if you get my drift…."

This time, Spike wasn't quite ready for Angel's attack, and it was he who was sent flying. Angel's boot pressed into his throat with enough force to crack his windpipe. Not that he needed it for anything except inhaling cigarette smoke.

" Watch your mouth or I'll sew it closed, William."

Shaking off the boot, Spike dodged out of reach.

"Is that the thanks I get for being man enough to do what you couldn't? For watching her back while you played the hero in the big smoke? Always were the first to pass the buck, weren't you?"

" She would *never* love you. You're a monster."

" Oh, so it's a cosmic crime to think outside the box of evil, bloodsucking fiend? Fuck you, Peaches. You think you have the monopoly on pain? Look around you. You made your bloody choice, you walked away. Weighed the odds and decided it was just too fucking hard to hang around, set up shop in LA like a happy little boy scout."

Spike weaved among headstones, no longer caring what happened to him, whether Angel staked him or not. Instead, he gave into the pull, let the anger flow through him like a cleansing tide. Angel's fist connected with his nose, borrowed blood spurting from both nostrils. Oh, but his Grand-Sire was royally pissed off.

" Buffy only kept you around because you were useful, a pitiful de-fanged creature willing to lick her boots at the first sign of affection."

Without missing a beat, Spike lashed out at his Grand-Sire, a thrill running through him at the echoing crunch of bone. Sire and Childe continued this way for long minutes, until Spike spun and pinned his Grand-Sire firmly to the ground.

" The Slayer *needed* me, trusted me with Dawn's life more than once. Didn't hear her asking *you* to leave your LA throne to help her out. You left her here to *die*."

Angel's eyes were flashing dangerously. " Don't talk to *me* about letting Buffy die, it wasn't *me* who failed on that tower."

The world disappeared in a haze of red hot fury as the thin shreds of Spike's control snapped. Still holding Angel down, Spike located a stake in the uncut grass and pressed it against his Grand-Sire's chest. Every dead nerve and sinew screamed at him to thrust it through the heart, to make it quick.

Spike found his traitorous hand would not obey.

The anger flowed from him suddenly, leaving him hollow and broken. Tossing the stake as far as he could, he released Angel, who looked equally as defeated. As if the fight had never happened, they sat in silence, not looking at each other. It was Angel who spoke first.

"We should go back to the house. Tell Wesley and Giles what just happened. There's something else doing this – something controlling the demons in Sunnydale."

Spike nodded slowly. Angel stood, wiping blood from his face. Without looking at his Grand-Sire, Spike offered the only explanation he was willing to give that night.

" She never loved me. Fuck, she hated me most of the time, her and her little Scoobies. But there were times when she made me feel almost like a man. She trusted me with the Platelet. That was enough."

When he looked up, Angel had disappeared into the night. Collecting his forgotten sword, Spike headed toward the Summers' house, an odd prickling feeling rising on the back of his neck .

Hidden  in the trees, a cloaked figure watched him leave, gritting his teeth in absolute fury. A heartbeat later, the Death Eater had vanished with a sharp 'crack'.

The Dark Lord was *not* going to be pleased about this.

*********************************************************************

#Casa de Summers#

The house was dark, the only light coming from flickering candles and the occasional torch-beam from the street. In the dining room, every chair was filled as the Scooby Gang waited for news from above.

Shaggy sat silently in the corner, eyes bright in what could have been called anticipation were he not just Dawn's adopted dog. Willow had opened the door shortly after the quake had finished to find him sitting on the front porch, tail wagging furiously. As if sensing that something was wrong in the Summers house, he had gazed upstairs for a moment before settling himself in his current position.

Rubbing his eyes, Giles entered the room. Slightly startled to find the others staring at him, he retreated to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of single-malt and two glasses. Splashing a generous amount into each, he handed one to Wesley before draining his glass. The only one to protest was Anya, who glared indignantly at him.

"There are enough glasses in this house for an army. I'm not sharing yours."

Giles blinked dumbly before her meaning sank in. He sighed wearily.

" Anya, unless in the half hour I've been watching Dawn you magically aged a few months, you are still underage, and therefore not having a drink."

" There was an earthquake."

Giles didn't see the point, and judging by the blank faces around him, he was not alone on this. Anya gave her patented are-you-all-stoned look, speaking in a voice one might use to explain something to a small child.

" Everyone knows that unexplained earthquakes are a sign of the apocalypse. I'd like to get to the passing out before that happens."

Cordelia raised an eyebrow, swiping Wesley's glass and raising it to her lips. Handing it back to him, she grinned.

"Sure, so you can wake up in the middle of Hell with a hangover. On another note, Giles…."

"Hey! How come she gets to drink?"

Cordelia didn't miss a beat. "My birthday was in April. I'm legal. Spank your inner demon and let's move on. How's Dawn?" This last question was directed at Giles.

Seeing Anya's face go from red to puce in frustration, he gave in and went to the kitchen for more glasses. Pouring a tiny splash into each before handing them carefully around, Giles debated the best way to answer Cordelia's question.

Seeing their concerned faces flicker eerily in the candlelight, Giles realized that there was no way to gloss over the truth. If he could have spared their feelings, he would have done it without hesitating – no matter the cost. The fact remained that, legal or not, they had seen too much horror to be treated like children.

" I believe the Key – Dawn - is reacting to a shift in dimensional energy. In a brief moment between her seizures, she spoke of hearing whispers. Apparently she has been hearing them since the night….s-since Buffy….jumped into Glory's p-portal."

Willow interrupted, her eyes bright with tears. " You're wrong, Giles! She would have said something – would have told us! She was fine until tonight."

Giles halted Willow's babbling with an upraised hand. " Dawn did not want to add to our troubles. I imagine she thought the voices were part of her grief, and would disappear in time. By the time she realized they were only increasing in intensity, we were caught up in translating the prophecy."

Tara had already made the connection. "She t-thought we would s-send her away, thinking she was g-going insane. S-she's been so quiet lately and w-we assumed it was b-because of Buffy."

During this time, Xander had been watching Giles closely. He had never really thought of the Watcher as old before this moment, but suddenly he could see every line, every shadow. Every heartache.

 The burn that had started in his chest was nothing to do with his empty glass.

"There's more, isn't there?"

Wondering when exactly Xander had become so astute, Giles nodded slowly.

" We already know that the Key was created as a gateway to other dimensions. Where there is a door, there must be a lock to prevent dimensions bleeding into one another. A kind of tuning device, if you like, the Key is capable of matching the frequency of the user's intended destination."

"But Glory…"

" Glory's wish was to return home, Willow. It is likely that in her haste she miscalculated, failed to 'tune' the Key properly. When Dawn's blood was spilt, it opened the locks to all of the dimensions. It should have taken equal power to completely end the cycle."

Fred had been sitting quietly at the table, deep in thought. While the others sat mutely, stunned by this information, she spoke up timidly.

"Mr Giles, you mean that Dawn should not be here. This Glory, she made a mistake and unleashed something she could not control. The blood that closed the... the portal had to be identical to the blood that opened it."

Fred paused, eyes darting nervously around as if to gauge the reaction. "Dawn was made from Buffy's blood – but they didn't put any of the Key in Buffy, did they?"

She was rewarded with a tired smile from Giles. "No, Fred. The monks did not anticipate Buffy sacrificing herself. As it is, the walls between the dimensions were closed, but weakened. To open them would still require immense power, but the Key is no longer essential."

The words echoed in the silent room. *The Key is no longer essential.*

"So Dawnie is just going to be human now? The Key part will fade from her?"

They all desperately wanted Willow's words to be true, but it seemed unreal that things could be that simple. After all, the universe had so far allowed them nothing without a fight. Giles hated that he had to shatter that fragile hope.

" The Key and Dawn are not two separate entities. It is in her blood, entwined in every living cell in her body. If there is no need for the Key, it will cease to exist. If that happens…."

He could not finish the sentence, did not want to speak those terrible words and make them true. Looking around, he saw that there was no need to finish the sentence that they already knew the end of. They knew, because they knew *him*; could read it in his stricken face.

" That's not FAIR!" Willow was sobbing. " We're not talking about some object here, we're talking about a little *girl*! Dawn has as much right to be here as any of us, she's lost her mother and her sister and she's suffered and cried and fought and she's HUMAN, dammit! We can't just sit around chatting and wait for her to DIE!"

"Willow, Giles never said…."

Willow was beyond reason. Her eyes solid black, she seized her empty glass and threw it forcefully at the wall, spraying shards of glass over Shaggy. The dog shot from his corner where he had been listening attentively to the conversation, black eyes gazing up at Willow in surprise.

All eyes were on Willow as she sank to the floor, burying her face in the dog's mass of fur and sobbing. Shaggy seemed to fix his eyes on Giles as if asking for permission, awakening a horrible suspicion in the ex-Watcher's mind.

Reaching behind him for the thin box on the table, Giles stood sharply, wand pointed directly at the animal.

"Get away from her." The dog complied, Willow staring at him in shock. That voice belonged not to the Watcher he had become, but to Ripper.

"Whoever you are, show yourself, or I'll bloody do it for you."

Shaggy's fur began to ripple, and there was the horrible cracking sound of bones shifting.

Everyone watched in silence as the dog seemed to stand on his back paws which quickly became man-sized shoes. Fur disappeared, replaced by pants, shirt and heavy cloak, all black. Front paws became arms, one of which was grasping a wand similar to the one Giles was pointing.

Finally, pointed ears and nose gave way to a mop of unruly black hair framing piercing blue eyes set in a very *human* face. Said eyes flicked to Giles's, watching carefully as the Watcher blinked in surprise.

Anya frowned, looking at her glass suspiciously. "Giles, did you put something in my drink? I swear I just saw Dawn's mutt turn into a sex god." She closed her eyes carefully, then opened them. "Nope – he's still there, all human-like."

To everyone's surprise, Giles relaxed the death grip he had on his wand, though he kept it pointed at the stranger.

"Sirius Black?"

An answering nod. "Rupert."

Anya rubbed her eyes with her fists. " I am *never* drinking again."

*********************************************************************

A/N: *music of doom* This does not look good for…well, anyone really. Except possibly Sirius, who is temporarily saved from peeing on trees. Smirk.

Next chapter: Buffy is looking for answers….actually, pretty much everyone is looking for answers. Meanwhile, Hogwarts deals with the aftermath of the attack, Voldemort is officially on the move, and Snape will perform the Snoopy Dance in the Great Hall stark naked.

Reviews are much appreciated. Puh-lease?

*tigerlily (who may have lied about the dancing Snape part.)