Worlds Wrought & Ruined
Chapter 1
Spoilers: Buffy Season 7; Angel Season 4; Harry Potter, Books 1 thru 5
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, etc. Harry Potter and all associated characters, setting, props, etc., belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Inc., etc. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Spike's nicknames for his coworkers at the end.
Thanks to my brilliant Beta Lady Lestrange. Without her, I would never have had the courage to write this story, let alone post it.
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Chapter 1
Supernatural Connections
+++
Time: ~11:00 GMT
Location: Potions Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Scotland UK
~@~@~@~
The Potions class silently filed out, leaving Harry, head lying in his hands, unmoving at his table, cauldron empty and fire quenched.
He heard the door shut and muttered locking and silencing spells.
"Mr. Potter, dare I hope that I was correct in class and you merely fell asleep?" Harry shook his head in the negative and Snape sighed. "I didn't think so, but I had hoped. Am I correct in assuming you experienced a vision?" Harry nodded. After a lengthy pause, Snape continued testily, "Well?"
"Well, what sir?"
"First pick up your head and look at me when you speak." The boy complied, cracking his eyes open ever so slightly and managing to look thoroughly miserable. "What did you see?"
"That's just it sir, I'm not quite sure what I saw."
"Well, I assume it has something to do with the Dark Lord—" but he stopped when the boy started shaking his head in the negative. "It wasn't?" he asked incredulously.
"No, as far as I could tell, it had nothing to do with Voldemort." Snape flinched at the boy's casual use of the name, but did not reproach him. Harry continued weakly, "It was bizarre—it felt like no other vision that I have had. There was no pain. It was like a dream, at least I think it was, someone else's dream that I was observing. If it was a dream, it was an extremely strange one. The reason I know it wasn't Voldemort is because I could see the dreamer and it was not him." He paused.
"Who was it?"
"I have no idea, never seen him before in my life: curly hair, pale skin, blue eyes. One girl addressed him as Spike, I think."
"Spike?"
"That is what it sounded like," Harry answered.
"Is that a—common Muggle name?"
"No," Harry said slowly, giving the Potions Master a look indicating that, in his opinion, Snape was an idiot wizard for even asking the question.
"Well, you never can tell with Muggles…" Snape mumbled to himself. Then he seemed to collect himself and barked, "Are you sure this—Spike—is the dreamer?"
"I have to assume he was the dreamer because he was the only thing in the dream that didn't change." He looked thoughtful for a moment and then continued, "And didn't look dead."
He paused, thinking, and then looked Snape in the eyes hopefully, "Do you think that's it? Do you think someone is killing these women and I can somehow help them?"
"Potter, since you do not seem to know any of these people, do you not think it is highly unlikely that you are meant to run off to save them?"
"No, I suppose not," said Harry with a frown. "I wouldn't even know where to go. The people in the dream all spoke with different accents and I don't mean Irish or Scottish, so it was impossible for me to tell where they were, assuming they were ever all in one place. I mean, one girl was Chinese, and spoke Chinese. Another had a really thick accent, maybe one of the African countries. Most seemed to have American accents but the dreamer was British. He was slightly hard to understand—the words seemed rough somehow."
Snape nodded, "A sign of lower-class upbringing." Harry frowned in confusion, and Snape explained further, "His accent would be cleaner, more like yours, if his family had the money to send him to proper schooling. The accent would stay the same as long as he remained around those with similar ways of speaking. Understand?" Harry nodded, even though his brow was still furrowed. "What?"
"Well, the last two speakers were also British; the first spoke very clearly but the other spoke just like him. And he seemed to know both of them. I didn't really see the end, you—ah—woke me before it ended."
"Yes, well, that was unfortunate but unavoidable. We had best take this to the Headmaster. Come along Potter."
He groaned, "Can I get something for my head first? It feels like it has been split open with a chainsaw." At the uncomprehending look, Harry amended the comment. "A Muggle-type ax."
"Ah, yes, I can see where that would be painful."
++
Time: ~11:10 GMT
Location: Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Scotland UK
Walking up the spiral stairs to the Headmaster's office, Severus asked himself what he had done in life to deserve this. After a moment, he glanced down at his left arm, answering his own silent question. But still, Gryffindors?
"Albus," the Potions Master greeted tersely as he entered the office.
"Good Morning Severus."
"I see nothing good about it," Severus scowled darkly. His entire day was ruined because of Potter and his damned vision. And right in the middle of his class, too.
"Now Severus—"
Harry slowly walked in, staring at the ground. Severus raised an eyebrow at Albus, indicating the cause of his dark mood.
"Headmaster, Mr. Potter nodded off in my class—"
"I didn't—" Harry head shot up, starting to protest to the Headmaster.
"Or at least I thought he did. It seems he had a vision."
Dumbledore straightened in his seat, his eyes losing some of their twinkle. He looked at Harry, slightly frowning, "During the day? Isn't that a little strange Harry?"
Severus snorted as Potter began to answer the clearly rhetorical question.
Harry nodded, "Even stranger is who the vision is from and who it isn't from."
Severus quirked his lips and said, somewhat amused, "It seems Mr. Potter has tapped into yet another person's subconscious—however unintentional it was—and even managed to do it during class." Probably on purpose, he added silently.
Albus ignored his Potions Master and concentrated on Harry, assuring that he made solid eye contact. Severus was sure that the Headmaster was ascertaining for himself that Potter answered truthfully. Amazing, the Headmaster didn't blindly trust Potter. Of course, the boy had given them all good reason to doubt his word.
"It was not Voldemort?"
Severus flinched instinctively and then scowled at the Headmaster.
Harry said definitively, "No, it was most definitely not him."
"How can you be so sure Harry?"
"Albus, why would the Dark Lord send Potter a vision in the middle of my Potions class? What possible purpose could it serve?"
"To interrupt your Potions class Severus? If so, he succeeded," Dumbledore said with some mirth.
Severus whirled around, scowling, expecting to see Potter laughing at him right along with the Headmaster. The scowl dropped from his face as he saw Potter, not sitting but standing, body rigid with anger, his hands tightly fisted. He was glaring angrily at the Headmaster, face slowly reddening. Severus looked at Dumbledore, scowling again, but this time in reproach not anger. The young Mister Potter seemed to have plenty anger for all three of them.
"Albus, that is in no way, shape or form amusing. Any visions related to Him are nothing to joke about. And Mister Potter, unless you wish to give the Dark Lord a look into your life, you must calm down. I know that you feel the need to hit Albus in frustration for his show of amazing lack of tack, I often feel that way also, but you must restrain yourself."
Severus leveled his stare at the headmaster, thinking of how often he felt that way himself and hoping that Albus heard him. Albus flinched. Good. He continued silently to himself as he let his words sink in to the boy's incredibly dense head. After all, if Potter hit him, we would need to get a new Headmaster and I already have Albus thoroughly broken in. It is such a bothersome process, the breaking in of a Headmaster.
When the boy looked a little less homicidal, Severus sneered nastily and added, "I suggest you venting your anger on someone else, perhaps Peeves. We could always get another Poltergeist, if we even felt the need to replace him."
"Harry, I am sorry. I was only teasing Severus, I meant nothing by it."
"Even if you didn't mean it, it still hurt," Harry said curtly as he slowly sat down. After an awkward moment, Harry spoke, "The reason I know it wasn't Voldemort is because I think it was a dream I witnessed, and I saw the dreamer. It was not him."
"Well, then that makes this even more curious," Albus said as he stood. "Do you know of any connection to anyone in the dream?"
"No, none. Why?"
"There has to be some reason you saw this vision or dream, some connection that caused you to be drawn into the dream." The Headmaster walked over to Fawkes and gazed out the window, absently stroking the phoenix. He turned back towards them, still pondering, "Strange, who would be dreaming at this time of day?"
Severus rolled his eyes and muttered, "Merlin save me from the utter stupidity of Gryffinors and their actions." Louder, he continued, "Perhaps someone in a different country or even continent. I will leave you to it. My patience cannot bear anymore Gryffindors just now. I will be collecting potion ingredients after my final class Headmaster. Good day."
The Potions Master left the office, thinking about how quiet and serene the forest would be when he got there. Mentally, he added quickly that he was going to forest to collect potion ingredients, not to get away from irritating students or teachers or headmasters.
~@~@~@~
Harry watched, slightly amused, as his cranky Potions Professor insulted the Headmaster. Snape had insulted him too, but that was nothing new; he did it practically every day. But pointing out an obvious observation that the Headmaster overlooked and muttering about the stupidity of Gryffindors in the same breath, that was not something that happened every day. Harry had thoroughly enjoyed it actually and wondered, as Snape left the office, where his professor was off to. He was almost sad to see him go. Almost.
"Ah, yes—Harry you will have to excuse Severus, he—"
"I understand Headmaster, we are all anxious," Harry said as he turned back to the Headmaster.
"Did anything in the dream give you an indication as the where the dreamer was?"
Harry shook his head negatively. "I couldn't tell where the dreamer was, everyone had different accents: Chinese, African, American and even some British. The dreamer, he spoke with a harsher British accent and one of the girls called him Spike."
"Spike? That is quite a name. What did he look like—no, wait; start at the beginning."
"I think it started with us on the Tube, not one like in London, maybe somewhere in America…"
++
Time: ~11:30 GMT
After he had finished telling the dream, Harry looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore didn't say anything while he recounted the dream, simply listened. He remained silent for quite some time afterwards, simply continued staring out the window and occasionally stroked Fawkes. Finally, Harry questioned impatiently, "Headmaster?"
Dumbledore turned then and looked at him. "Ah, Harry, I don't quite know what to make of it. You say you don't recognize anyone?"
"No. Should I?" asked Harry sharply.
"Well, there has to be a reason you had this vision—some sort of connection between you and something in the vision."
Harry sat back and crossed his arms. "Don't ask me—I just have the visions—I'm not meant to understand."
"Harry—please—" Dumbledore pleaded tiredly as he sat himself behind his desk once again. "I am doing the best I can; don't work against me, please."
Harry grumbled unhappily, but did uncross his arms and huffed, "Fine. Any ideas?"
"Maybe—one of the women—you said she was a witch?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
Harry closed his eyes, recalling the vision. "Well, at first, she wasn't a witch."
"At first?"
"Yes—she was dressed like a Muggle—she looked the same, but this was a different girl. It's—it's confusing—" Harry stopped, shaking his head in frustration.
"Just take it slow. This Muggle, she changed into the witch?"
"Yes. The face and the body stayed the same, but everything else changed."
"What exactly changed?"
"Um—" Harry trailed off, not quite sure what changed when, and his head still hurt.
"Okay, start by describing the Muggle."
"The Muggle had long, straight dark brown hair and big blue eyes, slim build. She was dressed in jeans and a shirt. And she was one of the Americans. After she finished scolding the dreamer, her accent changed 'til she sounded similar to me."
"British?"
Harry nodded and continued, "Then her clothes—shifted, changed into blue robes and her hair changed—"
"How do you know that it was robes and not a Muggle dress?"
"Because they looked like robes," Harry snapped off, angry at being accused of not being able to tell the difference between robes and a dress. They looked as different as night and day and the Headmaster would know that if he even bothered to pay attention to anything Muggle besides sweets. With a scowl, he continued, "Like I said, her hair changed, instead of hanging loose like before, was done up some way and then there was a wand tucked behind her ear."
"What ear?"
Harry opened his eyes and gave Dumbledore a confused look and said slowly, "Her left—why?"
Dumbledore smiled in that smug, arrogant way that he had patented and proceeded to patronize Harry in the way he absolutely hated. "Harry, what pocket do you keep your wand in?"
"My right pocket."
"Why?"
"Because I'm right-handed." Getting it, he added, abashed, "So that means the witch is left-handed."
Dumbledore nodded, "Which is not common, even in the Muggle world." Harry nodded also, agreeing. The Headmaster brought them back to the dream by asking, "What happened next?"
Harry closed his eyes again, again trying to recall the details of his vision. After a moment, he had returned to the point in the dream they had stopped at.
"After she had completely shifted into the witch, she said something about going back to the wizarding world, which the dreamer seemed surprised to hear. Then he said her name—I don't think he was sure it was her—he seemed surprised to see her, like he was seeing a ghost."
"What name did he call her?"
"Elizabeth."
"Ahhhh." Dumbledore's eyebrows went up and he leaned back, fingers interlaced, closing his eyes in silent contemplation.
After a long pause, Harry tentatively asked, "Professor?"
Without opening his eyes, Dumbledore responded, "Harry, how old would you say the Muggle is?"
"My age, I guess," Harry answered slowly, once again confused.
"And how old would you say the witch was? Was she the same age?"
Harry paused, thinking, and then answered, "A little older, I think, maybe early 20's."
Then Harry made a leap, "You recognize her, don't you?"
Dumbledore opened his eyes, his gaze somewhere far away. "If it is who I believe, then you were, indeed, seeing a ghost."
"Who?" Harry demanded, his eyes once again open and fastened onto the slippery headmaster.
"Phineas—I know you are listening—you can come out."
Some grumbling came from Phineas Nigellus's portrait and then he appeared, scowling.
"Hello Sir—how are you?" Harry asked Phineas, surprised at his appearance, but happy to see him none the less.
"Well, Mister Potter. Thank you for asking," Phineas answered courteously. He then smirked and said, very much amused, "A very unique vision you had and in Potions of all classes. I can only assume that Severus was not pleased."
"An understatement," Harry grumbled and Phineas's smirk widened.
"Phineas, did you recognize this 'Elizabeth' that Harry described or is my age affecting my memory?"
"Age, Albus—I never knew you were so funny. Only ever one Elizabeth like that and you are correct, Mr. Potter has seen a ghost. Perhaps two even…" Phineas's voice trailed off.
"Phineas—Elizabeth?"
With an air of importance, he smiled and announced, "The one and only Elizabeth Marianne Crawford Potter."
Harry choked, "Potter? How—?"
Albus responded, "A great-great-great aunt of yours Harry, one that I went to school with actually."
"School—Hogwarts?" A nod. "But she's so young in the vision—dead—?"
"Died from Consumption at age 20. A brilliant witch, Ravenclaw."
"How do you know that it is her?"
"Well, I am not positive, but Elizabeth was the only witch I have ever known to always put her wand behind her ear, her left ear because she was left-handed. Her brothers were constantly stealing her wand, irritated her to no end, but still she kept it behind that ear. She was sometimes quite absentminded, as brilliant minds often are, and frequently misplacing her wand unless she kept it tucked behind her ear."
Harry interrupted, "Her brothers—?"
"Both younger: Richard and William. Richard was your great-great-great-grandfather. It seems we have found our connection."
"Are you sure that woman actually was Elizabeth Potter?" Harry asked suspiciously.
It was Phineas that answered his query while the Headmaster was deep in thought. "Mr. Potter, with the physical description you gave us, her wand and the fact that her first name is Elizabeth, it is the most logical conclusion. Adding the fact that it is you, the great-something-nephew of Elizabeth, are witnessing a dream that has no other connection to you besides the apparent appearance of Elizabeth Potter and her identity is confirmed. A simple deduction."
Harry's mind was spinning. "Of course—simple," he repeated dazedly.
++
Time: ~03:00 PST (GMT-8)
Location: Angel's Office: Executive Meeting Room, Wolfram & Hart
Los Angeles, CA USA
~@~@~@~
Spike's head was still pounding and the arguing was not helping. Why couldn't they just decide and then shut-up!
After giving a quick overview of his vision on the very-early morning phone conference, the group had quickly assembled at Wolfram and Hart, rousing the entire law firm to life at 3 am. Here Spike had given a much more detailed narrative, recalling as much detail as possible with his migraine.
The moment he had signaled he was done, the fighting had started. The Watcher liked to call it "discussion" with the "occasional raised voices." It's amazing how all of them managed to "occasionally" raise their voices at the same time, all the time.
He groaned and laid his head down on the table.
"Hey Uncle Bill," a voice said as a body dropped into the chair next to him. Spike didn't even bother to raise his head to look at the speaker. He only let one person get away with calling him Bill, and only one person had ever wanted to call him Uncle. Connor. Angel's son.
"Hey kid," Spike said to the table. He sighed and turned his head to blearily look at Connor, asking, "Any sign of them stopping?"
Connor shook his head in the negative and gave Spike a searching look. "Your head hurting?"
Spike snorted, then lifted his head and grimaced, "That would be a yes." He continued to talk as he turned to look at the rest of the table, his voice slowly increasing in volume, "My head hasn't ever stopped hurting since I was ripped from sleep by the vision that Everyone—Is—Yelling—About!!"
At the outburst, everyone else stopped talking immediately and turned to stare at Spike.
Spike rubbed the right side of his forehead, which was hurting him particularly badly, and spoke softly but clearly, "I am going to talk quietly and you will all listen, no one will interrupt because I am the only person in this damned room with first hand knowledge of the Wizarding World—Okay?" Spike asked, teeth clenched, and everyone nodded, agreeing. He unclenched his teeth and continued, "Good. Gunn, what official contacts does Wolfram & Hart have with the wizarding world?"
Gunn thought a moment; accessing his extensive memory of the law firm and its business dealings, and then answered with a small smile, "Banking."
"With Gringotts?" asked Spike, surprised.
"Yes," was Gunn's succinct reply.
"Excellent, that will make things a great deal easier. The Goblins will give us instant credibility. How much business do we do with them?"
Gunn's smile increased, "Enough that the President personally deals with us whenever possible. I will contact him." Gunn stood, preparing to leave.
"Good—tell him we will need them to contact the Ministry of Magic on our behalf in a matter of extreme importance." Spike paused and Gunn nodded, pulling out his cell phone and briskly left the room. "Next, we'll need to know of Drusilla is really in Europe."
"Wesley's department will handle that. They have been meticulously recording all vampire activity—"
Spike interrupted Angel, "Why?"
Connor snorted.
Wesley simply glared at Spike and asked tersely, "Do you ever pay attention to the weekly briefings?"
"Not if I can help it, no," Spike responded wryly with a smirk.
Connor outright laughed at that, but stopped almost immediately when Spike grimaced in pain from the loud noise. "Sorry Uncle," he apologized softly.
"Recording all vampire activity since its dramatic increase three months ago," Angel finished his earlier statement, answering Spike's question in the process. He continued, speaking directly to the Watcher, "Find out if she is on the continent or is already in the UK."
"It will be hard, with the increase in vampire activity, to spot the movements of a single vampire, let alone distinguish which vampire it is," Wesley stated.
"Just do your best—she dresses very distinctly—use that. If you can't find her, we will work on the assumption she is already in the area of the school," Angel finished and motioned for the Watcher to start the search.
After Wesley had left, Angel turned back to Spike and asked, "Well, what's next Will?"
"First, do not call me that, Peaches," Spike scowled at Angel and Angel return the scowl. After a moment of staring at each other, Spike answered simply, "Weapons."
Angel groaned. "Are you still insisting we go over there? Don't they have people to take care of this stuff?"
Spike thought that Angel sounded amazingly like a child who didn't want to pick up his toys. Champion indeed.
"Yes, they have their own version of police, call 'em Aurors. The reason you don't let the police handle supernatural things here in LA is the same reason the Aurors cannot handle Dru there: she will rip them into very small pieces."
Fred piped in with a question just then, "Why us then?"
"What, besides keeping the nice Aurors in one piece? 'Cause, Winnie—Angel and me are the only people that can safely contain Dru. She will listen to us." Hopefully.
"Then why weapons?"
At this, Spike smiled. It never ceased to amaze him, the petite scientist's continuing naivety. "Winifred, doll, Drusilla is not the nastiest beast in that forest I saw her in. There are enough critters in there to keep the Destroyer here happy for months, if not years."
Connor perked up at that. "Really?" he asked like a kid in a candy store.
Spike chuckled, shaking his head in mirth, "Yeah kid, really. So you see the need for weapons now Winnie?"
Fred nodded, wide-eyed, and asked meekly, "How many people need to be equipped?"
Angel raised his eyebrows at Spike, who nodded and answered, "Three: me, Angel and Con."
"Full setup each?" Angel nodded yes and Fred turned to Spike. "Anything special we need to get together?"
"No. Just make sure these two's swords are sharpened and find the kid's favorite axe, I don't want to hear him whining the entire trip—"
"I do not whine!"
Spike rolled his eyes, "Right. Sharpen my matching short-swords and make sure all scabbards can be tightly secured—basic stuff. Is my collapsible staff finished yet?—if it is, I want that too."
"Yes, they finished it yesterday. Anything else? If not, I will have the weapons prepped."
"Thanks Winnie. Oh—and my brace too!"
Fred just shook her head and yawned as she left the room, waving over her head to Spike in acknowledgment.
"So what do we tell this Ministry?"
"Don't right know. Let Gunn come up with the wording—he's the barrister. They are a bunch of bureaucrats—you know how well I respond to authority."
Angel snorted, "Almost as well as Connor."
The kid shot his father a dark look, crossed his arms and slouched down in his seat. Spike then scowled at Angel, whose only response was a shrug. Then Connor's face creased with a frown and he leaned over to Spike and asked softly, "What's a barrister and why is Gunn one?"
Spike chuckled and shook his head. He shot an amused glance at Connor and replied, "Another word for a lawyer, kid."
"Oh," Connor said, slouching back in his seat again.
Spike laughed again and continued his earlier thought, "I'd rather not deal with the bureaucrats or the Ministry of Magic, but we have to go through them to get to the Headmaster."
"Headmaster?" Connor asked.
"Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." At Connor's still confused look, Spike clarified, "The person who runs the school of magic where I saw Dru." Connor understood that and nodded. Spike continued his earlier thought, "The Headmaster is the only person who can give us access to that forest that Dru will be hiding in."
"How will Drusilla get there? She isn't going to ask first," Connor wondered aloud.
Both Spike and Angel chuckled at that thought, Drusilla asking permission to go somewhere? Angel answered his son, "No, she won't. She will most likely just sneak in."
"Then why can't we just sneak in too and avoid all of this stuff?" Connor uncrossed his arms to gesture vaguely around the room, indicating 'this stuff'- the round-about contacts and bureaucratic nonsense.
"At least two reasons kid: one being that we need to know who it is I saw Dru attacking. To do that, we have to talk to them and to do that, we can't very well have them hunting and trying to kill us. And two: we have to get there as soon as possible, as in sometime today. Do you know of anyway to get halfway across the world without magic?"
"No," Connor said sulkily.
Spike chuckled and ruffled the kid's hair. Connor swatted his hands away and then, in a supreme show of maturity, stuck his tongue out in retaliation. The action seemed to trigger something in Spike's memory, something important involving another teen sticking a tongue out at him. But as he tried to grasp onto the memory, it slipped away and dissolved.
He smirked at Connor and patted his head. "It's okay Con, those were all logical questions and, considering how we usually handle problems, all very good ideas too. We'll probably still have to do a lot of law breaking to get where we need to be, so don't worry, we aren't suddenly becoming law-abiding citizens."
"Technically Uncle, none of us are citizens."
"Details, details, you lil'
brat."
"Spike, are you trying to corrupt my son?"
"Trying?" asked Connor at the same time Spike spoke.
"Me, corrupt him?" Spike asked innocently and exchanged grins with Connor.
Together, they said, "Nah!"
"This headmaster, he is the one we will have to convince that the vision is genuine?" Angel asked, trying to get back on track.
"Yes."
Connor thought for a second and then asked, "To be in charge of a school for magic, the person would have to be a really strong witch?"
"Or wizard, yes," Spike answered.
"So let me get this straight—we have to contact this really strong witch or wizard that runs an entire school for magic and we are doing this through a bank run by Goblins.
"Then we have to convince this strong wizard-person that the vision is true and there will be, in the near future, a strong, insane vampire on the school grounds.
"Then we are going to ask him to let us, three strong, supernatural creatures, go to his school fully armed and extremely dangerous, to handle this insane vampire," Connor paused in his summary of the mornings events, seeming to be adding things together.
He seemed to conclude his thinking and finished, incredulously, "So, instead of having one dangerous, supernatural creature loose at his school, he will have four dangerous, supernatural creatures at his school."
Angel looked decidedly nervous at his son's words. "Well, if you put it like that—"
Spike glared at Connor, who was grinning in mirth at rattling his father. "Shut-up kid. We are going to ask nicely."
"That will make all the difference Spike," Angel spat out.
"Bite me Peaches," Spike growled back. His headache was coming back and it was because of Connor. God knows he loved the kid, but he had made too much sense. They were going to have a hell of a time convincing the Headmaster to let them onto the school grounds. What sensible wizard would agree to let three very dangerous people that he didn't know or trust into a school populated with children that he was charged with protecting?
"Uncle, you probably shouldn't say things like that to Father, you never know when a vampire will take you up on the offer," Connor said smiling cheekily.
Damn, the kid had another excellent point. That was all he needed, Angelus biting him. Spike glanced quickly at Angel and was relieved to see him brooding. A brooding Angel is an Angel that still has his soul and therefore less likely to bite him. Less likely, meaning Angel might still decide that it sounded like a good idea. His head hurt too much to think anymore.
Maybe if he went to sleep, the others would solve all the problems and leave him alone so he could rest peacefully, for once. Maybe he could even pick up the thread of the dream he was having before the Vision ripped him from slumber. Maybe—but highly unlikely. Why him?
Spike growled irritably and laid his head back down on the table, grumbling, "Wake me when Gunn comes back and not a minute sooner or the offending someone will be tossed out the window." Ten stories—that should do it.
+++
Notes: Spike calls people by nicknames, hardly ever using their proper names, so here are the nicknames of the people called about the vision and their proper names:
Angelus Angel
Vampire with Soul, Champion for the Light
Gunn Charles Gunn
Supernaturally programmed Lawyer
Winifred Winifred Burkle
Physicist, specialty in Inter-Dimensional Portals
Watcher Junior Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Former Watcher
Destroyer Connor Angel
Son of two Vampires: Angel & Darla
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