Worlds Wrought & Ruined
Chapter 4: Finding a Message in the Bottle
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.
Note: Buffy Canon information to help understand the second half of this chapter is at the end of the fic. For the non-Buffy fan, I suggest reading the note before reading the chapter as it will help you understand what the heck the Buffy people are talking about.
Thanks to my brilliant Beta Lady Lestrange. Lady L Rocks!
More thanks to my fellows at The_Seers_Truth group for reading – Has Tonks gone to the comic book store yet?
And Ghost Whisper, Trillium, Silverfox1, Caliope, & Lady Lestrange – thanks for all reviewing – it is definitely sisshauss. Responses to reviews are at the end.
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Chapter 4
Finding a Message in the Bottle
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Time: ~18:00 GMT
Location: Room of Requirement, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Scotland UK
~@~@~@~
The door to the Room of Requirement was standing open as Harry approached. As he looked inside he had to smile, the Room was configured into the comfortable setting of the living room at the Burrow, complete with roaring fire and various Muggle knick-knacks. His best friends did know him well. They knew he was apprehensive about telling them about the vision and they also knew that a familiar setting would serve to relax him. Or was it the Room that had picked up on the distress of his friends and had sought to create an environment to sooth them? In either event the comfortable room at the Burrow was a welcome sight.
Harry sighed. Even with the reassuring room, he still didn't know how to tell Hermione and Ron about his vision. Harry was also extremely distracted by what had happened at dinner. Five teachers missing, McGonagall and Lupin looking worried. And then Ginny. He shook his head and tentatively moved his left hand, grimacing as he did so. Damn! Ginny had nearly crushed his hand and she hadn't seemed to know that she was doing so. Luckily it wasn't his other hand; he didn't know if he would be able to open a door with his hand, let alone hold a quill. Or a wand.
He bent his wrist and winced as it cracked. He looked to Ron as he walked in the door. "Has your sister been working out?"
Ron just looked him, confused and shook his head, "No, no more than normal. Why?"
"Her grip – she crushed my hand to stop me from leaving the table." He moved his fingers and they also cracked. Ron raised his eyebrows but Harry was looking concernedly at his left hand. "I think she might have broken something."
Ron coughed and when Harry looked up, Ron asked, "Why did she stop you from leaving the table?"
Harry blushed slightly and looked at Hermione, mumbling, "She made me promise not to go out tonight. She didn't believe I would listen to her, some nonsense about a gleam in my eye. Total, utter nonsense," he insisted, shaking his hair out of his eyes and turning back to shut the door.
Hermione simply exchanged a smile with Ron and said smugly, "Did you promise?"
"Yes, she wouldn't let go until I did," he said grumpily. Then, more serious, "I could tell that she is genuinely worried, said she has this horrible feeling." Harry had turned back and was walking toward them when he scowled at their smiles. "Do I really get a gleam in my eye?" he asked as he threw himself into an arm chair next to the sofa his best friends were sitting on.
Hermione cleared her throat, trying to cover her laughter. Ron didn't bother, chuckling as he answered, "Sometimes, when you are absolutely set on doing something, you have this mad glint to your eyes and there is no reasoning with you. Like last year—" Ron stopped suddenly, snapping his mouth shut and cringing when Hermione hit him. He looked sheepishly at Harry. "Err—sorry mate. I forgot. Sometimes I forget to think before I speak."
"Sometimes?" Hermione asked skeptically and Ron scowled at her. Harry chuckled lightly, making Ron turn to him with an apologetic look on his face.
Harry waved at him, dismissing the faux pas. "It's okay Ron—it does illustrate your point, albeit painfully." He laughed hollowly, cradling his head in his hands and then pulling away sharply as pain shot through his left wrist. He looked at it ironically and then up at Ron and Hermione, holding up his hand that was just starting to bruise. "It seems pain is the only way I can manage to really learn."
Hermione cried out in alarm as she saw his hand and Ron grimaced. "Well, maybe Gin has been working out. She has been practicing Quidditch with me all summer, helping me and hitting me with the Quaffle every chance she got. I swear she wasn't aiming for the hoop, but for me. She has one wicked throwing arm—after every practice, I had to soak in the bathtub for an hour or I wouldn't be able to move the next day. Gripping the Quaffle all summer probably gave her a strong grip." He shrugged and watched as Hermione healed Harry's hand as best she could.
After she was finished, Harry grinned and said cheekily, "Well, Ginny has my vote for Chaser."
Hermione groaned as Ron and Harry began to talk about the prospects for the team this year. They were not good, as they had to replace nearly the entire team. After enduring as much as she could, she groaned loudly, pulling a pillow over her head and falling back onto the sofa.
"Hermione?" Harry asked worriedly.
"What?" she answered, it muffled by the pillow.
"Are you alright?" Ron asked.
She sat up bolt straight and chucked the pillow at Ron. "No! We come here to talk about what happened to Harry in Potions and all you two can talk about is Quidditch."
Ron looked slightly stunned. "Oh, right—Potions." He tossed the pillow Hermione had thrown, which he had easily caught, to Harry and asked, "What did happen Harry? I heard you fell asleep. Not rightly smart with the way Snape feels about you."
It was Harry's turn to groan. "I did not fall asleep Ron, I had a vision and it is certifiable." As Ron's eyes widened in alarm, Harry put in, "And it had nothing to do with Voldemort." Ron flinched at the Dark Lord's name.
"But how do you know that Harry?" Hermione asked as she leaned forward, eager as ever to learn something new.
"Because I was seeing someone else's dream and I could see the dreamer; it wasn't him." He looked at them seriously, "Now, promise you won't laugh." He paused, waiting for them to respond. Both nodded somewhat hesitantly. "The bloke, the dreamer, his name is Spike," Harry paused and, as expected, Ron snickered. Harry understood; the name was truly ridiculous. Harry continued, giving the still snickering Ron a nasty look, "And, even stranger, one of the people in his dream has been dead for over 120 years."
"So you recognized this person?" asked Hermione, starting a systematic interrogation about this woman.
"No, Dumbledore did. She was the only witch in the dream."
"Everyone else was a Muggle?"
"Yes—or, at least, they were all dressed as Muggles."
"So who is the witch?"
"Elizabeth Potter, my something-great aunt."
"Why would a Muggle be dreaming about a witch that has been dead for over a century?"
"Wait Hermione, it gets better. The dreamer recognized her and seemed very surprised to see her."
"How do you know he recognized her?"
"He called her Elizabeth," Harry said simply. "Then she told him it was time for him to go back to the wizarding world, so I don't really think he is a Muggle."
"Oh." Hermione thought for a moment and then asked, "Was this the beginning of the vision, or should we call it a dream?"
"A dream—I saw it in a vision, but it was definitely a dream I was seeing. And no, this was near the end."
"Start from the beginning," Ron said.
"Alright—it started on the tube, except it wasn't the one in London. I think it was in the States because the woman on the tube with the dreamer spoke with an American accent—"
"The dreamer didn't?" Hermione asked.
Harry shook his head, "No, he had a North London accent. Now don't interrupt, it is hard to remember as it is." He closed his eyes, envisioning the dream and frowned instantly. "The woman, the way she was dressed and her hair, I think it was the past but I'm not sure. The other thing is I think she was dead." He opened his eyes and looked at his best friends. "Dead before she spoke."
"But how—?" Hermione started and then stopped, remembering his request not to interrupt.
"It is a dream. As to why I think so, the dreamer seemed very surprised she had spoken—he jerked away when she did. This first woman was black and American, like I said earlier. Then the woman changed into a younger girl—Asian. And she spoke in a different language, Chinese or Japanese, I couldn't tell. She was dead too, her throat was ripped, like it had been bitten by some kind of animal."
"A werewolf?" Hermione offered.
"Or a vampire maybe?" Ron added.
"Then she changed into another girl, dark skin and braids in her hair. Her English was heavily accented—I don't know from where."
"Was she also dead?" Hermione asked and then clamped a hand over her mouth.
Harry laughed, "It is okay Hermione; I know you can't control your impulse to ask questions. And yes, she was also dead—her throat was slit. Then she changed again, into a blond this time, American again. The dreamer seemed to know this woman very well. She was lying atop a pile of rubble, unmoving, still as death. I'm pretty sure she was dead too, even though she didn't have any physical signs of how she died. But she did mention something about how 'the fall stung'—Hermione?"
She nodded thoughtfully, "Yes, a fall from an extreme height can kill someone without leaving any outward marks. You said the dreamer knew her well?"
"Yes—she asked him if he remembered this night. I think it was the night she died because she said that there was a lot of pain and death that night and that he was there—he said that he still had nightmares about her 'swan dive' – that is probably referring to the fall that killed her. Then they said something about trust—I didn't understand that part. She changed again, into another American Muggle, a brunette. Now her—" he stopped and laughed.
"What? Mate?" Ron asked, concerned.
"This girl, she started yelling at him like Ginny yelled at us earlier. Told him to stop feeling sorry for himself—that he had saved her life that night, just as he was meant to. She mentioned someone named Bunny or Buffy a few times. Then she asked him where he had been before he had started his 'pity party' as she called it. He answered," he closed his eyes again, concentrating. This seemed very important that he remember this part. Ron and Hermione stayed silent, letting him think.
"He said that 'Your Big Sis was just here and before her there were other Slayers.' That seemed to make her remember and she continued talking, changing into the witch Elizabeth Potter." Harry opened his eyes and stared off into the fire. "Only she didn't change."
"Didn't—but you just said—" Ron started.
"Her clothes changed from Muggle to robes and her accent changed from American to a proper British accent. But her voice and her face didn't change—she still looked like the girl who had just been yelling at the dreamer, only slightly older and, well, a witch. Her wand was tucked behind her ear and she started talking about returning to the wizarding world."
"Was this the last person?"
"No, there was one more. Elizabeth changed into a woman with dark hair and dark eyes, not a witch but she didn't seem to be a normal Muggle either. Her dress was very old fashioned and she had the same accent that the dreamer did. The last thing I heard was her saying that it was 'always about blood' and then Snape woke me up."
Harry had hesitated at the end and Hermione seemed to notice. "Did you see anything else before Professor Snape woke you up?"
Harry frowned and rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "I think that her eyes changed to yellow, but I am not sure. At the end I got very dizzy and then I was pulled out by Snape yelling my name and him slamming his hands on my worktable. Maybe I imagined the eyes, but considering the rest of the dream," he laughed, "maybe not." He turned to study his friends. Both were looked like they were thinking, but probably about two totally different things. "So, what do you think?"
Ron looked up first. "That you were right—it is certifiable." Harry burst out laughing. Ron waited until Harry calmed down before continuing. "But, as much as I wish we could dismiss it as the fish last night giving you crazy dreams, we can't. The Headmaster really recognized the woman you described as Elizabeth Potter?" Harry nodded.
"Could it just be coincidence—maybe you saw her picture somewhere and made this Muggle look like her?"
"No. The only pictures I have ever seen of my family are my parents. And even if I did make her look like a picture I saw, why would I make her into an American Muggle first and then turn her into a witch? Also, the man in the dream recognized her and called her Elizabeth. I have never seen the dreamer before. Dumbledore wasn't the only one to recognize her, Phineas Nigellus did too."
Ron recognized the name vaguely but couldn't pinpoint where he had heard it before. Ron looked to Hermione for clarification and she huffed, exasperated, but answered, "A past Headmaster—his portrait is in the Headmaster's office. He also has a portrait in the House of Black—Sirius' Great-great-great grandfather."
Ron's face pursed and asked warily, "Slytherin?" Both Harry and Hermione nodded. His frown deepened. "I've heard some stories about him—Least Popular Headmaster ever. But he was Headmaster in the late 1800s…"
Hermione nodded. "Harry said Elizabeth has been dead for over 120 years. She would have been a student when he was Headmaster. And Dumbledore—that is about the same time he was here as a student too."
Ron was still doubtful. "But a Slytherin Headmaster remembering a Gryffindor student simply by a physical description?"
Harry shook his head, "She was a Ravenclaw and evidently quite brilliant. But there is something that I don't understand and you two know more about wizarding society than I do. Dumbledore said she died of consumption—but wouldn't the Medi-Wizards at St. Mungo's be able to cure that?"
"Consumption?" Ron asked.
"Tuberculosis and I don't know Harry. I know Muggles couldn't back then. But Wizards…?" Hermione shrugged, trailing off, and looked at Ron for the answer.
Ron was frowning again in concentration, "I'm not sure, but I thought St. Mungo's had a cure in the early 1800s. I do know that it was expensive, but the Potters could easily afford it." He shrugged, the frown melting away and chuckled. "But knowing me, I am remembering the wrong century and it was actually the early 1900s."
"It is easy enough to lookup. We can also try to find information about the Potters around that time, find out more about Elizabeth." Harry and Ron nodded, but Hermione was still deep in thought. Harry and Ron exchanged looks, knowing that Hermione was still working out what she really wanted to say. They waited, but when almost five minutes had passed, Ron spoke up.
"What else Hermione?"
"Hmm," she said absently, looking up at Ron uncomprehending.
"What are you really thinking about?"
"Oh, yes," Hermione's eyes seemed to light up. She turned to Harry, "It is something that you said, Harry, which has me thinking."
"Really? And here I thought we were talking about a vision I had in the middle of class," Ron said sarcastically, grinning at her. Harry also grinned as Hermione scowled at both of them.
"I think what Ron is trying to say, in his own eloquent Weasley way, is what specific part of what I said had you thinking so intently?"
Hermione sent one last scowl at Ron before answering. "It is the part where the Muggle American was yelling at the Dreamer. She said that Spike had saved her life, correct?" Harry nodded, frowning. "Well, to me at least, it seems she is the only person alive in the dream besides the dreamer. Did you two get that impression?"
Ron shrugged, but Harry continued to frown. 'You never failed to protect me.' Present tense. But then she said, 'I am glad I got a chance to say this: Thanks. For Everything.' 'Got a chance' sounded like past tense. She could be alive, but then again she could be dead, dead being more likely.
"I don't know Hermione. She could be alive and she could be dead."
"That's true. But what I was thinking of when she asked him about where he had been before he started his pity party." She smiled, "I don't think yelling at him was a planned part of the dream—it is the only part that doesn't seem to fit. It was as if—" Hermione stopped, trying to form her idea. Her next question was a totally different topic, "Harry, why were you pulled into the dream?"
Harry just stared at her blankly for a moment, thinking why the sudden topic change? Then he shook himself, Hermione's mind worked different than theirs most of the time, so maybe this had something to do with the girl. Then again, maybe not. "The Headmaster said that I was pulled into the dream because of a connection to something in the dream. The same reason I am pulled into Voldemort's dreams, my connection to him. He thinks that it was my connection to my great aunt. But…" He trailed off, thinking about what Phineas had said: 'Perhaps even two.'
"But what Harry?"
"Well, after the Headmaster identified that the woman was Elizabeth Potter, he summarily threw me out of his office, refusing to tell me anything more about her. Even Phineas was immediately closed mouth. I think it's the dreamer that is important, more so than Elizabeth." He faced Hermione, staring into her eyes, imploring her to help him. "It was a comment Phineas said. I told Dumbledore that the Dreamer looked as though he had seen a ghost when Elizabeth appeared. The Headmaster said that I most likely had seen a ghost if the woman was who he thought she was—the ghost of Elizabeth Potter. That was when he called for Nigellus' opinion.
"Phineas said that I had seen a ghost—this Elizabeth—and then added, almost as an afterthought: Maybe even two." Hermione's face shifted, to slightly surprised and then to intense thought.
"Two what?" Ron asked.
"Two ghosts Ron," Hermione said impatiently.
Ron held up his hands in defense, "Hey—don't attack me! It's just that if all the people Harry saw are dead except that one girl, didn't he see a lot more than two ghosts?"
Harry looked at Ron, shocked, and then turned to Hermione, who wore a similar expression. Then Hermione grinned, "Brilliant Ron—of course you are right!"
Ron smiled happily, but then it fell away as he said, "Then the two ghosts the old headmaster was referring to are two wizarding ghosts."
"Exactly Ron! Phineas must have thought that the dreamer, who is the only other wizard in the dream, could also be a ghost."
Ron put in, "But a ghost can't dream."
"I don't think he meant ghost literally—the woman I saw wasn't a ghost, just an image of a dead witch. Maybe he just thought the dreamer resembled a dead wizard he knew?" Harry said carelessly.
Hermione studied him for a moment and then turned to Ron, who shrugged his shoulders and grinned at her, "Seems logical to me and it explains how a ghost can dream."
Hermione nodded, "And it does support my theory that the young woman, who is the image of Elizabeth Potter, is alive."
Now Harry was confused and it felt like his head was spinning, "Okay, how does what I said support that?"
Hermione chewed on her lip, trying to think how to explain her idea. "The Dreamer is a real person somewhere, we agree on that?" Both boys nodded. "And can we agree that he is, or was at one time, a wizard? Because Elizabeth spoke of him returning to the wizarding world." Ron nodded. Harry thought for a second and then also agreed. She continued.
"So, if Dumbledore and the old Headmaster did recognize two dead wizards, one is the Dreamer and the other is the girl arguing with the dreamer. So the Dreamer, who is an image of a dead wizard, is real and alive, then…" She trailed off, leaving it to the boys to make the last connection. She hoped they could make this leap of logic.
Harry frowned; the Dreamer was one of the ghosts, so that meant that the Muggle American girl was the other ghost, Elizabeth Potter. And if the Dreamer was alive, then that meant she was, too. Harry looked up sharply and finished Hermione's statement, "Then the Muggle American girl, who is an image of the dead witch Elizabeth Potter, is also real and alive." He looked to Ron to see if he understood and, after a moment, his face lit up, indicating that he, also, understood.
Hermione nodded her face bright, smiling with pride that they had made the final leap of logic by themselves. "Yes Harry! I think that she is alive, just like the dreamer Spike, and that she was also pulled into the dream, just like you. Her connection is with the Dreamer. Your connection is the ghost, who is connected to the girl."
Harry nodded. He understood, most of it anyway.
Ron asked, "Who do you think the other ghost is?"
"Well, he knew Elizabeth when she was alive. A classmate?" Harry pondered aloud.
"Harry, how is she related to you—she's an aunt and her last name is Potter, so was it her brother that is your great-something grandfather?" Hermione prompted.
"Dumbledore mentioned two younger brothers: William and Richard. Richard is my grandfather." Harry stopped, thinking about the two brothers. Both were surely dead. "Are we assuming that ghosts look physically similar to the live person?" Harry asked.
Hermione nodded, "You said that her clothes and accent changed, but she remained the same. So the other ghost would look exactly like this Spike—what kind of name is Spike anyway?"
Ron chuckled, "No idea."
Harry also laughed, "It sounds like a name for a dog, not a person. But they did look similar: bright blue eyes, brown hair. His was curly and hers straight, but I guess they could be brother and sister."
"'Mione, why are we talking about the girl anyway?"
Hermione thought for a second, collecting her thoughts. "It was something she said, when she forgot what she was supposed to say next…"
"She asked Spike what had happened before she showed up—was that it?" Harry supplied.
"Yes! His answer was 'Your Big Sis was just here and before her, there were other Slayers' – I think that this is the key to the dream."
"Why?"
"Well, what he said made the dream continue, didn't it?" Harry shrugged, how was he to know? Hermione huffed and said, "The girl changed, shifted into Elizabeth, right after he said that, correct?" Harry nodded. "Then something in the comment reminded the girl why she was in the dream in the first place and what was to come next."
"Maybe," Harry said, thinking about what the man had said: 'Big Sis was just here and before her, there were other Slayers' –whatever a Slayer is—meaning that the first four women were all Slayers. The four girls were all dead Slayers. Harry winced. Well, that thought was morbid. Harry wanted to make sure he understood the comment, so he asked, "Hermione, am I correct in assuming that his statement meant that those first four women were all Slayers?"
She nodded solemnly and added, "All dead Slayers. But why did they all appear to this man?" She was quiet for a second and then asked, "What did they say to him?"
Harry stared at her blankly and she sighed, explaining, "You commented about their accents, so they had to have said something—what was it?"
Harry closed his eyes, concentrating on remembering the images and sounds. 'For me' – they had said that and something else. Something he thought was bizarre—more so than the rest of the dream. What was it?
"Harry?" Ron said quietly.
"Sshhhh," Harry said, holding up a hand. 'For me' – what was for them? He had done something monumental for them, these Slayers, whoever they are. Something that should be impossible for any living person to do—living person—the dreamer is alive and what is impossible for someone currently alive to have done and still be alive? Harry thought idly, dying and still managing to stay alive would be impressive— Death—he died and is still alive! His eyes popped open and he looked at Hermione in alarm.
"What is it Harry?"
"I can't believe I am saying this—Ron, you are going to love this and Hermione, you are not going to believe me, but this is what they said to him:
"You died. For me."
Ron just looked at him blankly and so did Hermione.
"And don't tell me it's not possible—I know it's not possible, but that is what they said. Of course we are talking about four dead Slayers talking to some former wizard in his dream. And what the heck is a Slayer?" Harry added, exasperated.
Ron put his head in his hands and groaned. "All this talk about being alive and dead and a ghost or not and Muggle or wizard is giving me a headache. Trying to straighten everything out is making me dizzy."
Harry agreed. "Yes, no more talking about my vision of a dream—well, only if you can tell me what a Slayer is?"
Ron hit him and smiled, "Ask the Room."
The moment Ron finished his sentence, a blackboard materialized off to one side of the fireplace and writing appeared on it in slow, sloping chalk-marks:
Into each generation a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world, a Chosen One. One born with the strength and skill to fight the vampires, to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers. She is the Slayer.
"Good call Ron," Harry said, "It probably was a vampire that ripped that girl's throat out. Now we know what a Slayer is, what do we do about it?"
Ron said wistfully, "It's too bad that there is only one girl, this Slayer, because she would be bloody useful in the war. You-Know-Who will definitely have the vampires on their side."
Harry agreed, nodding his head. Having someone around who was meant to fight vampires could be very useful in the near future. Tentatively moving his left wrist, hissing at the pain, Harry suggested, "Maybe we could try finding this bloke Spike, he seemed to know those Slayers, maybe he knows the current one."
"He knew the Dead Slayers. And how are you going to find him Harry? Call information and ask for Spike?"
"It's worth a try," Harry mumbled petulantly, looking down at his left hand. If it still hurt tomorrow, he would have to go see Madame Pomfrey and get the bones checked. But could Ginny really have fractured the bones with simply her grip? Not likely. Harry snorted to himself and joined Hermione and Ron in brainstorming their next course of action, throwing out ideas.
"Try to find the girl?"
"Look up Elizabeth Potter?"
"Figure out who the 'Spike' bloke is?"
"Try to find him?"
"Find out where the teachers went tonight?"
"Practice the new spells Harry was learning?"
"Start our homework."
At that suggestion, Ron and Harry both threw pillows at Hermione. Then the boys looked at each other and said at the same time, grinning, "Quidditch!" Hermione just groaned.
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Time: ~13:00 EST (GMT-5)
Location: Temporary North American Headquarters, Watchers Council
Hellmouth, Cleveland, OH USA
~@~@~@~
"Dawn." No response, so the Slayer, one Buffy Summers, tried a little louder, "Dawn!"
Dawn batted away the hand that was shaking her with an, "Emphh!" Then she rolled over, muttering, "Go 'way!" and burying her head into the pillow.
Buffy turned to Willow, who was typing furiously on her laptop, confused. "Willow, I thought you said that you slept on the Red-Eye from Honolulu."
Without looking up, Willow answered, "I did. When I woke up briefly in the middle of the night, Dawn was wide awake." Willow then looked up at Buffy, eyebrows drawn together, "Is Dawn still sleeping?"
Buffy nodded. Another head, bent over one of those old books written in a number of obscure languages, none being English, popped her head up. "She had a nightmare."
Buffy turned to her, blinking in surprise that the girl's words sounded very Giles-ish. She really shouldn't be surprised, strangers—almost all new Slayers—were constantly joining their merry little band from Sunnydale: former Hellmouth, now simply a large crater where the town used to stand, but none had so resembled her watcher. "And you are?"
"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself—I hadn't realized that anyone had joined us until you spoke and then—" She stood, nervously using her fingers to wipe the dust off her lenses, then wiping the dust from her hands on her slacks and stuck out her hand. "Catheryn."
"A Slayer?" Buffy asked as she took the girl's hand. The handshake told Buffy what she needed to know, but she still waited to hear her answer.
Catheryn answered, nervously laughing as she withdrew her hand and waved it dismissively, "No, no. I am a Watcher—well, in training to be a watcher. My father—" she stopped, choking as she looked away. She quietly added, "I'm all that's left of the Hawaii outpost."
Buffy nodded automatically, understanding what was not said: her father, a Watcher, his colleagues and his Slayer in training were all killed by the agents of the First. However, she was confused by one thing, "Kate, how is it you survived?" All the other attacks where the Watcher and Slayer in training were killed, everyone at the Watcher outpost were also killed and the post itself was usually burned to the ground.
Catheryn grimaced, but turned back toward the Slayer with tears in her eyes and answered, "I was at University when they attacked. I—I was called home for the weekend, a fire they said. The fire was put out before any real damage was done to our archives, but it—it was too late to—to save them." Then she smiled in triumph through her tears, "But I survived."
Willow looked up, smiling, "See, this is why I like her—she saved the Watcher archives, which are priceless tomes, and she's a survivor of the First, just like us."
Buffy also smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. She couldn't help remembering who hadn't survived the final battle with the First, the person she felt most deserved to survive. Spike. But he hadn't. The First had tortured him for months on end, confusing him with specters of all he had killed, feeding his guilt. The guilt of a vampire with a soul, a soul that he had earned for her, to be the kind of man she deserved, the kind of man she could love. The man who had been brainwashed by the First, programmed to kill, and who had overcome and broken the brainwashing with the help of her and her friends.
He was the same man who had stood by her side in battle for years, who she had entrusted the care of her sister, "Until the end of the world," and had honored that promise for the 147 days that she had been dead. She knew it had been 147 days because he had counted everyday that she had been gone. Damn it, why did he have to go and die? The logical answer is that he died to save the world, just like she had done once, died as the Champion she knew him to be.
He wore an amulet and, because he did, saved us all. "A very powerful and possibly very dangerous amulet that bestows strength to the right person who wears it, someone ensouled, but stronger than human. A Champion." He wore this amulet, this mystical piece of jewelry, not knowing what it would do, only that it would aid in the fight against the First, and it destroyed him. This amulet used his soul to purify the Hellmouth, to seal the Hellmouth, to kill every vampire there, to kill every single member of the First's army. Destroyed every vampire, including the one that bore both the amulet and the soul.
He died to close the Hellmouth, to destroy the army of the First and to save the army of Slayers. He had died for her, just as he had earned his soul for her. And he couldn't believe that she loved him? He really is dense—or was dense, because he's dead. And he didn't believe her—if she just had had more time, she would make him believe her, damn it! He was a survivor too, until he became a Champion of the Light and died for those he loved. I love you too Spike.
Willow blanched when she saw the look on Buffy's face, a look so much like the one she wore the beginning of their senior year, after having to kill Angel to save the world. "Buffy, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" Willow started to babble an apologize but Buffy cut her off.
"It's okay, Wills," Buffy smiled at her red-headed friend. "You are right, we are survivors and that is always something to be proud of." Buffy turned to the brunette newcomer when the watcher in training cleared her through, frowning at them and shifting her weight from one foot to another.
"Sorry, my mother always told me I talk too much when I'm nervous—always telling people more than they want to know about me and—" Buffy stopped her before she really got going.
"What Willow said just reminded me of the loved ones we lost in the fight. It wasn't anything you said." Catheryn nodded her head, looking at her feet. Buffy shrugged at Willow who just shrugged back and glanced at Dawn. "Kate, you said something about Dawn having a nightmare."
"Oh, yes. She jerked awake. It was her hitting her head on the overhead bins and the sound it made that woke me momentarily. She said something and started to cry. I tried to talk to her later but she just stared out the window. I'm not sure if she even heard me."
Willow added that Dawn had been wide awake when Willow woke up in the morning and looked like she hadn't gone back to sleep.
Buffy frowned. She could think of only one thing that Dawn might dream about that would give her nightmares: Buffy jumping off the tower to her death. But why she would have that nightmare now, it didn't make sense. Buffy absently heard Willow asking the young watcher what Dawn had said. Buffy looked up at Kate for her answer.
Catheryn was rubbing the back of her head, looking at her feet and trying to remember what Dawn had said. "Ummm, she something that started with an S. Give me a moment and I'll remember it."
Willow's eyes were wide as she looked at Buffy. Buffy tried to keep her face neutral and her voice even as she asked, "Kate, was the word 'Spike'?"
Catheryn's face snapped up to look at Buffy and nodded, "Yes, that was it. How did you know?" Then she paused and added, very reminiscent of the once stuffy Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, "And please, my name is Catheryn," her face scrunched up as if she had eaten something sour, "Not Cate."
"Damn," Buffy muttered, ignoring Kate's last comment, making her way to the couch where Dawn was and sitting beside her sleeping form. She stroked her sister's hair, just like their mother had when one of them had had a nightmare. "Dawnie, you need to wake up." Dawn grunted a negative sound. Louder, she insisted, "Dawn, I need you to wake up. I know you had a nightmare." Dawn mumbled something into the cushions. "Dawn, you are going to have to repeat that, I don't think the furniture can understand you."
Dawn flipped over slowly, eyes still closed and, leaning into her older sister's hand, said somewhat clearer, "I said't wasn' a nightmare."
"No?" Buffy asked and Dawn shook her head slightly. "But you were upset?" Dawn nodded affirmative. "Why? What did you dream about?"
Dawn kept her eyes closed but a tear still escaped. "I was dreaming about Spike."
"Honey, I dream about him too," Buffy told her softly, still stroking her hair and wiping away the tear. "I still get upset, it's perfectly normal."
Dawn opened her eyes then and looked up at her older sister. "But it wasn't a normal dream, like memories replaying or changing. It was like I was standing there and talking to him, just like I'm talking to you now."
"It is amazing what a mind can conjure up."
Dawn smiled sadly, "Yes, but it was so real. When I suddenly woke up, I expected him to be there right in front of me, to continue our talk. But he wasn't there—" Then Dawn frowned, trying to figure something out and shook her head, saying, "What is strange is I don't really dream about Spike often."
At the stricken look on her sister's face, Dawn hurriedly continued, "I mean, I miss him, don't get me wrong. I love him, he was an older brother to me, always looking out for me and protecting me." She scrunched up her face in frustration and pouted, "It is hard to get a date when your Big Brother scares them all away by flashing fangs and threatening to rip his arms off and using them to beat him to death if the boy looks at me the wrong way."
Buffy burst out laughing at this. "He—he didn't really say that," she kept laughing, "Did he?"
Dawn growled in a way that would impress a vampire and mumbled, "Yes he did." Then she continued her earlier thought, "I just mean that I don't dream about having conversations with him that we never really had. I dream about him telling me stories in his crypt or playing poker, but those are all memories, nothing like this."
Now Buffy was curious, asking, "What did you talk about?"
"I yelled at him." That made Buffy start laughing again, not as hard this time though. "He was feeling guilty about your—your death—and not protecting me and I told him to stop it, which is a conversation that we did have a lot. But it—it was the next comment that was strange." Dawn looked straight into Buffy's eyes and said, "I said that he had done what he was meant to do that night, that he—" Dawn choked and Buffy ran her fingers through her hair.
"That he what Dawnie? It doesn't do any good to keep your feelings trapped inside, I should know—I am the expert at it."
Dawn nodded and restarted, "That he stopped the bloodletting long enough to keep me from dying that night—that otherwise you wouldn't have reached me in time."
Buffy absorbed the comment and glanced back at Willow, who was also struck silent. Willow asked the question Buffy was about to ask, "Dawnie, you sound like you are stating this for a fact." Dawn nodded, which lead to the next logical question, "How do you know this?"
"I just know, both in the dream and here, that it is true," Dawn said simply.
"Ok Miss Watcher-lady, this is your area. Why is my sister, not a slayer, getting a dream that sounds eerily like a slayer dream?" Buffy asked over her shoulder.
"I would like to remind you that I am not a Watcher yet, simply in training. Also, I do not recognize the man in Miss Summers' dream—"
Buffy quickly added, "One of the friends we lost in the final battle."
"Oh—then he is dead. Maybe—maybe he is trying to give Miss Summers a message."
"Two years after the event?" Willow asked, but Dawn merely shook her head negatively.
"The dream wasn't about that, I just used it as an example of how he has always protected me when I needed him to," Dawn shrugged her shoulders as she sat up, swiping her hair out of her face. "It's just that it was so real and—well," she paused, looking from Willow to Buffy, before she continued, "He looked different too—his hair…" she trailed off and shook her head, a small laugh escaping her. "He looks very different without his hair bleached."
Buffy also chuckled and nodded, "Yes, it's naturally dark brown and very curly if he doesn't gel it back…" She trailed off, the smile fading from her face. She was speaking in present tense again, as if he was still alive, which he wasn't.
Willow was intrigued. "So the Spike in your dream had brown hair? Was there any bleach, like it had grown out?"
Dawn shook her head, "No, no bleach at all and just like Buffy said, very curly. Also, he was wearing glasses, and he didn't seem to notice that he was, so I assume he is used to wearing them."
Buffy's head snapped up at that. "Glasses? That's strange…" Buffy paused and then looked straight at her sister with a strange smile. "Dawn, you just described what Spike looked like when he was human. Huh," and she shook her head.
"Oh, so instead of having a conversation with a dusted vampire-with-a-soul, I am talking to a dusted vampire-with-a-soul that looks like he did when he was alive, all in my dreams. I feel so much better," Dawn scowled sarcastically and then rolled back over. "And now I am going back to sleep. I feel crazy enough by myself, I don't need you three helping me feel crazier," she said firmly before burying her face again, making a 'go away' motion with her hand.
As Buffy stood up, Willow leaned in and whispered, "I didn't know Spike wore glasses." She kept walking for a moment, thinking, and then stopped, grabbing Buffy to a stop also. "Wait, glasses in the late 19th century, only people that were educated would need them…"
Buffy smiled at her gaping friend and patted her hand, "He knows quite a few languages, his Latin is especially proficient or, well, it was. Don't worry; it gave me quite a shock too."
"But," Willow continued, confused and trying to reconcile an educated William with the brash chain-smoking vampire Spike, "his name from when he was mortal was William the Bloody—?"
"Now that is a secret. You'll have to ask Spike or have Dawn ask him the next time she dreams about him—Now that's an idea." Buffy turned around and walked back to her sister. She leaned down and whispered, "Next time you talk to Spike, tell him that I didn't just say it, I meant it."
Buffy laughed at her sister's response, "I will if you go away and let me sleep. Oh, and never put me on another Red-Eye flight!"
Turning back to Willow, Buffy watched in amusement as the witch, ignoring the irate teenager on the couch, continued thinking about Spike, still standing in the middle of the room. "William the Bloody," Willow muttered to herself, shaking her head. She did look up at the ringing of the phone, slightly startled at the unexpected noise. It rang once before Catheryn picked it up.
"Hello, North American Headquarters, Cleveland Ohio. Catheryn Wynd—" She stopped suddenly, her eyes widening. She nodded, saying nervously, "Yes, yes, of course Mr. Giles. Oh," she gasped, "My uncle—he's—yes, sorry."
Catheryn turned to Willow, frowning as she held out the phone, and said simply, "It's the Coven."
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Notes about Canon Buffy: the First is short for "The First Evil," which is the incorporeal embodiment of all the evil on the earth.
A Slayer dream show portents, signs of an Apocalypse or an upcoming prophecy. The dreams are similar to a Seer's visions in the fact that they warn the person seeing it of something in the future. Slayer dreams are symbolic, not to be taken literally and are meant to warn the Slayer who has the dream, where a Seer's vision is almost always meant to warn someone besides the Seer. The Powers-That-Be, the beings that would choose the next slayer when the active slayer died; sometimes try to send direct messages to the dreamer
Canon Spike: When Spike was still alive, his nickname was "William the Bloody."As a human, Spike was an aristocrat. His hair was long and unruly and he's dressed as a proper gentleman, complete with tie and reading spectacles. He was a shy socialite who wrote really horrible poetry as a way to express his feelings. His fellow Peers gave him the cruel nickname "William the Bloody" for his "bloody awful poetry." In 1880 he was turned into a vampire.
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To the lovely reviewers:
Trillium, Silverfox1: Just stay calm. I'm not going to kill Draco…yet *grin* We will see him next chapter. Sorry, no Malfoy fix this time.
Ghost Whisper: So glad that you like it. This is a very different approach to a Buffy/Harry Potter crossover, I know, but it's just how I see it and it makes sense, to me at least. And I love having Spike as a major character, he is such a complex character and fun to explore.
Caliope: Glad you like this! Connor and Spike's relationship is fun and I think it is healthy for both of them. They need the companionship. We will see them next chapter, don't worry.
Lady L: Thanks – for everything! Hey, isn't that exactly what Dawn told Spike in the dream in the Prologue? lol, too funny!
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