The loud chanting of 'He got off, he got off, he got off...' reaches my ears and brings a small smile to my face, despite the somber mood that I drifted in a few moments before. I can hear Faith's blaring voice through it all, some of the Weasley kids' voices coming through now and then. As I walk down the stairs slowly and think back, it's only now I realise how different Faith really is. In Sunnydale, it was always black and white; I was the good cop, and Faith was the bad cop. She was the two-timing, 'I-get-horny-when-I-slay' fighter, where I was the 'good-girl-steady-relationship' slayer. Then everything went down hill when Hellbitch Glory decided to crash in and I found out about Dawn's Key-ness. Faith did her time, redeeming herself with Angel, and I dived to my second death. And Heaven.
They're toying with forces beyond their power.
They're calling you.
I don't wanna leave.
Go home.
Please. Don't make me leave.
Go home.
I am home.
Is this Hell?
You're alive, and you're home.
This isn't home.
I move silently across the hallway, wary of the touchy portrait, with a few tears stinging my eyes. I'd long come to the realisation that nowhere was home now. Not here, not Sunnydale, not in friends, not in Dawn, and not in death. And it leaves me wondering how I've managed to be so ignorant of Faith's innocence to death. She's managed to keep the upper hand, has never been cornered into sacrificing herself, never tasted the bitterness of mortality.
Frowning as I pause outside the kitchen door, I'm sure that she's experienced the classic death wish of a slayer. Probably while in jail, and she must've been practically dancing over the line between life and death during her coma. The exasperated voice of Mrs. Weasley breaks through my thoughts, and I realise that I've been leaning against the wall next to the door for a while now. I shake my head slightly to clear my head. I've been daydreaming more and more lately.
"'Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you," I manage to hear Ron say over the loud singing of the twins, Ginny and Faith, a smile on my face as the delicious smell of lunch meets me.
"Yeah, he swung it for me," Harry says, but I narrow my eyes at a distinct tone of disappointment I've often heard under Xander's voice when Willow or I were in college.
"Hey Harry," I say, settling down next to him and beaming when Ron dishes out some mashed potato on my plate, "Over Faith's version of a song and the lack of wizards trying to chuck 'ya in jail, I'm guessing your hearing went well."
He doesn't get a chance to answer before slapping his hand to his forehead and screwing his eyes up in pain.
"What's wrong?" I ask with unease, my gaze flitting between him and Ron and Hermione. Ron doesn't seem to notice anything, but his attention's on the singing Faith and kids, who have progressed to running round in circles. Hermione, however, looks as concerned as I am.
"Scar, but it's nothing," he mumbles, breathing hard but releasing his hand from his head where I can see a slightly red lightning-bolt mark, "...it happens all the time now..."
"I don't think having mind-splitting headaches counts as nothing," I counter, "maybe you should talk to Dumbledore."
He mutters something under his breath that I barely hear, though it sounds like "...if he would even look at me." This makes me frown. What's going on here? I look to Hermione, and she opens her mouth to say something but Ron cuts in.
"I bet Dumbledore turns up this evening, to celebrate with us, you know," he says, spooning some potato into his mouth. Now I start to strain to hear him over all the noise. My head's starting to throb and it won't be long before the portrait in the front hears and starts adding to the racket.
"Good, 'cause I've been wanting to talk to him for a while now," I say loudly, "he hasn't been around much, has he?"
As she sets down a huge plate of roast chicken with a highly annoyed look on her face, Mrs. Weasley says, "I don't think he'll be able to, Buffy..."
With hysterical giggles, Faith and the three redheads start to yell, "HE GOT OFF! HE GOT OFF!"
With my head pounding now, I roar "SHUT UP!" at the same time Mrs. Weasley does. I see Harry wince slightly beside me, his hand inching up towards his scar again. Faith turns to me, face slightly red and plops down in a chair next to Sirius.
"Geez, take a pill, B," she says with a smirk, grabbing a plate and heaving potatoes and chicken on. The other three don't say anything at Mrs. Weasley's incensed look.
"Listen," Harry says, interrupting the silence, "Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry – "
"What?" Sirius says sharply, stopping from putting a piece of chicken in his mouth.
Mr. Weasley cuts in, standing next to his wife who looks at him anxiously, "Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on Level Nine, then they went to Fudge's office together. Dumbledore ought to know."
"Who's luscious? And you have talking fudge?" Faith asks after swallowing a mouthful. Ron and the twins snicker.
"No, dear," Mrs. Weasley says with a strained smile, "Cornelius Fudge is Head of the Ministry of Magic. He's been opposed to any ideas that You-Know-Who's risen. We think that he's just frightened that Dumbledore wants his position at the Ministry."
"Does he wear tweed?" I ask seriously, catching Faith's eye with a grin.
"Uh, I-I suppose he does," Mrs. Weasley confusedly answers, her vibrant red hair shaking as she looks from Faith to me, "Why do you ask?"
I chew on a piece of chicken with a deliberate grin and speak in a knowing voice that I usually reserved for the stuck-up staff members at Sunnydale High, "Based on our experiences with the ex-Watcher's Council, Faith and I came up with a theory that applies to most stuffy tweed-wearing British men."
Picking up, Faith continues with a snobbish tone, but her voice is tight with laughter.
"Yes. We believe that men, especially those in high positions of councils with nothing better to do than to either screw your life up, or make it as shi- crap as possible," she says, amending her words at Mrs. Weasley's stern gaze, "get their power from tweed suits that are passed down from their granddaddy's granddaddy."
"We also believe that they are actually born with sticks in places where the sun don't shine," I continue, grinning as I see Faith, Sirius and the twins are overcome with laughter, "and that this is a contributing factor to their balding heads. Or it could just be when Faith and I constantly tell them to shove said sticks further - "
"I think that's quite enough," Mrs. Weasley interrupts with a glare, but her eyes are dancing with amusement. By now the whole kitchen has erupted with laughter, and Faith has a smug look on her face. Ron's starting to go a bit purple, and I think he just choked on something.
"Anyway, what was I saying before the Tweed Theory?" I ask, trying to remember.
"Lucius Malfoy," Mr. Weasley says with a grimace, the laughter dying away as we continue to eat, "We know that he's a Death Eater, but he's never been caught. And if he's mixing with the Ministry..."
"Yeah, and his son's no better," Ron mutters with a snort, "stupid blonde-haired git."
Blonde hair? Like father, like son...
"What does this luscious guy look like?" I ask distractedly to anyone.
"Pretty boy all the way," Sirius scowls, "long blonde hair, silver eyes, pointy chin..."
"That's him!" I hiss venomously, and all heads turn towards me with shock splattered all over, "The one that ambushed me on patrol. He was here when they had the attack on Harry too."
Mr. Weasley pales and hurries off, murmuring something about getting to work. Sirius swears under his breath, and I see Faith running her hand down his arm. The kids around me are quiet, Harry with a mixed look on his face. We continue to eat in silence, my mind twirling different thoughts in my head. I'd never really thought about the Death Eater attack here. But now, it's pretty bad seeing as they know we're somewhere around here. The urge to talk to Dumbledore is swelling up inside.
"Hey, B, you in there?" Faith calls through the door. Rolling off the bed, I place the book on Water Demons I've been reading down and walk over to the door in my favourite sushi pajamas. Opening the door, Faith raises her eyebrows. She's dressed in a dark blue singlet and trackies.
"No insulting the yummy sushi," I say with a glare, ignoring her smirk, "What's up?"
Something flickers in her eyes and I can tell we're in for a girl chat. I step away from the door and let her in. Faith only looks around briefly before flinging herself onto my bed carelessly.
"Well?" I ask, pushing the thick book out of the way and resettling myself against the wooden panel of the headboard, pulling one leg underneath me.
"It's Sirius," she sighs, flicking her brown eyes to me and flipping onto her side, "lately he's been...I'm not sure...fake?"
Concerned, I lean towards her slightly, "Example?"
"Well, when he's around Harry, he's like this bright bubble, laughing with him and stuff. "
"And that's bad...how?"
Faith glares at me, "It's fake! He doesn't want Harry to go back to that Pig school. And lately I've been, y'know, trying to get closer, but he just keeps giving these stupid excuses and spends all his time with Buckbeak."
Ah. The automatic guy response to emotional stress.
"Faith, take it easy with him, okay?" I say, leaning back, opening my mouth to continue before she butts in.
"I am!" she moans, and is that a blush I see? She's sitting up with her legs curled underneath her, "I don't know how much more sexual tension I can take before jumping him! I've always been the one being the tease, but Sirius is just so...different."
I almost laugh at the frustration on her face. Now this is different...
"Listen. Once Harry leaves, I can tell 'ya that things'll get a lot worse with Sirius. He'll be even grouchier than what you're telling me now. But if you play it right..."
Drifting off, I catch a glint of curiousity in Faith's eyes. I roll my eyes. I can't believe that I'm the one who's telling her this. Miss Queen of Sex with Anything on Two Legs. But that's in the past, I remind myself.
"What're you planning?" Faith asks with a smile.
"Well, first," I reply, a sultry plan forming in my head, "we'll need to get Hermione in on it."
Faith raises her eyebrows at this, but doesn't comment.
"Also," I add with a devious grin, "how well can you draw?"
Faith has been planning for the past few days. And now, I've also noticed Sirius' frequent disappearances upstairs. But if all goes well, my sister Slayer will have him wrapped around her finger. Walking across the second landing, I find the room where Hermione is, the kids' voices floating through, with another scraping sound.
"I feel like a house-elf!" I hear Ron grumbling inside.
"Well, now you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you'll be a big more active in SPEW!" Hermione exclaims as I enter.
"Spew?" I wrinkle my nose as they look towards me, "Why would anyone want to do anything with barf?"
Hermione rolls her eyes and continues to scrub the mouldy cupboard they've been working on, "It's not actually spew. It stands for the Society for Promotion of Elfish Welfare. It's to give the house-elves at Hogwarts what they deserve. I still can't believe Dumbledore would endorse such slavery."
"Anyway," I interrupt before she keeps going, "can I borrow you for a minute, Hermione?"
Her head whips up with a curious look. Harry and Ron look on inquiringly.
"Girl stuff," I say, and the two boys immediately go back to scrubbing.
I step outside and wait for her, pulling out a piece of parchment from the back pocket of my jeans. I remember how annoyed Faith was at having to use a quill and ink to draw.
"What is it?"
"Do you think you can make this before you go back to school?" I ask quickly, opening the rectangular piece and showing her. Hermione's eyes widen and I smother a grin. I just hope she doesn't tell Mrs. Weasley, or we'll all be in trouble.
"O-oh...um...I've never done anything like this before," she says weakly, looking at me for confirmation on what I'm asking her to do, "I've only really done basic sewing with my wand."
"Can you try?" I insist when I see the skeptical look on her face, "I'll join that SPEW thing of yours if you make it well."
Beaming like Christmas came early, she nods eagerly, "I'll have to get Mrs. Weasley to get the material when she goes shopping for our books, though. Am I right in guessing you don't really want her to know about this?"
"Definitely no leakage to the adults. Or the boys," I add as an afterthought. If one knows, Sirius will know soon enough.
Hermione nods again, and I can tell that she'll get it done. It's a challenge, and I know she's been itching for one.
"Can I ask who it's for?"
I look at her and give a big grin. By the smirk on her face, I can tell she has quite an idea of who it's for.
"Oh, I can't say," I answer with a wink, "but it's gonna make a lot of people happy."