Back again! Not gonna say much, I'm trying to get all of this down in Word while it's still in my head. Oh, and Anya is supposed to be what, 1100? Too bad, she's a little more than 650.

Willow woke up, looked at herself, and sighed in disappointment. She had kinda hoped it was a bad dream . . . or at least that the affects would wash off overnight.

"W-willow?" Tara asked faintly, rolling over in the bed. Even though they hadn't made love the night before . . . I mean, ew, eleven . . . they liked sleeping in each other's arms. It made the situation a little easier to bear.

"Yeah," the red-haired Wiccan replied, somewhat disheartened by her failure.

"It was m-my fault as much as yours, baby. I'm sure no one blames you. B-besides, I don't."

Willow smiled. "And you're all that matters. Let's get some breakfast."

The eleven-year-old Wiccans descended the stairs and grabbed their favorite cereals.

"There you two are! Here, you've got letters from Dumbledore," Spike smiled. It was an odd, very warm and wholesome smile. It very nearly scared Willow, but what was even more frightening than a smiling, kiddie Spike was smiling, kiddie Spike with curly brown hair and – GLASSES?

Ok, that just made her laugh.

Tara shared in her amusement. "N-nice s-specs, Spike."

"Call me Will." The boy pulled a face. "Ugh. Bratling's tryin' t' take over . . . dammit. I'munna have split-personality disorder from this."

"How 'bout we just call you Will, and Spike lets the "bratling" take over until we're done. None of our actions as eleven-year-olds will be brought up again when this is over."

"Erm, Buffy . . . I'm not sure it'll ever be over. There's a possibility we'll have to just . . . grow up."

Everyone looked at Giles.

"Uh . . . maybe Tara and I should see those letters S- Will was talking about."

"Right." The heavy parchment envelopes were handed over.

Willow Roseburg

The second floor East bedroom

Sunnydale, California

U.S.A.

Tara MacClay

The second floor East bedroom

Sunnydale, California

U.S.A

The former and probably future lovers looked at one another.

"Are these from H-Hogwarts?"

The unoccupied Scoobies nodded assent, and the duo opened their letters, discovering a multitude of odd things. Well, odd to Willow. Tara had seen similar lists before.

"Dear Miss Rosenburg,

I am aware of your group's interesting situation, and would like to offer you all the chance of a second education, this time a magical one. Since I sincerely doubt there is any kind of cure to your current states, I advise you to take me up on it. You might find it difficult to operate as a gaggle of children.

All of you have definite magic, which should have been picked up by the American Ministry of Magic . . . though I believe you call it the American Magic Department, and it works under the radar with the government. The Secretary of Magic, Jolie Mitchell, is a great friend of mine, though she frequently overlooks things. How she missed you, the Misses Summers, and Mr. Harris is beyond me. It must have something to do with your proximity to the Hellmouth. Even so, I am glad she picked up on Miss McClay.

Forgive an old man's wheezing waffle. You've been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr. Giles will know where to get your things, and I'll send a teacher along at noon to make the going easier. If you accept, follow.

Good luck!

--Albus Dumbledore

Willow stared at the missive, highly dumbfounded.

"Um . . . does 'Wow' about sum it up?"

Buffy smiled. "Pretty much, Wills."

"Well, there's one thing, I guess."

"What do you mean?" the blonde . . . er, Former Slayer? asked.

"You're a former popular girl, but you're actually being nice. So I guess that means we haven't completely reverted to our eleven year old personalities."

"Yet," Spike . . . uh, Will, corrected moodily. So I guess that means it was Spike.

"Shuddup, not-so-dead-boy."

"Give it a rest, will you? We were both nerds in Primary School. I thought nerds had some small amount of loyalty to one another?"

"Honestly, Xander, if it weren't such an awful pun, I'd tell you to quit being so juvenile."

Dawn smirked. "Heh. Juvenile." Then she noted how often she was smirking. Twice in half a day. That can't be a good sign.

"Dawn," Buffy said warningly.

"Well, not too rain on everyone's parade with serious questions, but . . . are we going?" Xander asked.

"Of course! We have new . . . er, old abilities we finally have a chance to learn to control," Willow told him. She looked at the Hogwarts grads and her girlfriend. "You four can back out, though . . . since you already learned how once."

"Nonsense. I want to see the updates in the Hogwarts curriculum," Will smiled faintly. There was a growl, and then, "Bugger that, I did school once, an' it nearly bored me ter deaf. No way I'm gonna go through hell again."

Willow and Tara looked at each other. They were definitely going to research a cure for split-personalities when they had time.

Ripper groaned. One of the few spells he actually remembered, and he didn't have his wand. He dashed up to his room, rifled through an old box of books, and finally dug it up. Then the boy-Watcher slid down the stair-rail and shouted Latin at the former vampire.

"Thank you, Rupert," William informed him cordially. It was as though it was a prefect blend of William the Bloody from the eighteen to late nineteen hundreds, Spike the souled vampire of yesterday, and William of Victorian England.

"Damn. I was almos' hopin' for Spike," Ripper scowled.

"I daresay my bloody counterpart would have been poor company."

"Perhaps, but you're dead annoying."

"NO ARGUMENTS," Buffy said in a loud, commanding tone. As loud and commanding as a tiny eleven year old could be, in any case.

"I'm all for going back to Hogwarts. I want to see if I'm in any of the books," Anya said happily. Everyone looked at her, confused.

"What?!" she snapped.

"Anya, what are you saying? I can't understand a word of it," Willow told her.

"Oh no. I'm speaking Old English. DAMMIT."

The others looked at her again.

"Hold on, I think that's . . . Old English? From . . . the twelfth century?"

"Aye, 1335 in the year of our Lord," Anya sighed.

"Finally, something we can understand," Xander muttered.

"Can you concentrate very hard on speaking more current English?"

"Even English English is preferable," Buffy told her with a slight hairflip. Then the blonde looked appalled.

"I'm terribly sorry . . . is this understandable?"

"Yeah, th-that's good," Tara sighed.

"So what were ya sayin' before?" Ripper asked.

"Oh. I just want to go to Hogwarts. Again."

"Good. Me too," the youngest Brit (experience, not appearance) agreed.

"I am looking forward to reliving my childhood," William informed them loftily.

"Lighten up, Specs," Buffy laughed. "I'm all for this Brit school."

Everyone else seemed to be pro-Hogwarts as well. By the end of the day, William was even becoming less upperclass Victorian gentleman and more the grungy Spike that young, carefree Buffy liked. Though instead of Spike, he was now officially dubbed "Specs."

---

Oz read the letter again, confusion in his eyes.

"Hello, Daniel."

"Oz," he corrected the other man mildly, not even glancing away from the missive. And then, another word. "Why?"

"Well, Headmaster Dumbledore is under the impression living on the Hellmouth masked your aura from the American authorities. If you like, you'll attend Hogwarts."

The teacher watched his young charge pace. His reticence was becoming unnerving.

"Okay. Money?"

"Hogwarts will provide all your school things, naturally. On the downside, you'll be rather in the school's debt. I compensated with a year as a teacher, this will be my second, and several small donations through my years of adulthood."

---

"Hey Specs, anything good on?" Xander sighed, vaulting over the couch and sliding down next to the guy he was no longer really comfortable with hating.

"Not really, Xand-man. You brought popcorn?"

"Mhmm," the darker-haired boy popped a mouthful. Specs went to the Turner Classic Movies channel.

"West Side Story!" the boys chorused.

"I love that one. I wish I'd been alive to see it come out," Xander sighed.

Specs grinned. "I did, mate. It was wonderful. Tha' Natalie, she's somethin'. 'Course, she was crazy as a loon, but a good bint when she walked on camera."

"I think my favorite would have to be Bernardo . . . the guy's a great dancer, even if he's gayer than a leprechaun parade."

"Leprechauns are mean creatures, Xand-man. Nothin' gay about 'em – whether ya mean happy or homosexual."

"Well, Bernardo's a pretty mean creature too. Who's your gang of choice, Jets or Sharks?"

"Sharks, no doubt. They're the underdog, fighting for a foothold. Jets remind me too much of the Nazis."

"And character?"

"Oh, Baby John. Kid's way too innocent to be on the street, poor bloke. Needs some serious TLC."

"Favorite gang's Sharks, but your favorite character's a Jet?"

"So? Baby John – B.J. as I called him," Specs and Xander grinned at the thought. "Anyway, B.J. was just the picture of innocence. Poor little guy. I remember a distinct desire to drink from him. Bet he would've been tasty."

"Specs, dude, remember . . . human now. People food. No biting."

Specs pouted, then burst out laughing in the same instant as Xander.

Willow and Tara smiled at each other. "To think, they've been at each other's throats . . . thankfully only figuratively . . . ever since Spike walked into town. But now they're best friends, it seems."

"They would have been a long time ago if they had the sense to see past their history."

"Twenty-three year old Xander might hold a grudge to the death, but eleven year old Xander's energy was entirely devoted to avoidance – more particularly, avoiding bullies and his father."

"Spike – heh, it seems so funny to call him Specs now – Specs always seemed to be searching for forgiveness, acceptance. Xander at eleven is easygoing. He allows for a lot, which is what Specs always wanted. I mean, he was rejected by his entire line, largely a tag-along. He was rejected by Cecily and his peer group. He's repeatedly rejected by Buffy for love and Xander for any form of friendship. His own Grandsire, the only other Master Vampire left in the line of Aurelius, wouldn't give him a glance if it would save his life."

Specs called out, probably having heard their quiet talk over the muted commercials. "Corrections, Glinda luv, Peaches the Poofter is, in fact, my Sire. It's a long story I really don't want to go into."

Willow and Tara shared another look of theirs.

"Speaking of my poncy git of a souled Sire," Will muttered to himself when the door burst open half an hour later, at a quarter 'til eleven.