Prologue
Sunnydale, California, 1999.
One week after the graduation ceremony at Sunnydale High.
"Buffy, over here!"
Buffy spun around, her leg moving in an arc that hit its apex as her heel connected with the vampire's chin. The vamp staggered backwards, and into the stake held by the onrushing Xander.
The vamp screamed in fury and dismay at being staked, and then paused as it realised it had yet to crumble into a pile of dust. It looked down at the stake protruding from its stomach, and then reared up, its fangs searching for Xander's defenceless neck.
Xander stumbled backwards, scrabbling in his pockets for any weapon that could save his life. But as the vampire lunged, so did Buffy, with Mr. Pointy spearing the vamp's heart and spine. Xander sighed in relief as the vamp exploded into dust, the wind billowing the particles away to reveal a patient Slayer.
Buffy extended her hand to her friend and pulled him upright.
"Kinda frisky tonight," Buffy commented, stirring a small pile of vampire dust with the toe of her boot.
"Yeah, no kidding," Xander agreed. "I haven't felt that vulnerable since Faith..."
Xander shut up quickly as Buffy gave him a Look.
"Where're Will and Oz?" Xander asked, ducking his head to try and hide the slight blush colouring his cheeks.
"They said they were going to check out the old Wiseman crypt."
"Ah, party central for all of Sunnydale's geekiest vamps."
"Xander..." Buffy said, as they headed north through the cemetery.
"I'm just saying. Time was around here that vamps killed the strong and the mighty. Now they're going after the Kent Preparatory chess club."
"Yeah, but now they're smart vamps."
"No, they're not. Will used to be in the Sunnydale High chess club. They asked her to leave because they hated being beaten by her."
"Really? That's so sad."
"Yeah, well, you know what it's like. Eighteen year old boy losing to a fourteen year old girl... It's embarrassing."
"There speaks a man with experience."
"Hey!" Xander barked indignantly. "That kid's dad bought her a Tekken machine for her bedroom!"
"Or maybe she paid for it herself with the money she kept winning off eighteen year old boys who don't know when they're being hustled."
"Anyway..." Xander replied, with a Look of his own. Buffy grinned at him. "What I'm saying is, these vamps are just the geeks with no friends and no social skills. Playing chess doesn't make you smart. I used to play chess."
"Until you got beaten by a fourteen year old girl?"
"She was fifteen and I swear if Willow tells that story to anyone else-"
"BUFFY!"
They broke into a run, leaving Xander's dire threats hanging as they approached the Wiseman crypt.
"Will?"
"Willow!"
"Over here!"
They turned a corner and found Willow standing outside the Wiseman crypt, fidgeting on the spot as she stared at the crypt door. It hung open on its hinges, the solid steel slab twisted and ripped as though it were paper.
"The strong and the mighty, huh?" Buffy commented as Xander rushed up to Willow. She stared at the door, wondering how many vamps it had taken to damage such a strong crypt.
"Will, what happened?"
"Oh, oh, it's Oz. They got Oz."
"They got Oz?"
"There was so many of them. They grabbed him and took him into the crypt."
Willow shifted uneasily. Buffy could tell she was torn between heading into the crypt and staying alive. Buffy had no such worries.
"We'll get him out, Will," she assured her friend. "Hey," she added, laying a hand on Willow's arm. "He's our friend. He makes you happy. Lots of incentive for me to go in there and drag him out, okay?"
"Hey, goodies!"
They turned to look at Xander, who was pulling a battle-axe from the ground.
"Oh, yeah, I got one..." Willow tailed off. "There was so many of them!"
"Well, they were probably off to the all-state summer chess tournament. They'd have had their cheerleaders with them and stuff." Xander said.
"Cheerleaders? For the chess team?" Buffy asked, momentarily distracted.
"Kent Prep is... different to other schools," Xander replied. He swung the battle-axe up and onto his shoulder, waving the other hand at the damaged crypt. "Still, much as I like discussing those schools where cheerleaders are picked on the size of their braces and the thickness of their glasses, times-a-wasting. Shall we?"
"Nearly a year. Are you sure everything is correct?" The voice was high pitched, but carried an undertone of menace.
"Yes, Master. Everything," came the reply. It was delivered in a quavering voice that suggested that the speaker was not at all sure.
"I am forced to place a great deal of faith in you once more. Do not fail me."
"I didn't fail you before."
"Before you had my loyal follower to assist you. This time you have had to act on your own. This does not instill in me great confidence."
"We have the blood, the bone, and the flesh, my lord. We have everything."
"Very well. But I have strength enough to end your miserable existence. Remember that, worm."
In the darkness of the firebombed factory, a flame erupted, illuminating a small circle around a heavy black cauldron.
"You have the ashes?"
"I do."
"Good. For vampires, of course, it works differently. Any vampire can be revived, given sufficient willpower. And the one thing I have never lacked is willpower. Pour them in, and pray that you can tell the dust of crushed bones from dirt."
A robed figure detached itself from the shadows and tipped a small bag of dust into the cauldron. The water inside hissed as it boiled.
"Bone of the father," the figure muttered uneasily. "Unknowingly given, you shall restore your son."
The figure reached inside its bulky hooded robes, and pulled a long thighbone from a pocket. The bone slid into the glowing water which shot sparks into the air and turned a vivid blue.
"Flesh of the servant," the figure continued, drawing a severed hand from inside its robes. A purple glow surrounded it, shimmering slightly in the firelight. "Willingly given, you shall revive your master."
"Quickly! The spell will only retain its effectiveness for so long."
The hand was dropped into the water, and not a moment too soon. Even as it broke the surface of the water the hand began to crumble and turn into ash. The hooded figure looked back into the gloom.
"Faster, fool."
The figure turned back to the cauldron, the contents of which were now a searing red in colour. "Blood of the enemy," it announced, its voice noticeably stronger, as though it had anticipated this moment. "Forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."
A glass phial was tipped upside down, and the blood inside dripped slowly into the cauldron. The robed figure stepped back quickly as the water inside sparked and glowed a fierce, burning white.
And then, from the light there rose a tall, lithe figure, proud and straight. The sparks faded, and the light died. Pale and naked, the figure stood unafraid and unashamed in the near-darkness.
"Did someone call?"
There was a pause.
"I have resurrected you," the high-pitched voice declared.
"This I had noticed. And you are?"
"A friend."
"I doubt it," the pale figure sighed, examining the back of its hand, apparently not noticing the scalding water still bubbling around its legs. "I ate most of my friends. Tortured the rest, for the variety."
"I am a new friend. I have a gift for you."
A black-clad figure was shoved roughly into the circle of light. It shot a malignant look over its shoulder, before turning to look up at the figure standing in the cauldron.
"Master," it said, its fangs glinting in the firelight as its features shifted from those of an ordinary human male to that of a vampire. "You have returned. I have helped you come among us once more!"
The vampire held up its right arm, which ended in a bloody stump.
"Hmm. Good of you," the pale figure replied. "And now, I need your clothes."
"What-"
A pale arm struck out, thumb and forefinger stabbing into the vampire's eyes. It screeched, and the pale arm withdrew, only to slice across the vampire's neck, the sharp claws on the end of each finger slashing through the skin and muscle. With a sharp jerk, the figure tore off the vampire's head. The body crumpled to the ground, where it exploded into ash. The pale figure stepped from the cauldron and picked up the clothes the vampire had left behind.
"I had always believed that the clothes turned to dust with the vampire," the high voice spoke from the darkness.
"There's a knack," the newly clad figure replied. "Who are you, resurrecting me in this filthy old ruin?"
"As I have told you, I am a friend. And you are the Master, also known as Heinrich Joseph Nest. You were sired by the vampire Anonatus in 1387, and killed him in 1389, becoming the leader of the Order of Aurelius in the process. For five and a half centuries you killed and slaughtered throughout the world. In 1937 you came to Sunnydale to feast upon the Hellmouth, but you were trapped by an earthquake. In 1997 you escaped, only to be killed by the Slayer. And now I have resurrected you."
"Well," the Master declared. "Apparently you have the advantage of me. Now, before I come into the shadows and tear your heart out for not answering my question twice now, would you like to give me a reason not to?"
"Firstly, you would find it very hard to find my heart," the high voice declared, with an audible sneer. "Secondly, I have a wand aimed directly at your heart. While I deplore waste, I will kill you if need be."
"A wand," the Master mused. "Well, the least I can do is hear you out. You did bring me back from the very depths of hell."
"And for that I ask only one thing in repayment."
"And that is?"
"I want you to turn somebody into a vampire."
A glass ball sailed out of the shadows. The Master caught it and peered at the image contained within it.
"Him?"
"Him."
Buffy pivoted and planted her foot into the vampire's chest. It sailed backwards, crashing into two of its fellows and bearing them to the ground.
"Will!"
"I'm trying, Buffy. Kinda hard to concentrate right now!"
Willow was being backed into a corner by two vampires with greasy hair and thick spectacles.
"If you weren't vamps, I could kick both your asses. At the same time!" she moaned. "Oh..."
Her eyes flickered shut, and she began to mutter under her breath. The air around her shimmered, and the vampires looked around, blinking several times.
"It worked!" Willow grinned excitedly. "Invisibility!"
The vampires sneered, revealing their long, pointed fangs. They began to move towards her again.
"Oh, but not silence. Oh..."
Xander was defending himself with the battle-axe. Cheerleaders surrounded him, each of them bearing two fluffy pom-poms and two sharp fangs.
"Uh, give me a 'S'?" Xander quavered. "No? Alright, how about you girls form a cross and kill yourselves?"
The tallest of the vamp-cheerleaders spread her arms and tilted back her head to snarl.
"Okay, good cross. Good cross. Guess it has to be blessed or something to really freak you girls out, though, huh? How's this?"
Xander swung the axe, catching the tallest vampire in the neck with the edge of the blade. The vampire exploded into dust, leaving behind a pair of forlorn looking pom-poms.
"Hey, go me! Home run, huh?" Xander said, looking around at the other cheerleaders. "Uh, give me an 'X'?"
As one, the remaining cheerleaders leapt forward.
"...crap."
Buffy struggled against the two vampires holding her arms. A third was pacing back and forth before her, all acne and pocket protectors, just out of reach. Over its head, she could see a huge vampire wearing nothing but a loincloth daubing itself in paint - or is that blood? - while before it, and tied to the top of a huge stone tomb, was Oz, apparently unconscious. As Buffy watched and struggled, the huge vampire finished its self-decoration and drew a long knife from a holder on the wall.
The prowling vampire looked over its shoulder at the huge figure and turned back to Buffy, a feral grin on its twisted face. It took a step closer.
Buffy sprang backwards, her legs flashing up and over her head in a standing somersault kick that sent the spotty vampire crashing backwards. Buffy pivoted, throwing the two vampires holding her into one another.
"Oz!"
She sprang forward, clearing the dazed vampire on the floor and was halfway to the tomb when she was tackled by a heavy-set vampire tackled her. She crashed to the ground, momentarily stunned as she stared upwards at the bulky figure bearing down on her.
"You were in the chess club?" she asked.
The vampire's thick forehead knitted in consternation, before he shook his head.
"No, football team," he grinned. "I was on detention with the chess club."
"Figures," Buffy gasped, as the football player seized her around the throat and squeezed.
The world around her blurred, and black spots began to appear before her eyes. She kicked feebly, unable to focus the concentration needed to break the football player's grip. Her eyes flickered shut, the last thing she saw the teeth of the vampire as it eased off its grip on her neck to sink its fangs into her.
"Relashio"
There was a roar, and screams. Buffy felt the pressure on her disappear as the vampire moved away. To her, it felt like he'd leapt off her.
Oz. Must get to Oz. But her body refused to move.
And then roaring voices once more.
"Palum"
Over and over the yell came, and to Buffy's ears there came the ever-welcome sound of vampires exploding into dust. She risked opening her eyes, and was able to tilt her head a little.
A tall man with flaming red hair was waving something at the pile of vampire cheerleaders, and to Buffy's bleary gaze it seemed as though the vampires were dusting at his command.
She turned a little, and saw a woman with the same red hair playing a long tail of flame over the huge football player who'd tackled her. As she watched, the football player exploded into ash.
Two more figures stood back to back, one male, one female. They were acting in smooth synchronicity, dusting vampires seemingly with a wave of their hands.
Buffy tried to sit upright, but slumped backwards. Her head lolled to one side, and she saw a fifth figure standing in front of the huge, half-naked vampire that had apparently been about to sacrifice Oz.
Look out! It sounded good in Buffy's mind, but no sound came from her throat. She tried again, but only the faintest rasping escaped her lips. Even as she watched, though, she realised that no warning was necessary.
The figure - man - raised his hand to the vampire's chest. Buffy could see that he was holding a pointy bit of wood. Even as Buffy thought Well, that's dumb. You need to thrust a stake. He won't just impale himself! The man yelled "Palum" and the vampire erupted into dust.
"Wow. We're getting good!"
"Ron!"
"Well, we are! That must have been thirty vampires between the five of us."
"Well, they weren't very difficult, were they? And one got away."
"They were freshly turned, I'd say," a third voice cut in, more mature than the voice of the bickering male and female. "But Ron's right, too. We did well."
Buffy risked sitting up once more, but her body still wasn't quite ready to believe she could manage it.
"Here."
She looked up, and slowly took the proffered hand. As she was pulled upright, she found herself staring into a pair of emerald-green eyes.
So that's what Willow means when she says I look like I'm wondering how to save the world, Buffy thought. Her eyes scanned the rest of the face, taking in the shock of black hair that sprang in all directions, the two scars that ran parallel lines across one cheek, the third scar that ran jaggedly across his forehead and the deep lines that bunched around the corner of his eyes.
"Buffy Summers?" he asked, and Buffy's mind jolted. They all sound like Giles. Are they Watchers?
She nodded. "Who are you?" she croaked.
"Oh, were you hurt?" One of the women stepped forward, and Buffy recognised her as the one who had stood back to back with one of the men in the fight. Looking around, she took stock of the five newcomers. The tallest and shortest stood side by side, their hair a flaming red in contrast to their black jeans and grey sweatshirts. They both had pale, almost translucent skin, and a thick dusting of freckles across their cheeks and noses. Behind them, examining the tomb and letting Oz free - Buffy gave a guilty start at realising she hadn't seen how her friends were, but a quick look assured her now that they were all okay, if a little shaken - was an older man with thick grey hair. Buffy assumed he was the mature voice she had heard earlier.
A tingling in her throat drew her attention back to the woman in front of her. She realised, upon closer inspection, that the woman was probably about the same age as her, but carried herself with a poise that suggested maturity far beyond her years. Her red-haired companions were also about the same age but both had the air about them that came from seeing too much too soon. Buffy recognised it as the look she saw in the mirror every day.
She turned her attention back to the black-haired man, whom she realised had been watching her intently the whole time. She met his gaze steadily, and noted absently that the pain in her throat was gone. She wondered what the young woman had done to it.
The black-haired man extended his hand again, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"We've come from England," he said. "There was a prophecy..." he tailed off, looking still more uncomfortable. "My name's Harry Potter. I need your help."
To be continued...