The Prophecy Of Two

Chapter One: Welcome To Sunnydale

"So, you're wizards," Xander repeated. It was the third time he'd asked, and Buffy wasn't sure that it was going to be accepted any easier this time than the last two times that he'd been answered.

"And witches," Willow added, looking at the two women with what Buffy sometimes thought of as her 'Help there's a cute guy talking to me!' look.

"I hadn't imagined that there were so many of you," Giles said, turning one of the visitor's wands over and over in his hands. He hadn't taken kindly to being awakened at one in the morning, but now he seemed to be the most alert person in the room.

"You knew about this?" Buffy asked, waving her hand at the five visitors. Harry cocked his head and looked at her, as though slightly put out by being described as 'this'. Ginny, the red-haired witch, followed suit. Remus, the older wizard, just looked at her with a wry smile that she recognised as one of Giles' 'You're being American and so I'll just be tolerant until it goes away' expressions. Ron, the red-haired wizard and Ginny's brother, seemed set to fall asleep. Hermione, the bushy-haired witch, was prodding him discreetly with her wand as she stared raptly at Giles.

"Well, I..." Giles stared up at the ceiling, his expression clouding over. "Shortly after I left university, I fell in with a bad crowd, as you know."

"Ethan and the others," Willow elucidated for Xander, who appeared to be transfixed by the visitors.

"Right, right... Who?" Xander asked, looking away from Ginny.

Giles sighed. "Ethan Rayne, worshipper of Chaos, turned you lot into Halloween puppets and me into a seventeen year old, yes?"

"Oh, right, Ethan Rayne," he replied, with a smile at Hermione.

"Anyway, shortly after I started spending time with Ethan, he arranged for us to meet in this really dingy pub in the middle of London called, oh, now, what was it... Ah yes. The Leaky..."

"...Cauldron?" Ron offered.

"Yes, yes, that's it," Giles smiled. "Anyway, he was there with two other young men around our age. We went to Ethan's flat, and these two men started telling us about this powerful wizard they only called the Dark Lord. They did a couple of spells with their wands, which impressed Ethan and I no end. They could do things that we could only dream of."

"Do you remember their names?" Remus asked, staring intently at Giles. "Or anything about them?"

"Sadly not. It must have been twenty-five years ago now. One of them had very blonde hair, but other than that..."

Harry and Ron exchanged a significant look, but said nothing.

"Anyway, that was the only time I ever came across wizards like yourselves. Until tonight, anyway. I think Ethan may have seen them a few times, but I seem to remember that when he found out he couldn't do magic in the same way they could, he lost patience and interest."

"You had a lucky escape, Mr. Giles," Hermione said quietly. "It sounds like you and your friend met with Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters?" Xander asked, smirking. "What do they do, team up with Sickness Drinkers for a funky cabaret act."

"They're the followers of the Dark wizard Voldemort, possibly the most powerful wizard on Earth this century. They kill people. Muggles, muggle-born wizards, anyone who disagrees that pure-blood wizards are the supreme race."

"Oh."

"Muggles?" Buffy asked.

"Non-wizards, like you or I," Giles said. "No, the two I met didn't mention that. I suppose for a pair of Muggles like myself and Ethan, it wouldn't have been the most convincing sales pitch."

"But what brings you here?" Willow asked. "I mean, you said you'd been fighting these Death Eaters in Britain, right?"

"Until a year ago, yes," Remus said. "Then, last summer, Voldemort and his forces attacked Hogwarts school in Scotland where these four were studying."

"What happened?" Buffy asked, feeling a surge of empathy for anyone who had been to a school as incident-prone as Sunnydale High had been.

"We fought," Harry said. "The entire school against Voldemort's forces. They were trying to kill eleven year old children."

"Harry stopped them," Ginny said.

"On your own?" Oz asked.

"No, I went after Voldemort while everyone did what we'd been training them to do."

"Harry, Ron and I set up a group of pupils to learn Defence Against The Dark Arts during our fifth year," Hermione explained.

"It was chaos, but I found him in the middle of the school grounds," Harry said, his eyes unfocused behind his glasses. "I ran up to him, hexing anyone who got in my way and stuck a sword through his chest."

"I've been slaying vampires for four years, so I have to ask..." Buffy said. "It didn't kill him, did it?"

"No, it didn't," Harry said. "He Apparated away - that's teleportation - and we finished off the Death Eaters soon after. He ran, and now we think he's back."

"Our leader, Albus Dumbledore, has close contacts with your Watchers Council," Remus continued. Buffy felt her expression freeze on her face at the mention of her former supervisors. "He learned from them that someone had been collecting certain items needed for a resurrection spell."

"What items?"

"Blood from one of their agents, and the bones from the grave of a German nobleman, Joseph Nest."

"Oh good Lord," Giles said. "You don't mean..."

Hermione dug into the backpack that sat at her feet, and pulled out a silvery amalgamation of metallic widgets. Buffy tilted her head to try and work out what it was meant to do, but when Hermione set it on Giles' coffee table, she stopped wondering. A silvery mist spouted from somewhere in the middle of the device and took a form Buffy found all too familiar.

"At approximately one twenty three a.m. Pacific Standard Time," Hermione said, "this device recorded a surge of energy from one of the demon dimensions. It was a recognised side effect of the resurrection spell identified as that used to return the spirit of Voldemort to his body, and it was a recognised spirit pattern that was retrieved."

Buffy stared at the smoky image as it revolved above the device. Bat-eared, with long talons protruding from each finger and the twisted face that identified a truly ancient vampire, the figure had at one time haunted Buffy's dreams for months. She only partially subdued a shudder as she stared at his horrific visage once more.

"The Master," she whispered. "He's back."

"Voldemort? You must have been after my time."

"Only by a decade or so. I rose in the Dark Arts after the defeat of Grindelwald."

"Oh, Grindelwald's gone? Pity. He still owed me South America for the massacre in Bonn that time."

"Help me and I will repay you all that you are owed, and much, much more."

"All I have to do is turn this Potter child into a vampire? Easy enough. Shall we be off, then?"

"You are taking Potter too lightly," Voldemort declared. "He is easily the equal as a warrior of the Slayer who took your life."

"Well, I have something for that little girl as well. It will be a long night as it is, and you are not making things move any faster. Now, I have a dawn appointment with a crypt, so can we get on with it?"

"We will not move tonight."

The Master turned away from the window through which he had been surveying Sunnydale.

"Why not?"

"Potter put a sword through my chest, but I am recovering. The Summers girl impaled you on a wooden beam, and you died. Surely I am not asking too much that you follow my orders?"

The Master glared in Voldemort's direction, and then shrugged.

"Whatever. After two years, I am eager to kill again. But if you are not able to hunt tonight..."

Voldemort stepped out of the shadows, his red eyes blazing in his white, snake-like face.

"Do not irk me, Nest. You bring a great deal to our alliance, but you are a convenience. There are others out there in this town who could offer what you can."

"If that were true, why bother resurrecting me?"

"A lingering sentimental attachment to your work in Bonn," Voldemort replied, his lipless mouth splitting into a smile. "Surgical and precise. Grindelwald once said that you were worth everything he would have paid you."

"Ah, so, if in doubt, go to the best?"

Voldemort glared silently.

"Grindelwald had a sense of humour. You do know that?"

"Grindelwald is dead. I am not. This is but one of the many differences between the two of us."

"Fine," the Master sighed. "We shall wait. Doubtless word will spread of your arrival in Sunnydale, and the Slayer will come after us."

"I hope so," Voldemort replied. "Indeed, it is my belief that Potter and the Slayer will join forces, thus allowing us to rid the world of two annoying problems at once."

The Master sneered. "Your 'Chosen One' may die once and leave it at that, but the Slayer is harder to kill off. When one dies, another rises. A production line of tasty treats, if you catch them early enough, but once a Slyer gets some momentum behind her, she can become almost unstoppable."

"As you found to your cost," Voldemort smirked, his eyes glowing a deep crimson as he regarded his ally. "And yet, one of my informants tells me that a Slayer rose after you left the Summers girl to drown."

"There are two Slayers out there?"

"Perhaps. I am told that she was in league with the Summers girl for a time, but has not been seen for several days. I am still having my servant pursue enquiries regarding this matter."

"Well, I hope for his sake that he has the sense to stay well hidden. There are a lot of vampires in this town who will view that pathetic worm as an ideal pre-dinner snack."

"Wormtail has his skills, precious few though they are. He can disguise himself extremely well, and only the most desperate vampire would attempt to eat him once he is disguised."

"Wonderful, well, he's a lucky one," the Master said. "If I try and go out, I'll draw a crowd. Either loyal vampires, disloyal vampires or bothersome heroes trying to prove their worth to an indifferent world. When we hunt, Voldemort, pray that we go unnoticed, because if we attract a crowd I am in the mood for a killing spree that would remind the world why they had best fear vampires, demons, and things that go bump in the night."

Voldemort watched the Master's histrionics impassively.

"Your constant boasting suggests that you feel as though you have something to prove," Voldemort remarked calmly.

"Well, let me see..." The Master said, tapping his taloned fingers against his chin. "I spent sixty years buried inside a church, trapped by the holy aura and mystical energies that were folded into one another when the earthquake tore the town apart. Within an hour of my release, I was killed and trapped in the nether regions of hell for two years, a period of time that stretched for many, many centuries to my eyes. Think of me not as someone with something to prove, rather as someone with a thirst for blood that I won't satisfy until every person in this miserable town is dead or a vampire."

He paused.

"Then, I thought, a nice stroll along Fifth Avenue in New York, hit the theatre district, take in a show, take lives, instill panic, a pleasant evening in the Big Apple. Have my wave of terror emanating from several points at once, after that. I did a lot of thinking in those sixty years. With only images of a deity you don't believe in to keep you company, you find yourself making very complicated plans. Still, I keep coming back to the tried and trusted 'kill everything quickly and messily' which has served me so well in the past, Bonn not withstanding."

"So long as you remember our agreement," Voldemort said, disinterestedly. "Stay in America, and I won't have to kill you."

"Well, you stick to your continents, I'll stick to mine," The Master replied. "There should be enough to keep us both busy."

The Master turned back to the window and resumed his watch over the town beyond, occasionally baring his fangs as a particularly attractive target passed by on the street below.

Better that we have the most up-to-date information, however. To kill one Slayer, only to have another stick a stake in my back would be misfortune indeed, and would certainly spoil my day. I suppose I must admit that this wizard is right about that. Still, it won't stop me killing him when I have what I want, and if this Potter is as powerful as he says, then perhaps I will turn him for my own use, rather than handing him over to Voldemort.

He squinted out the window at two shapes that were emerging from the shadows of the dark alley.

"Your servant has returned. And he's brought company."

"Good. Now we shall find out the latest news regarding the Slayer and her friends."

The door creaked open, and Wormtail slipped inside, turning to look upon his twin masters with the barest hint of a shudder. The Master bared his fangs, almost able to taste the fear burning off the feeble wizard.

"What have you brought us, Wormtail?"

"I-"

The door banged the rest of the way open, and a tall, blonde man strode in, his long trenchcoat swishing behind him. He walked into the centre of the room, looking first at Voldemort, and then at the Master. He stood exactly between the two of them, cradling a cigarette in one hand. Raising it to his mouth, he took a deep drag before blowing a long stream of smoke in Voldemort's direction.

"Ah! My boy," the Master smiled. "It's been too long."

"Well," the blonde man began. "Voldemort and the Master." He turned to look at the Master. "And me without my autograph book. Isn't it always the way? The one day you leave it at home."

He walked away from the centre of the room, looking around the burnt remains of the factory that had once been housed in the building.

"I must say, I love what you've done with the place. Not as nice as when I lived here, of course. Last time I hire a psychopathic librarian to do my interior decorating. Still," he took another drag on the cigarette. "Mustn't grumble. Only got back into town last night and already I've got me a paying gig. So," he turned, his features twisting and shifting into those of a vampire. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath the toe of his boot. He looked up at Voldemort. "The name's Spike. Who am I killing, and how much are you paying me?"

With the Sunnydale High library the epicentre of an explosion powerful enough to rival a small volcano and Giles' apartment simply too small to handle such a large influx of guests, Buffy's house had become the centre of the new resistance movement. Ginny and Hermione had bedded down in the spare room with Willow. Buffy was helping Oz, Xander, Ron and Harry lay out bedthings in the lounge. Remus and Giles, both being scholarly by nature, had decided to spend the rest of the night researching the Master and any connections he might have to Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

Buffy had wandered into the kitchen to get the guys some water when she realised that she had been followed. Harry was stood in the doorway, watching her intently.

"Uh, hi?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Do you need a hand?" he asked, gesturing at the tray of cups she was holding.

"No, but thanks," she replied, cocking her head slightly. "You okay? Ron was practically asleep in there already."

"He's lucky," Harry replied, taking the tray of cups as though he hadn't heard what she'd said. "He can do that. When I know a fight's coming, I can't sleep."

"I learned," Buffy said. "I mean, sometimes I wished that I didn't. I used to have dreams. Prophecies, really."

"When I dream, sometimes I can see into Voldemort's head."

"Really? Sometimes the Master could see into mine. Can Voldemort see into yours?"

"I dunno. I don't think so. He can make me see things, sometimes. Visions..."

He tailed off, his face clouding over. Then he looked up, his expression determined and fierce.

"I'm going to get him. Now. Here. He's had a year when I've been chasing after him. And now it's going to end."

"Right," Buffy said, holding his intense gaze. "But I'm thinking that getting mad at him? Not gonna help you sleep."

He looked at her, and then his lips quirked into a smile. "You're right, of course you're right. But he's cost me a lot. He killed my parents, he's tried to kill me so many times I've lost count, and he's killed people I care about. When I was twelve, he tried to kill Ginny just so he could force me to fight him."

"Twelve?" Buffy's jaw dropped. "How long have you been fighting him?"

"The first time he came after me, I was a year old. He tried to kill me, but it backfired," Harry's eyes sparkled behind his glasses. "He was nearly killed. He survived as a spirit, a thought. No-one knows how. He came back when I was eleven, then when I was twelve, sort of. When I was fourteen, he got a body back. Fifteen, he tried to kill me and a lot of my friends, including Ron, Ginny and Hermione. My godfather saved us, but he died. Sixteen, he left me alone but he did kill two of my teachers and a lot of people in the resistance movement. Last year he came after me twice. The first time we fought to a draw when it was just us. Then he brought all his followers to my school, and we fought again."

Buffy looked at Harry in sympathy. She tried to imagine spending the whole of her adolescence fighting Spike and Drusilla, or the Master, or the Mayor. Her mind ached at the thought. She looked at Harry, and noticed again the deep lines spreading out from the corners of his eyes and the scars on his cheek. Her eyes travelled to the strange scar on his forehead. He looked at her impassively.

"It's where he tried to kill me as a baby. No-one knows why I have it, or how I survived."

Buffy reached up and rubbed the side of her neck. Two small scars were all that remained of her relationship with Angel, and those would surely fade in time. The scars from the Master's bite, two years before, had gone before that summer had passed.

"How do you keep going?" she asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he replied, looking somewhat subdued. "At least I don't have to fight every night."

"I guess." She smiled. "Sucks to be the Chosen One, doesn't it?"

He looked at her curiously, and then nodded once, shortly.

"So, you're really witches," Willow said again, with a nervous giggle.

"We really are," Ginny replied.

"Did you, I mean, have you ever met another witch? Like me, I mean?"

"Not really," Hermione replied. "Sometimes you meet someone who claims to be a witch, but what they mean is that they think they look good in black and find moonlight romantic."

The three girls sighed.

"What you do, it looks effortless," Willow said, after a while. "It took me weeks to learn how to levitate things."

"But you learnt that on your own," Hermione said, sitting up. "I would never have understood about magic if I hadn't been able to go to Hogwarts."

"I had a head start," Ginny added. "I have six brothers, so I always knew that I'd be a witch."

"How long have you been practising?" Hermione asked.

"A little over a year," Willow replied.

"Well, you've come a very long way in such a short time," Hermione replied, sounding slightly put out. "Most of our wizards and witches can't manage invisibility. It's a very hard spell to master."

"It was cool, but it only lasted a few seconds," Willow sighed. "It'd be great if I could turn Buffy invisible."

"Because... You're jealous of her hair?" Ginny asked.

Willow smiled. "No, I want to be able to help her, fighting evil and all, but the best I can manage is a few glamours to cover her bruises before class. Do you guys know any real spells I could use?"

"A protective spell, you mean?" Ginny asked, looking at Hermione, who shook her head.

"Yeah. Something to make sure that Buffy's safe when she's fighting. I'd feel better, you know? I mean," she lay back on her bed. "I'm sure people must have looked for something before now. There must have been witches and wizards and warlocks who've helped the Council, who've helped the Slayer. But the Slayer always dies. Buffy's died. She came back, but she died, and I don't want to lose her, not if I can help it."

There was a pause, and then Hermione said "I'm sorry, Willow, I really am. I don't know of any spells that can help you like that."

"We want to know about the Slayer," Voldemort declared.

"Yeah, okay, goodbye," Spike moved towards the door.

"Colloportus" Voldemort waved his wand, and the door slammed shut. Spike grabbed the handle and pulled. When nothing happened, he rattled it and began pounding on the charred steel. Spinning around, his gaze settled on the only window in the room. The Master shifted slightly so that he stood between Spike and the window.

"Bloody hell."

"You are familiar with the Slayer, then?" Voldemort asked.

"Familiar with her? Familiar with her? Two years ago, I came to this poxy little town to kill her! Only she wouldn't die, would she? She kicked my arse halfway across the bloody state, and I wouldn't set foot in this dump again if I didn't need something here.

"The problem with this Slayer is that she's got friends. She's got people to watch her back, and they help keep her strong. Eat enough of them, and you might have a chance, but this Slayer is good. You want to know how good the Slayer is? Way I hear it, there was another Slayer in town these last few months. Apparently Slayer One and Slayer Two didn't get on so good, they had a big fight, and the original killed the second coming. She's got the killer instinct, this girl. She's got a life, and she's hell on anyone who tries to get in the way. So you can forget it. I am not having anything to do with the bloody Slayer. Find yourself another sacrificial lamb."

"We can pay you," Voldemort said. "Reward you beyond your wildest dreams. Name your price. Women? Blood? A state of your own?"

"Nothing on this earth could make me go after the Slayer again," Spike growled. "The only thing that made me come back here in the first place was the Gem of Amarra so you can take your women and your sodding blood and go f-"

"It's yours," the Master said.

"-yourself. What?"

"The Gem of Amarra. It grants invincibility and lets vampires walk in the sun, am I right? You can have it. I once discovered its whereabouts, but being trapped underground for sixty years makes going treasure hunting so inconvenient. Help us kill the Slayer and her friends, and I'll tell you where it is."

"Well," Spike said, his tone all business once more. "All right then! The Slayer, eh? I've been wanting to get my teeth into her..."

To be continued...