Chapter Three: Prophecies And Punch Ups
Buffy paced the room for the thirteenth time that hour.
"So, while we're waiting, why not tell me about this prophecy you mentioned." She looked up at Harry and Remus.
"Not much to say," Harry shrugged. "We've got a Seer on our side. She had a vision. She saw that there was going to be a need for the Chosen Ones to unite against common foes. There was a lot of cryptic rubbish that Hermione and Professor Dumbledore and a bunch of other people worked through, but it came down to us coming to Sunnydale and working with you."
"Well, not that I don't appreciate the assist, but did you have any plans for what happens when Voldemort, the Master and Spike walk in here?"
Harry's eyes hardened, and fingers flexed and curled as though around an imaginary wand.
"Yeah, I do. I'll kill Voldemort, you kill the Master and Remus will kill Spike. I think that's an even distribution of our assets."
"Well, not that that doesn't sound really good and all, but did you consider that we might want something a little more detailed?" Buffy asked. "Should we start on the count of three, just to make it simpler?"
Harry tilted his head slightly, but his face remained almost expressionless. "Voldemort can read my mind. If I have a plan, he'll know it. If I'm going to beat him, I can't give him any advantages. If you want to arrange something with Remus, be my guest."
He turned away from her, and focused his gaze on the door to Faith's room. Anything wanting to enter would have to come through the door, giving the three of them something easy to aim at.
I hope, Buffy sighed. She crossed the room to Faith's bed, where the dark-haired Slayer lay pale and small-looking, hooked up to monitors and a drip, lacking the unquenchable vitality that had made her almost unbeatable.
Almost, Buffy thought, her gaze settling on the sheet that covered Faith's stomach. Even with a knife embedded deep in her gut, Faith had remained conscious long enough to deny Buffy her blood. Buffy's hands flexed, as Harry's had, the fingers curling to fit the handle of the knife, the muscles tensing as they remembered the thrust that had so nearly taken Faith's life.
Buffy remembered the pure anger that had driven her in that fight, the fear of losing Angel. She had lost him anyway. He was in Los Angeles now, seeking redemption away from the temptation that Buffy represented. A small part of Buffy wondered how she would make it through the next year without him, wondering how much more pain it would cause if she sought him out, tried to convince him to give them another try.
She shook her head. He had gone, and his reasoning had been sound. They lived in different worlds, and if they couldn't be together then being around one another was the worst kind of torture. Buffy knew, logically, that the pain would fade in time. In the meantime, she would simply do her best to inflict it on any vampire, demon or monster that crossed her path.
The walkie-talkie at her hip crackled. "Buffy?"
"Go ahead, Oz," she replied, raising the handset to her mouth.
"We've just seen another person going in with a neck wound. Sure are a lot of them tonight."
Buffy frowned. Oz and Ginny had reported a steady stream of people arriving at the hospital with vampire attack symptoms, and the numbers had risen sharply in the last hour.
She looked over the handset at Remus and Harry.
"I think we're in the wrong place," Remus commented. "Deliberately or not, we've been misled. The vampires are out on the streets tonight."
Buffy nodded. "Ginny, you stay here. Stay out of trouble. Oz, meet us by your van. Giles, you and the others meet us at the back entrance. We've been suckered, and we need to get out on the streets."
"Understood," Giles replied, his voice familiar and soothing even over the crackly radio.
"You're going?" Harry asked, as Buffy lowered the handset.
"You're not?"
"What about Faith?" he gestured at her unmoving form.
"I don't think they're coming tonight," Remus said calmly, imposing himself between Buffy and Harry. "We need to help the people out there, Harry."
"Someone should stay here," Harry persisted. "Someone strong enough to hold Voldemort and the Master."
"Fine," Buffy snapped. "You stay here, we'll go and save some lives."
She pushed roughly past the two men and strode into the corridor, not looking back as she made her way down the stairs to the back door. She found the others waiting for her silently. The Sunnydale natives looked a little jittery, as always before a big fight. Ron and Hermione were obviously calmer, but when they realised that Buffy was alone, they appeared more uncertain.
"Where's Harry?" Ron asked.
"He's not coming," Buffy said, as neutrally as she could manage. Willow, she was sure, could pick up on the tension in her voice.
"Harry feels that someone should remain here and guard Faith," Remus said calmly, appearing from behind Buffy silently. "I am inclined to agree with him. I feel we are more than capable of handling these vampires, even without him. Ginny will continue to watch the entrance, in case there is an attack."
Giles nodded, which seemed to settle the matter for Xander and Willow. The group headed for Oz's van and Giles' car, and set off for the centre of town.
"Glorious!" The Master exulted, as the sun rose over downtown Sunnydale. "Even with the Slayer's interference, our first recruits will all be sires a dozen times over by nightfall. And then the Slayer shall interfere no more, unless we order her, of course."
Voldemort rose from his chair a little unevenly. His pale face betrayed no hint of unease or pain, but his stance wavered a little. Spike watched his left hand flutter fractionally upwards, as though to touch his injured chest, but he stopped it almost before it had begun. But Spike had seen it, and he wondered if the Master had noticed his opponent's - for Spike had ceased thinking of them as allies shortly after Voldemort had incinerated one of the Master's most effective vampires for allowing a human to escape - momentary weakness.
Voldemort's lipless mouth split open and he looked evenly at the Master.
"We should decide now which one of us gets which Slayer," Voldemort declared. "I am loath to accede to your suggestion that we waste time and resources attacking the hospital now when we could more easily take it once the Summers girl and Potter are ours."
"From what I heard of you and your reign of terror from your ratty servant," the Master replied, "I thought that you understood the necessities of psychological warfare. Taking this Faith girl will break Summers. Knowing she has to fight an opponent with the strength and speed of a vampire in addition to that of a Slayer… She will be unable to think clearly. She will lose."
"The Slayer, Potter and their allies will massacre your brood of newly sired vampires," Voldemort declared. "The attack is folly, a waste of resources and power that could be replaced by a direct attack on them when they are unawares."
Spike turned away, leaving the two leaders to argue amongst themselves. He licked tentatively at the cut on his lip, the legacy of going toe-to-toe with one of the wizards the night before, a tall man with flaming red-hair and a punch like a shotgun blast. He had narrowly avoided one of the wizard's conjured stakes before their brief entanglement, and suspected that Voldemort had a point. Still, those who survived the attack would likely be strong and useful vampires, and they would thrive on the knowledge that they had survived a fight with a Slayer. Not many vampires could claim that, although the weight of numbers in this case - Spike estimated that there would be over sixty vampires rising that night - would count in their favour.
There was a hissed incantation, and Spike turned in time to see one of his recruits look down in surprise as a stake materialised in the centre of his chest. Two more gasped as the first exploded into dust, these two severely hampered by the stakes protruding from their shoulders.
"Your aim is off, wizard," the Master snarled, taking a step towards Voldemort.
"On the contrary, my aim is excellent," Voldemort replied, his mouth twisting into a mockery of a smile. He waved his wand, and six thin wooden stakes appeared along the length of the Master's right forearm. The Master raised his arm in surprise, staring at the even half-dozen spikes that were stabbed clean through his arm. Blood dripped slowly from the wounds, as though it had been so long since it last flowed that it had forgotten exactly what it was supposed to do.
"Have I succeeded in making my point?" Voldemort asked, before turning away from the stricken vampire.
The Master growled, a guttural sound that seemed to shake the room around him. "Face me, Voldemort," he snapped.
The wizard turned slowly, dark red eyes meeting the Master's narrow gaze.
"Magic or not, we both know that if I were to attack you now I would snap your neck in two before you could blink," the Master snarled. "I would drink your blood and take over the world by myself. And yet you resurrected me, brought me back from Hell itself. My gratitude grows thin, but it holds, for now. Pray for your own sake that I continue to acknowledge your usefulness to the plan long enough for you to walk out of here alive."
Spike watched the two of them posturing. He supposed that it was inevitable that if two of the most evil creatures on the face of the earth were to unite, there would be friction. They both wanted everything, after all, and their dreams of world domination were incompatible.
God alone knows what'll happen if these two actually win. All out war between the wizards and us vampires, I suppose. Should be fun, plenty of mess, and there's a lot more vamps around than wand-wavers, but they do have a nasty knack of being good at killing us. And these two are as likely to kill me as reward me once they're done. Oh well, once more into the breach and all that.
Spike cleared his throat.
"Not to interrupt the riveting display or anything," he said, smirking at a blonde female vamp that'd caught his eye earlier. "But shouldn't we be making plans for tonight and stuff? I mean, I know we're going after the second Slayer, but how? And do you really think they won't still be guarding her? We're going to have to go in hard and fast if we don't want to end up as ashes, that's all there is to it."
"You fancy yourself as a strategist?" the Master asked. "Well, see if you approve of our plan, then. We go in, Reptile Boy here tangles with the wizards, I turn the sleeping Slayer and you and some of your feistier colleagues wreak merry havoc among the Summers girl and her friends."
"Right, fine, well that's that sorted then," Spike grinned, formulating his own plans behind his ridged forehead. "If that's all, I'll go get a bit of kip. Wouldn't do to be falling asleep while I tangle with the Slayer tonight."
The door to the Summers house opened slowly, and a tired looking figure slouched into the hallway.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, ignoring the long cut on her leg to jump to her feet and welcome her friend.
"Hey," he replied, moving into the living room and sinking onto the sofa. "What happened last night?"
"We dusted some vamps, and got our asses handed to us on a plate," Buffy replied, moving an icepack off her jaw for a moment.
"Coulda used a little help out there," Xander added, as Ginny focussed an orange beam from her wandtip on his wrist. "There were a lot of vamps."
"Someone had to watch Faith," Harry sighed, his eyes flickering closed. Before anyone could reply, his chest began to rise and fall slowly. He was clearly asleep.
"Great. At least someone'll be rested for tonight," Xander groused. "Hey!"
"Sorry," Ginny replied. "Harry was just doing what he thought was best."
"Yeah, but he needs to work with us," Buffy commented. "He can't just go off and do things by himself and expect it to work- What?"
She looked at the wizards, who had exchanged a very pointed look at this.
"Thing is, Harry can," Ron said, wrapping a bandage around his split knuckles. "We just slow him down. He's damn near invincible, and while it would have been good if he'd been out there with us last night, all that vampire activity could have been a feint."
"Is he really that good?" Willow asked, looking curiously at Harry. "He looks kinda, well, not that good."
"And Buffy looks like a girl who I might chat up in a pub one night," Ron retorted. "Trust me. Once you see Harry in action, you'll get what I mean."
"Yeah, Will," Xander added. "I mean, look at Oz. You'd never guess that he's really a demon with the guitar, right?"
Willow looked at her dyed-haired, painted-fingernails, Hendrix t-shirt wearing boyfriend, and shrugged.
"I prefer just 'pretty good with a guitar'," Oz commented. "Being a demon round here? People might try and hunt me. Even more than they already do."
Remus and Joyce entered, carrying bandages and bowls of hot water. Willow took a strip of bandage to wind around Buffy's arm while Hermione began to clean her cut.
"So, are we in danger?" Joyce asked, looking at the wounded teenagers who filled her front room. "Mr. Giles says we'll be okay here, but Mr. Lupin..."
"Call me Remus, please, Joyce," Remus interrupted as he brushed Ginny's hair away from the cut on her shoulder.
"Well, okay," Joyce replied, smiling shyly at the grey-haired man. Buffy rolled her eyes.
"I must admit, Joyce," Remus said, as he cleaned Ginny's cut. "You are in some danger. But not, I think, any more than any one else in town. You're not located very near to where we think the fighting will be, so you should be okay, but if you like someone can stay here and keep an eye on the place."
"Oh, I wouldn't want to be a burden," Joyce said. "If you say it's safe, then…"
"No, it'd be a good idea for someone to stay here," Ron said, grinning widely. "And I think Remus should stay, don't you, Buffy?"
Buffy scowled at the mock-serious redhead. "Sure. Whatever," she bit out, the icepack against her jaw somewhat muffling the sarcasm.
Ron grinned. Joyce beamed.
The living room fell into near-silence as the occupants tended to their wounds and tried to prepare themselves for the prospect of another night of heavy fighting. After a few hours in which the big excitement had been an arm wrestling contest between Ron and Xander, Harry sat bolt upright, hands rising for a second before he stopped them. He screwed his closed eyes more tightly shut, and breathed heavily for several seconds, before exhaling deeply and falling back onto the sofa.
"What time is it?" Harry asked.
"About two," Buffy replied, entering the living room and rotating her shoulder gingerly.
"Right. Where is everyone?" Harry asked.
"Training in the basement. Well, except for mom and Remus. They're outside, cutting flowers for the vases," Buffy said, with a roll of her eyes.
"Right," Harry blinked. "What happened to your shoulder?"
"Ron," Buffy replied.
"Ron?"
"And Xander. They got a little carried away. Ginny just came down, said you were waking up. She's taking care of the two of them for me."
The ghost of a smile crossed Harry's face.
"How'd you get hurt, then?" he asked.
"They crashed into me from behind and I fell against the wall. It's only a bump, and I heal fast."
"Right," Harry said. "Will you be okay by tonight?"
"Yeah, sure. Did you hear any of what we've decided for tonight?"
Harry shook his head.
"We're going back to the hospital. One team to guard Faith, one team to stake the vampires if they rise," she told him.
"Right. Good," Harry replied. "What're the teams?"
"You, me and Ron are guarding Faith, Xander and Hermione to back us up. Willow, Ginny, Oz and Giles will go after the vamps. Ron says he wants another go at Spike. Apparently they tussled last night."
"What about Remus?"
"Staying here. To guard my mom," Buffy sighed.
Harry frowned. "Great."
"Hey, not loving the idea either," Buffy pointed out. "My mom making icky-eyes at British guys brings me out in a bad case of the 'Eeewws', with a side order of 'Ick' for good measure."
She paused as Harry stared at her blankly, then forged onwards. "But the Master and Spike both know where I live, and I'd prefer if someone were here to keep an eye on her, just in case we're wrong about the hospital."
"Okay," Harry relented. "But we're not wrong about the hospital. Voldemort's so excited about tonight that I can nearly taste it. It's what woke me up, my scar burning. I learned how to control the way he affects me, but I can't stop his thoughts leaking into my head. He's impatient, angry, and he's out for blood."
"Good," Giles said, stepping into the living room and wiping his hands on a towel. A damp patch on his chest showed how hard he had been working on training. "If he's as worked up as you say, he'll make mistakes, he'll be sloppy."
"Not Voldemort," Harry said. "He'll just take it out on anyone who gets in his way. It's time to end this. Tonight." He looked at Buffy. "I'm sorry he's on your ground, and I don't want to push you around, but you have to stay out of my way tonight. If Voldemort appears, leave him to me, got it?"
Buffy stared into Harry's emerald eyes, which now seemed as hard as the stone whose hue they shared.
"Voldemort's yours," she replied. "But you sound so resigned. I thought you thought you were going to beat him."
"He keeps escaping," Harry sighed, sinking back into his seat. "And I'm beginning to wonder if maybe there's a reason. Before I was born, there was a prophecy made about me and Voldemort-"
"Another prophecy? You guys sure have a lot of the things," Buffy commented.
"This one said that neither Voldemort nor I can live while the other lives," Harry said. "And it was right. I don't have a life, I can't have a life. Not while he's still here. And from what our spies have told us, he's been so obsessed with killing me that he's not thinking straight."
"Was there more to the prophecy?" Giles asked.
"It's supposed to mean that one of us has to die, that we'll fight and that to finally beat him that I'll have to kill him," Harry looked up at Buffy. "But it could work the other way, too. Maybe he'll kill me. He's escaped twice, now. The momentum is on his side. I might not survive tonight."
"Hey, I've heard a lot of prophecies," Buffy said, squatting in front of him. "Made a few of my own. Just because they say one thing, doesn't mean that that's it. I mean, there was a prophecy that I'd die when I was sixteen."
"Yes, and you died," Harry said. "The Watcher's Council let Dumbledore borrow your Diary," he added, looking up at Giles.
"Oh," Giles replied.
"But, see, that proves my point," Buffy replied. "I died, and the prophecy was fulfilled, but Xander brought me back to life."
"So I should take Xander along when I fight Voldemort?" Harry asked.
"No, I-" Buffy stopped, and frowned. "I'm just trying to help."
"Then stay out of my way tonight," Harry said. "If Voldemort does kill me, you're probably our next best hope, and I don't want you dying because you tried to help me."
Buffy looked up at Giles, but the Watcher just shrugged and left the living room.
"Okay," Buffy agreed, quietly. "But you're not going to die."
"I hope you're right."
To be continued...
Harry/Ginnyfan4ever: Heheh. Spot on. Remus and Joyce, sitting in a tree...
zayra More goodies!
angelus cado: Glad to hear you're enjoying the story
Kinky Usagi: Well, it's fun to mess with things, and vampire Faith would totally kick ass... You'll have to wait and see ;-)
phoenix83ad: Who will betray who? Hmmm, maybe they won't live long enough to betray one another or maybe they'll work in beautiful tandem and rule the world. As for Tara, sorry, but there wasn't room for her here. I did consider doing a post s.5 follow-up where Harry etc. show up for Buffy's funeral, but it would be very maudlin and probably not worth doing, just to get Tara and Hermione talking :-(
Emba Glad you like the way I'm writing people here :-)
lisa No major smoochies here, regardless of what pairings I put together.
kidBy now, you may be able to guess what the eventual pairings will be. Glad you're liking Spike :-)
EmenaThey got there eventually, but it won't be happening here. Spike does get the chance to get up close and personal with both Buffy and Hermione, though ;-)
Harry Foureyes: Plenty of action to come, but Spike's pure evil, which is when he's at his most fun. He's going to do some serious damage before the story's done. Changing sides? Well, not quite, but let's just say that he's not the loyalist of people...