Chapter Four: Test Of Faith
Spike stalked the corridors, leading Voldemort, the Master, and their team through Sunnydale Memorial. This was his favourite part. The kill was in the offing, the victim was unprepared, and all it would take would be a swift strike.
The kill is good, but the anticipation... Oh, that's something else! And to kill a Slayer... I remember how good the others were.
Spike smirked, his fangs glinting faintly in the darkened hallway. He held up a hand, and the almost silence of their movements fell into absolute silence. There weren't even the sounds of breathing. Apparently Voldemort had little need of breath. Spike's smile widened as he laid one hand on the handle of the unconscious Slayer's room -
- and jerked backwards as a crossbow bolt shattered the glass and whipped across his chest, thudding into the plasterboard wall opposite.
Spike hesitated for a second, and then burst through the door.
Buffy frowned as the shadow on the other side of the glass failed to disappear. Ron and Harry watched in stony silence, wands raised. Buffy set the crossbow on Faith's bed and drew a stake.
Then Spike burst through the door, and all semblance of order disappeared.
The blonde vampire made a bee-line for Buffy, but was tackled halfway across the room by Ron, whose lunge took Spike in the chest. They crashed into the wall, and fell, for a second stunned by the impact.
Behind Spike came a wave of vampires, and for a second Buffy felt her stomach drop. The numbers went far beyond those counted the night before. How many had died?
"Hello, Slayer."
And then Buffy forgot everything as the Master stepped into the room.
"Potter."
A single word, and then Harry was in motion. Framed in the doorway was Voldemort, black robe hanging loosely about his thin, skeletal frame. Harry waved his wand, a Blasting spell erupting from the tip. But a vampire passed in front of Voldemort on its way into the room, and the spell spent itself on the vampire's head. The vampire exploded into ash, and as more of its brethren piled into the room, Voldemort's lipless mouth split into a mockery of a smile. Raising his wand, he waved it in Harry's direction, and Harry, penned in on all sides by the flood of vampires, had to drop to the ground to avoid the scarlet hex. As he fell, another vampire exploded into dust, and Harry felt the swell of vampires press in on all sides. Hitting the ground with a jolt, he looked up into a fearsome circle of pointed teeth and hungry, pitiless eyes.
Spike rose smoothly to his feet, hands clasped around his attacker's neck. With barely a grunt of effort, he hoisted the young man into the air, and threw him across the room. He crashed through the window and into the corridor beyond, dropping limply to the ground, the falling glass the only sound as the tableau before him paused for a moment.
"Buffy? Buffy, what's happening?"
Spike strode forward, the vampires parting before him as though he were Moses parting the Red Sea. The Slayer stood before him, looking defiant as ever, but knowing, he could tell, that this was to be her last stand.
"Well, Buffy?" Spike said, gesturing at the radio at Buffy's hip. "Aren't you going to talk to the nice Watcher?"
She glared at him, and swung. Spike grabbed her wrist mid-strike, and twisted. The satisfying feel of Buffy's bones grinding together under his fingers was met by the even more satisfying sound of the pained gasp escaping her throat. He smiled, and shoved her forward, sending her crashing headfirst into the monitoring equipment. Reaching down, he plucked the radio from her belt. With one foot resting heavily on the Slayer's throat, he thumbed the transmit key.
"Yes, go ahead?"
"Harry? Is that you? Where's Buffy?"
"Buffy's indisposed at the moment," Spike smirked, arching his eyebrows at some appreciatively smiling vampires in the corner of the room.
"Well, that doesn't matter. Listen, it's a trap. We made it to the mortuary, but there were only two or three vampires here. We staked them, but then we got ambushed. We nearly made it out, but we heard one of our attackers say-"
"-that Spike, Voldemort and the Master were leading an undead army into battle with the others? Yes, Rupert, I think that they may have noticed."
There was a pause. The Master smiled, acknowledging Spike's arrogance.
"Spike?" Giles voice was hard, angry.
"Got it in one, Watcher-boy," Spike crooned. "Coming to join the party? We were going to kill Buffy and the other one immediately, but it'd be so much more fun to have their own bloody Watcher watching while I rip their throats out."
"Buffy! Hold on, we-"
Spike crushed the radio, and let the shards of plastic and metal shower down onto Buffy's face. She screwed up her features to protect herself, and flailed at Spike's leg ineffectually.
"Don't kill her. Yet," the Master ordered. He walked over to the bed where Faith lay, quiet and still.
"Ahhh, perfection," the Master sighed, leaning close to the dark-haired girl. "I can feel the darkness inside her. She is going to be such fun to have around. "
"Yeah, right. Now, are we going to eat them, or what?" Spike asked.
The Master looked up, and sighed. "Very well. I suppose you want the Summers girl?"
"Yeah," Spike grinned. "Time for a bit of payback."
Reaching down, he dragged Buffy up into the air as easily as he had done with Ron before her. Vamping up, he smashed her against the wall, knocking the wind from her and stunning her momentarily. His lips drew back, exposing the jagged teeth that had drained Slayer blood before. Leaning in, the tips of his teeth brushed the skin of Buffy's neck.
Then he bit down, and knew no more.
Ron stood in the doorway of the room, wand drawn and pointed at the Master, having stunned both him and Spike in one easy move. He dived into the pile of vampires between him and Faith's bed, and by tooth, nail and wand, managed to dig a hole in the pile down to where Harry lay, curled up with his hands around his neck.
"Harry!"
Harry looked up, green eyes glimmering in the darkness.
Ron managed to get free just in time.
Sort of.
Harry's wand glowed, illuminating the pile of vampires on top of him. Instinctively as he fell, he had curled into a protective ball. The impact had knocked the wind from him, and the press of vampires had trapped him in place. As he gathered his senses, he focused on appropriate spells for freeing himself. And then Ron had given him room to move.
"Ha-Do-Ken!"
The vampires, maybe a dozen of them, were thrown into the air by the blast. Harry pushed himself to his feet and looked up.
"Ron?"
Voldemort stood in front of Harry, wand drawn, the wandtip glowing as he suspended Ron's body a few inches above the ground.
"Put down your wand, Harry, and I'll let your friend live."
"I don't believe you," Harry snarled, his eyes locked on Voldemort's.
There was a snapping sound, and one of Ron's fingers bent too far backwards.
"That could have been his neck, but that would be too easy. I don't want any excuses, Potter. With him dead, you could blame his loss for your inevitable defeat. If you survived, that is. But I won't kill him. I want everyone to know that you died because I am the greater wizard, because your survival has been down to luck alone."
"I put a sword through your chest," Harry replied, holding Voldemort's gaze unblinkingly.
"Indeed. You have been very lucky. And to think, when I kill you tonight, you will die knowing that I am still not fully healed from our last encounter. Imagine that. The mighty Harry Potter, defeated by an opponent with a gaping hole in his chest," Voldemort replied. The next of Ron's fingers folded back as easily as if it had been deboned. Harry could see sweat pouring down his unconscious friend's face. "Not that I am the only one whose injuries you've caused."
A bone in the third finger cracked, and punctured the flesh around it. It jutted sharply into the open air.
Harry's wand clattered to the ground.
The vampires around the room stepped forward as one, but Voldemort raised his hand, even as he released Ron from the levitation spell. Harry winced as his friend crashed to the ground.
"Now, Harry, the time has come," Voldemort breathed, forked tongue flickering across the edges of his mouth.
"Well, let's do it then," Harry replied.
"Avada K-"
Voldemort paused, the point of the sword in Harry's hand held against the skin of his jaw. The green glow at the tip of his wand faded.
"It's over," Harry said, and pushed.
Voldemort moved aside, and Harry's lunge met thin air.
"Fast, Potter, but I am faster. Stupefy!"
Harry twisted, but the spell still caught him in the side. He was thrown up and backwards, crashing through what little remained of the window that Ron had smashed through a few minutes beforehand.
Voldemort stared around him at the silent, sullen vamps who had so far been deprived of their expected feeding frenzy.
"Hold here until one of those two awakens," he waved a long, pale hand carelessly at Spike and the Master. "I have business to attend to."
Robes swishing about him, he glided from the room.
Buffy had watched the exchange in silence, knowing her powers would be of little help against Voldemort. She wished for reinforcements, but knew that if they were coming, they'd be there already. Presumably, there were more vamps within the hospital on top of the nearly three-dozen who had crowded into the not very large room.
Despite the situation, Buffy smiled. All alone, with that many enemies to fight? It was the sort of situation that Faith would have relished. It was the sort of situation that, if Buffy was honest with herself, a little part of her relished as well.
She pushed herself to her feet, the movement drawing the gaze of every conscious vampire in the room.
"You guys," she announced, drawing Mr. Pointy from the sheath at her back, "are just going to have to get in line."
Unnoticed, Spike crawled through the mass of vampires who were jostling to get at the Slayer. His ribs ached where the redhead had crashed into him, but he was intent on one thing, draining a Slayer.
Voldemort was gone, hunting the Potter brat. The Slayer was being kept busy by the Master's drones; the Master himself lay unconscious at the foot of the second Slayer's bed. It was clear to Spike that all he had to do was get to the bedside, and he would be able to drink freely.
Didn't get to taste that Slayer in New York. Figure I'm owed a free go.
He clawed his way across the floor, fangs almost throbbing in his mouth as he savoured the anticipation. The Slayer in China had been sweet and spicy, the New York Slayer had smelt crisp when he'd spilled her blood on the streets. Spike looked up at Faith. He had a feeling she'd taste smoky.
He reached up to grab the bedframe, or tried to. His hand was stuck to the floor. He tugged at it.
"Bloody hell! Do they not even wipe the floors?"
Then he felt the tingle in the air around him, and sagged on his frozen limbs. Looking back over his shoulder, he had just under a second to try and dodge before the redhead's boot connected with his face.
Giles stood back to back with Willow. Both wielded short swords amidst the chaos. Ginny and Oz were somewhere on the other side of the room, Giles hoped, but he had seen neither hide nor hair of the pair for several minutes. He ducked under a vampire's lunge, thrusting up with his blade and driving the point home into the vampire's stomach.
The vamp barely blinked, although it did snarl in anger as it backhanded the Watcher across the face. Giles let go of the sword as he fell backwards, crashing heavily into one of the mortuary tables, and then to the ground. He watched helplessly as the vampire lunged, sword and all, at Willow.
"Stupefy!"
The sharp cry was one of the most welcome sounds Giles had ever heard. The Stunning spell crashed into the vampire; with the unexpected side effect of twisting the sword up into its chest and ripping open the torso.
Willow looked over her shoulder in surprise, having completely failed to notice the vampire. She did notice Giles, sprawled on the floor, but he waved her off.
"Help Ginny," he ordered.
"Ginny?" Willow wondered, turning as the vampires paused to regroup. Her eyes widened as she recognised the other red-haired girl, her pale face now completely white as blood spilled freely from the reopened wound on her shoulder. Her right hand was clamped over the wound, her wand held unsteadily in her left hand, but even as Willow watched, a blast of flame flared from the wandtip and engulfed the vampire Giles had stabbed, incinerating what was left of the undead creature.
Giles' sword clattered to the floor, and was swept up by Oz. Willow let out a small sigh of relief at the sight of him, although his orange hair was matted with blood and the left side of his face was turning deep purple from some unknown blow.
The vampires held their position, snapping and snarling like chained dogs, coming no closer to Ginny's wand or Oz's twin blades than was absolutely necessary to contrive a little intimidation.
Ginny leaned against one of the mortuary tables. Ostensibly, it was a casual movement. Ginny suspected that the young witch needed the support, although the wand barely wavered in her grip.
Willow looked about the room, trying to think of a way of helping her friends. She had no weapon, no Slayer strength or magic wand.
But who needs a wand?
The vampires were gathered in front of the body drawers from which they had emerged. Willow was trying to ignore the fact that they were all naked, focusing on anything else, even their teeth and cold, lifeless eyes.
Her gaze settled on the cold, frosted air spilling from the chilled drawers. A small smile played across her lips.
"Oz, Ginny, get down!" she ordered, as Giles clambered to his feet behind her.
Ginny and Oz dropped instinctively, the vampires confused by their actions.
"Gaia, grant your daughter this gift, that change shall come upon the elements in this room," Willow began. "Fire from ice, ash from flesh, light from the dark!"
Giles tackled her, and they crashed to the ground, sliding beneath a gurney as the room shook around hem and the lights flickered, one by one, before dying and plunging the room into blackness.
The body drawers rattled in the wall. Slowly, the vampires turned to face them.
And then, as one, each of the drawers erupted into flame as the cool air spilling from them ignited.
The vampires screamed as they caught alight, their cries turning to agonized wails as they exploded into ash.
The lights flickered, before lighting up once more.
"Yes, well," Giles coughed, brushing expired vampire ash from his jacket as he stood up. "Nicely done, Willow. A little more warning, next time, please?"
Oz took Willow's hand in his and helped her stand upright, supporting her as her legs trembled under her. "Cool," he said.
Willow smiled.
"Now, I wonder what the others are up to?" Giles mused as he dug a bandage from his bag and skillfully applied it to Ginny's wound. "Buffy? Can you hear me?" he said into his radio. There was a crackle of static, and no reply. "Hermione? Xander?"
"Go ahead, Giles," Xander's reply came.
"We've taken care of the vampires in the mortuary, but some got out. Where are you?"
"Third floor. Do you want us to come down?"
"No, go and help Buffy and the others. We've lost contact."
"Right, right. We'll just go and face up to this Voldemort, then," Xander replied, his sigh audible over the crackle of the radio. "See you soon. I hope."
Harry staggered backwards, reflexively countering curse after hex after jinx as they fired from Voldemort's wand. The tall wizard came on implacably, red eyes glowing in the light of the spells as they leapt forward at his command. Harry searched for a gap, a moment, a split-second where Voldemort's aura of invincibility seemed breachable, but his foe exuded the total self-confidence that he had until the two of them had fought to draw on a lonely moor in Finland almost two years before.
Voldemort smirked, drew back his wand, and cast a memory charm in Harry's direction. Harry blocked it easily, but barely saw the second hex, a burning hex that lit his shirt ablaze. Magical in nature, the fire quickly scorched Harry's skin, and his nose wrinkled in disgust as the smell of cooking meat reached it.
Knowing that nothing could put out the mystical flames, Harry instead lunged at Voldemort, who had paused his assault to savour Harry's pain. Harry's attack bore the pale wizard to the ground, and Harry struck instinctively, pressing his burning hand onto Voldemort's throat for a second, and then grabbing Voldemort's face and driving the back of his head into the parquet floor over and over again.
Slowly, the flame died, and Harry looked down at Voldemort's charred face. Something black oozed across the floor from underneath the wizard's white skull, and Harry sank back on his haunches.
It's over. Finally. He's-
"Dead? Hardly, Potter. Accelerus"
The spell caught Harry in the chest and he was thrown backwards, head snapping forwards as his body accelerated near instantaneously to forty miles per hour down the hospital corridor.
Ron brought his leg back with a slight sigh of satisfaction. The bleached blonde vampire - Spike, Willow had told him - was firmly stuck to the floor. He knew from experience that a Sticking charm would hold for perhaps a minute, if no pressure was exerted on the stuck-down object.
He kicked Spike in the ribs as hard as he could. The vampire rolled free, the tearing sound as his hands parted company with their uppermost layer of skin almost masked by the bellow of pain Spike let out.
Ron watched warily, knowing that Spike had the reputation of actually thinking with his brain occasionally, rather than just his teeth. The vampire was over a hundred years old, and hadn't lived so long without being wily, cunning, and-
-Spike erupted upwards from the floor, catching the red-head under the chin with his forearm. The man's mouth shut with a click as his teeth snapped together, and they tumbled backwards across the floor. Spike heard the wail of a vampire exploding into dust on the other side of the room, but his attention was fixed on his opponent. He batted aside an attempt from the man to plunge his wand into Spike's chest, instead grabbing the man's wrist and plunging his fangs into the vein.
Harry crashed to the ground a few feet shy of the corridor wall as the spell burnt itself out. His momentum carried him at a much reduced pace into the wall, which buckled slightly, but stopped Harry's progress. He sucked in deep, heaving breaths as he watched Voldemort calmly approach, black blood now glinting on his neck in the hospital's fluorescent lighting. He sneered down at Harry, and brought his wand up.
"Confundus"
Voldemort paused for a second as Harry's spell hit him between the eyes. It was enough for Harry to grab the metal bar above his head and haul himself to his feet, but as he tried to run, his knee buckled beneath him and he toppled over. Flinging out his hands to catch himself, he belatedly felt the pain in his knee. He supposed that it had been twisted when he had been thrown backwards by Voldemort's spell, but had no time for further diagnosis as Voldemort turned smoothly in place and glared down at him.
"I am almost ashamed on your behalf, Potter," he declared. "Your last attack on me, an attempt to befuddle my mind. How low you have fallen."
He raised his wand once more.
"Os fragmentum!"
Ron's eyes widened in shock, but years of instincts forged through training alongside Harry and the others took over, and he bought his knee up sharply.
Buffy pivoted in place, stake plunging, plunging, plunging as three vampires attempted to move in at once. She grunted with exertion. Alone and unaided, she had put a dent in their numbers, but the vampires were mindlessly relentless. Worse, they were showing signs of adapting. Where three had moved forward from their massed ranks, now five came forward.
Buffy barely blinked. She didn't have time.
Spike's head snapped back, blood trailing from his pointed teeth as he snarled in pain. He yearned to curl up, to protect himself.
And if I do that, then the bastard'll kill me, and I'll be damned if some snot-nosed school kid is going to be the death of me.
Spike staggered to his feet and gingerly stepped backwards. Looking over the heads of the other vampires, he caught the Slayer's eye.
"Ron?" she called. "Are you okay?"
The red-head - Ron - rose from the ground like a seriously pissed-off demon. His fists slammed once, twice, three times into Spike's chest and stomach. Spike gasped as several of his ribs gave way, and he doubled over.
"Ruddy marvellous," he yelled back. Spike, feeling somewhat out of step, hung limp as Ron hauled him upright again.
"A lot of people are scared of vampires," Ron announced. "I'm not. I mean, you're scared of crucifixes, sunlight and holy water, and you have to bite someone to hurt them. Fire demons, they're scary."
He pivoted, and put Spike's head through what remained of the room's window.
"Mucus demons, too, but only the big ones. I had one sneeze on me once, and it took nearly half-an-hour to get free."
Lifting Spike upright again, he smashed his head into the plasterboard wall of the hospital room. Spike's bleached-blonde head shattered the wall and he found himself - his head, at least - in the corridor. Ron grabbed his collar and hauled him back into the room, depositing him unceremoniously onto the floor.
Spike looked up at the other vampires, but they were still under the Master's hypnotic influence, devoted to subduing the Slayer until given another command.
And only responding to the Master or Voldemort. Bloody hell.
"Actually, I suppose mucus demons aren't that scary. Sticky, but not scary," Ron continued as he grabbed Spike by the scruff of he neck. "Chaos demons, now, they're scary sods."
Chaos demons?
"I suppose it's probably because you never know quite what they're going to do next," Ron continued.
Dru left me for a chaos demon.
Spike grabbed Ron's leg and lunged, using his arms to pull himself upward and sinking his teeth through the heavy denim. He tasted blood, and as Ron staggered backwards, rose to his feet, invigorated.
"Bloody chaos demons," he spat. "Now, nothing personal, mate, 'cos I reckon you and me could probably sit down and have a pretty good chat over a pint or two, but..."
Spike attacked.
Harry crashed backwards through the fire door, his swiftly-cast shield charm barely holding as Voldemort's bone-shattering jinx glanced off it. He teetered on the edge of the fire-stairs behind him, but barely had a chance to try and catch his balance before Voldemort was upon him. The dark wizard flowed forward and Harry toppled backwards, crashing heavily down the stairs with Voldemort's tall form wrapped around him.
Spike's attack sent the vampire and his opponent crashing through the weakened wall of the hospital room and out into the corridor beyond. Rearing back, he drove his fists into Ron's stomach, his chest, and his face, drawing blood with the last pair of blows as the redhead's nose cracked and twisted on his knuckles.
Spike stood up, and shook the plaster dust from his coat. He grinned as he looked down at his dazed opponent, and reached down to grab-
"Fernunculus"
Spike reared back in pain - "Bloody wizards!" - hands clutched over his face as he felt the painful boils erupt across his cheeks and nose. The faint breeze blowing from the hospital's air conditioning felt like a hacksaw being raked across his face as he staggered backwards, and when the wizard followed up with another spell - "Reducto" - which glanced off Spike's wrist to the accompaniment of a crack from the bone.
But Spike was already feeling better.
Aching wrist aside, he felt good, and even that was only a minor ache. The boils were disappearing already, and the red-head looked worried.
"Feeling a little bit worn out, mate?" Spike smirked, although his grin faltered as his cheek creased over one of the last remaining boils. "Wasn't much punch to those spells. Thought you'd have me on the bloody floor, didn't you?"
He grinned again, painlessly this time. His features shifted and contorted, and now Ron stared into the face of Spike the vampire, killer of Slayers, one of the most ruthless creatures on the face of the planet.
"Well bugger you and the horse you rode in on."
Spike lunged forward once more. Ron didn't even have time to get his hands up in defence.
Buffy moved tirelessly, drawing on reserves of speed and strength that usually went untapped. But she knew that it was a draining experience, knew that facing so many vampires was almost suicidal. She had her back to the wall, and it was the only thing keeping her alive, concentrating only on the vampires in front of her, letting Slayer instincts honed over thousands of years handle those that came from the side. There were fewer enemies now, she had killed so many, but still they came forward, in ones and two, groups and packs.
She thrust, and another vampire died. Two more came forward to take its place.
She fought on.
Xander and Hermione were just in time to see Harry and Voldemort disappear around the corner of the long corridor, fighting tooth and nail all the way. They paused for a few seconds, the near-silence of the corridor punctuated by the muffled sounds of fighting from within the room. Xander smirked as he heard the repeated sound of vampires dusting, but Hermione was less serene as there was no sign of Ron.
And then Spike and Ron crashed through the wall of the room, and Spike was pummeling Ron ferociously. Ron managed a few weak spells, but Spike threw them off without too much trouble. He launched himself at his red-haired opponent, features twisting as he bore Ron to the ground.
"Ron!" Hermione screamed.
"Wait!" Xander grabbed her arm.
Ron rolled with Spike's attack, using the vampire's momentum to roll backwards and pitch Spike into the wall. He rolled free as Spike crashed gracelessly to the floor. Ron clambered to his feet and then kicked Spike in the chest, folding the vampire around his boot.
"Ron!" Hermione and Xander were already moving, but Hermione's call only served to distract Ron at the crucial moment. Spike rose, using Ron's own leg as a lever to lift him off his feet. Ron hung in mid-air for a moment, spinning helplessly, before crashing into the wall and sliding to the ground.
Xander tried to grab Spike, but was met with a sweeping roundhouse kick to the jaw that sent him sprawling. Hermione's conjured stake was caught in mid-air as Spike, bloodied and battered, feral and furious, turned to face her.
"My, you're a ripe one, aren't you?" he smirked. "Not even been picked yet, have you love?"
"Stay back," Hermione ordered, her wand aimed steadily at Spike's heart.
"Or what?" Spike replied, casually tossing the stake into the air, catching it as it span. "You'll jinx me? Never met a witch who came within spitting distance before, pet, so what makes you think you'll be any different?"
He threw the stake at Hermione. She ducked just before it hit her, giving Spike all he time he needed to launch himself at her. As they crashed to the ground, Spike reared back, and prepared to lunge at Hermione's exposed neck.
Buffy's stake penetrated the chest of the last of the drones. It dusted with the same shriek as the others. Buffy wiped her brow, the gritty ash of more than forty vampires caking her from head to toe.
She sank wearily onto her haunches, lungs heaving. The crashes from outside the room told her that there was more fighting going on, but as she coughed at the dust-laden air, she knew that needed a moment to catch her breath.
"That must have been very trying for you."
Buffy looked up, and then she let her head fall, eyes closing as she breathed a heavy sigh.
The Master was sitting on the end of Faith's bed, bright eyed and pointy toothed.
Buffy rose wearily, limbs aching.
The Master was in front of her in an instant, his hand wrapped around her throat, talons digging into the back of her neck. He lifted her easily, as though she was of no consequence. She kicked feebly at him, but her movements stopped as his gaze rose to meet hers. She fell still, Mr. Pointy dropping from her limp fingers and clattering noisily on the floor in the silent room.
"Yes... You are still unable to resist me, aren't you, Slayer? Oh, your blood was potent indeed, and now I will have it all, and your other Slayer as well. Perhaps she will put up more of a fight."
Harry and Voldemort lay at the foot of the stairs, chests heaving as they struggled to shake off the after effects of their fall.
"Just... die, Potter," Voldemort hissed, clawing across the linoleum floor towards his wand. "Eighteen years I've hunted you, and tonight will be the last night."
Harry didn't say anything. His fingers closed over his wand, and he turned slowly, painfully, bringing it to bear on Voldemort just as Voldemort aimed his wand at Harry.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Expelliarmus"
The spells hit in mid-air. They crackled, and a golden beam shot out, catching the wandtips of the two enemies. Once again, Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort were joined by their wands.
The beam shuddered as beads of light appeared along its length. Harry wanted to sink back onto the cold hospital floor. To come so far, only to be stuck in the same battle of wills he had barely survived four years before...
It's not fair! he wanted to scream. Why this? Why now?
He knew that there was no real answer. He had been selected as the wizard who would fight Voldemort. One of them would win, one of them would lose. And now, after eighteen years, it had come to this. Thousands of miles from home, alone, with only his most hated enemy for company...
A golden cage began to form around them, offshoots from the beam holding their wands locked together. The beads, Harry barely noticed, were moving steadily towards his wand. He tried to will them away, but he didn't have the strength.
Voldemort's lips split into a smile as the first bead made contact. At once, Harry's wand began to emit spells. The ghosts of a shield spell, a confusion spell, a disarming spell and many others floated from the end of his wand. With each ghost, Harry felt himself weaken. The beam was solid gold now, a fixed, almost immovable in space between himself and Voldemort. He couldn't release his wand, couldn't tear it free, and with each spell that reappeared from his wand, the corridor around him seemed to darken, the sounds became duller. He raised his gaze to meet Voldemort, who had risen to his feet, and found his enemy inspecting him as dispassionately as he might look at an insect before stepping on it.
"At last, Potter, the end has come. You have disrupted my plans for the last time. I wanted you dead, Potter, but as a vampire, my slave. Sadly, I will have to settle for you just being dead. Good-bye, Potter."
Voldemort broke the link without any apparent difficulty, drew back his arm, and declared: "Avada-"
A strong arm wrapped itself around Spike's neck and wrenched him backwards. He spluttered as he was dragged away from Hermione, and watched helplessly as Xander entered the frame and helped her to her feet. That left one person holding him, but Spike was almost helpless, unable to reach anything because of the angle he was being held with.
"Hermione," Ron barked over Spike's head. "Put a stake in the bastard and let's help Buffy."
"What? Oh, yes, of course," Hermione replied, gingerly touching her throat. Ron could see the angry welts on the side of her neck where Spike's fingers had clutched at her, and tightened his grip even further on Spike's neck.
"Bl'dy h'l!" Spike gasped.
"Shut up, you," Ron snarled. He grabbed Spike's hair with his free hand and released his grip on the vampire's neck.
It was all the opportunity Spike needed. He twisted, and drove an elbow into Ron's gut. Rising, he grabbed the back of Ron's head and threw him face first into the wall.
Xander pushed Hermione behind him as Spike advanced along the corridor, fangs glinting in the half-light of the flickering neon lamps in the ceiling.
Xander drew a cross from inside his jacket and held it up. Spike faltered mid-step, and then snarled.
"Too long you've been in my face, you little twerp. It's over tonight, and I'll show your corpse to the ruddy Slayer before I kill her too."
He grabbed Xander's outstretched arm and twisted. Xander's face went white, and the cross fell from his hand. Spike pulled, and Xander sprawled to the floor, face down, arm twisted unnaturally in its socket. With a sharp push, Xander barked a short cry of pain. Spike crouched down and grabbed the back of his head, before cracking his forehead into the floor. Xander moaned, and lay still.
Rising and turning in one swift motion, Spike twisted to avoid Hermione's Stunning hex, and then slapped the wand from her hand.
"Be grateful, love," he smiled, as his fingers closed around her neck. "Normally I might spend some time with a sweet little platelet like you, but not today. There's a pair of Slayers in that room, so I'm just gonna go eat them, give you a chance to escape. 'Course, if you're still here when I get back, all bets are off."
He pitched her to his right, keen hearing detecting the muted snap of her collarbone amid the meaty thump as she hit the wall.
He stood between the three unconscious teenagers, smirking as he surveyed their twisted forms. He took out his packet of cigarettes, and lit a match on Ron's forehead. Puffing happily on the cigarette, he headed back into Faith's room.
Voldemort's arm swung around. "-Kedav-"
"More tea, Joyce?" Remus offered.
"Oh, thank you," Joyce smiled.
"Right, I'll just have a munch on the unconscious one, shall I?" Spike asked, regarding the tableau of the Master and the Slayer.
"You'll do no such thing," the Master replied. "They are mine."
"Hey now, that wasn't the deal," Spike protested.
The Master turned away from Buffy to face Spike, although he still held the Slayer in mid-air.
"Take this," he snapped, holding out a heavy parchment envelope. "It will tell you all you want. And then," he smiled. "You can kill all the Slayers you want."
The smile disappeared from his face as quickly as it had appeared.
"But these are mine."
Spike glowered briefly at the Master, but took the envelope.
"Yeah, well, that's it, right? From now on, you can find someone else to do your dirty work for you."
"Spike, you were never anything more than a stalking horse," the Master frowned. "I never did understand dear Drusilla's fondness for you. Tactically inept, prone to wild outbursts of emotion and frankly, the fashions of the times have passed you by, my boy. The black leather look has gone beyond passé and you are in desperate danger of becoming, oh, what was the word... retro."
Spike grinned.
"Maybe, but I always knew one thing more than you did."
"And what's that?"
"Don't take my bloody eyes off a Slayer if the bitch ain't dead."
"What?"
Buff's feet came up together, catching the Master in the side of his face. The vampire staggered backwards, releasing Buffy. She dropped to her feet, smoothly crouching and picking up Mr. Pointy, before wading into the Master with a barrage of kicks and punches.
"You see," Spike said, dragging on his cigarette as he leafed through the contents of the envelope, "that hypnosis is a good trick, if you can do it. But you have got to keep eye contact, otherwise, well, I think you're learning all about the otherwise. Bye for now, mate."
Spike found his way back out into the corridor, only to be floored as Ron crashed into him.
"Bloody hell!" Spike rolled with the attack, only to be trapped mid roll by a Body-Bind curse from Hermione that glanced off his shoulder and momentarily paralysed his upper-body. Struggling to his feet, cigarette still hanging from his lips, he looked at the fierce scowls on the faces of Hermione and Ron, the wands they were both holding, and the broken, pointed mop handle in Xander's hand.
He spat out his cigarette. "Guess I shouldn't have left you all with one good hand each, huh?"
The three teenagers glared balefully at him. Blood trickled from a cut on Ron's hairline, and Spike licked his lips as he looked at it. Hermione's expression hardened still further, and she waved her wand at him.
"Oh, sod it," he snarled, and turning, he began to sprint down the corridor.
"Palum" One stake whizzed past Spike's left ear as he dashed down the hall. The other caught him in his shoulder and sent him tumbling forward. His arms still frozen in front of him, he bounced back upright and staggered drunkenly backwards.
"Right, sorry and all-"
He stumbled into the window and toppled backwards out of it. Xander, Ron and Hermione sprinted up the corridor and peered through the window. Spike was nowhere to be seen.
Buffy and the Master stood on either side of Faith's bed. Buffy's chest was heaving, her breath rasping in her parched throat as she avoided the gaze of former and current enemy.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I could keep going all night," the Master declared. "The thought of a nice, filling meal at the end of a fight always seems to spur me on, don't you find?"
Buffy stared at the Master's hands. Sucking in a deep breath, she laid her own hands on Faith's bed, Mr. Pointy clasped tightly in her right hand.
"Well, are we going to again? Or do you need more time to get your breath back? I wouldn't want you to feel as I didn't give you a fair chance." A thought occurred to him. "Actually, I don't want you saying anything, since I'm trying to kill you."
Buffy vaulted over the bed and caught the Master in the chest with a kick, but the vampire grabbed Buffy's knee and used his own fall to provide the momentum as he pivoted around, swinging Buffy like a hammer-thrower before pitching her out through the shattered window that had already been the point of exit that night for Harry, Ron and even Spike's head that night.
Buffy crashed into the ceiling outside the room with a whuff of air exploding from her lungs. She dropped limply to the ground as the Master came through the doorway.
"Buffy!" Xander called from the other end of the hallway. Buffy couldn't reply. The familiar pain of a number of cracked ribs was among the least of her concerns as the Master stood before her, arms crossed, a sardonic smile on his face.
"Well, I suppose it was too much to hope," he sighed. "I was only gone for two years, after all. Small chance that you'd be able to catch up with me when it comes to fighting. You won on a fluke last time, Slayer. You surprised me by returning from the dead. Very vampiric of you, although Slayers always walk with one foot in the dark. Tonight, there are no surprises - and don't even think of waving that wand at me, girl, if you want to keep the hand that's holding it - " Hermione's arm dropped to her side as the Master's hypnotic command took hold.
"Now, where was I? Oh, yes, your death. It will be, well, not quick. Slow, and incredibly painful as I drain every last drop of blood from your body. But I'm honest about it, which I've always felt is a great comfort to my victims."
"Uh, Mr. the Master?" Xander put up his hand.
"Huh?" The Master looked up, his gaze falling on Xander, who quickly closed his eyes. "Xander Harris, brought Buffy back from the dead... Can I just say, before she kills you again, I have to respect a man, well, demonspawn-hell fiend-vampire thing, who can use humour in the face of death."
"Cease your prattling, child," the Master ordered. "This is between the Slayer and me."
"Not exactly, mate," Ron commented. "I mean, eight of us, one of you, Merlin, it's not even like it's going to be a fair fight."
The Master turned, and cursed as he saw Ginny, Giles, Willow and Oz standing at the other end of the corridor.
"Very well, then," the Master sighed. "Another time, perhaps."
He charged at Ron, Xander and Hermione, bowling the injured trio over.
"Not so fast," Buffy declared, rising smoothly to her feet. "Thanks, guys." She nodded to the others, before sprinting after the ancient vampire. Halfway along the corridor, she stopped, took aim, and threw Mr. Pointy as hard as she could.
The Master screamed as the wooden stake stabbed through his thigh. He stumbled, flattered, and then crashed down against the wall. Buffy walked up to him calmly, the others gathered behind her.
"It's been fun," Buffy declared, grabbing the Master and hauling him upright. "Always nice to see old friends. But you should be off. Make sure you call if you're going to be in town again, you hear?"
"Wait, I -"
Buffy dropped him neck-first across the window sill.
"Bye now."
She slammed the window shut and watched dispassionately as the vampire's severed head bounced once on hitting the ground before disappearing into a cloud of dust.
The decapitated body jerked for a few seconds, before exploding into ash. Everyone stared at the forlorn bundle of clothes left behind.
"I thought," Hermione said, a little wearily, "that a vampire's clothes disappear when it dies."
"There's a knack to it," Buffy shrugged.
"Has anyone seen Harry?" Ginny asked.
"Er, he went off with You-Know-Who," Ron replied.
"And no-one went with him?" Ginny asked. "Which way did he go?"
"Downstairs, I think," Ron muttered, avoiding his sister's gaze. "They don't seem to be around here."
Ginny scowled.
"Should we go and look for him?" Buffy asked. Hermione shook her head.
"Harry wouldn't want us to interfere when he's fighting Voldemort," she said. "It's up to him, now."
Hermione and Ginny shared a glance that only Buffy seemed to notice.
"What's going on?" she asked.
Hermione and Ginny looked up guiltily.
"Nothing," Hermione said.
"You're a bad liar, Hermione," Ron stated, frowning at his girlfriend. "Did you two do something to Harry?"
"To Harry? No," Hermione replied, meeting Ron's eyes evenly.
"Then what did you do? And this is Harry we're talking about, so don't lie to me."
"I did a spell," Ginny said, looking even paler than usual. "With Harry's wand. If his wand gets tied to Voldemort's again, it might help."
"What spell was it?" Willow asked. "I thought you didn't know any protective spells?"
"It wasn't a protective spell," Hermione replied. "Not in the way you mean."
"What was it then?"
"-ra."
The last of the ghost spells escaped Harry's wand.
Time seemed to enter slow motion. Harry, on the edge of unconsciousness, watched the green Killing Curse lance through the air towards him.
The ghost spell hung in mid-air, shining brightly, tinted green by the oncoming curse. Harry was just curious enough to hold onto consciousness, wanting to see the Killing Curse blow through the misty ghost, wanting to feel the blow that ended his life.
To his surprise, he saw nothing of the sort.
The Killing Curse collided with the misty ghost spell, but rather than passing through, it refracted.
Backwards.
A thousand needle-sharp beams of green light bounced back from the ghost spell and slammed into Voldemort.
The Dark wizard didn't say anything. He merely staggered backward several steps, wand clattering to the ground beside him.
Harry blinked, green eyes focusing slowly on his opponent. He seemed to rise of his own accord and, as he took an unbidden step towards Voldemort, his chest came into contact with the ghost of the spell.
Harry's eyes snapped open
"It was a love spell," Ginny answered. "I cast it on him, and if the ghost of it appears, and he touches it..."
"What?"
"It should help," Hermione finished.
"Should?"
"You know what Harry's like," Hermione sighed. "He won't let us get involved with Voldemort, so this is what we're able to do to help him, and it's help he needs. At worst, the spell will do nothing."
"And at best?" Buffy asked.
Harry's feet lifted from the ground, his arms trailing slightly behind him as he levitated a few inches upwards. He was dazzled by the bright light in the formerly dark corridor, and it took him a few seconds to realise that the light was coming from him. A white aura surrounded him, and he felt his hair standing on end, spreading out around his head like a halo.
His gaze settled on Voldemort, who was shaking in place. Blood seeped from his flat nostrils and red eyes. The Dark wizard opened his mouth, but blood exploded from there as well.
"Still healing, are you?" Harry asked, reaching out one hand towards his life-long opponent. His eyes narrowed, his hand pulling back and then slamming into Voldemort's chest.
"He really will be invincible."
Blood-red eyes flew open as Harry's hand sundered flesh and shattered ribs. One sharp tug was sufficient to tear the wizard's heart from his chest. Harry noted, without surprise, that the organ was pitch-black and far smaller than that of a normal man.
"Heal from that, you murdering wanker," Harry hissed, the heart falling to the floor beside him as Voldemort's lifeless body crashed to the ground.
The End (Except for the Epilogue)
zayra Glad you enjoyed it. Hope you like the conclusion, too.
Harry/Ginnyfan4ever: One of these days, I'm going to ship Harry and Ginny with other people. I do hope you'll forgive me...
Emba The whole Joyce/Remus thing came about when I thought of the 'More tea?' line. It had to get in there somewhere...
Emma Barrows: Glad you've enjoyed the story :-)
Angels Touch: It'll be our little secret
TanydwrI always felt that Joyce deserved someone better then Ted...