Chapter eight: The next best thing

Buffy, the almighty Chosen One, the Slayer of her generation, was getting really annoyed with her friend Xander, the construction worker slash carpenter. He was running late. Meanwhile, she felt like she was sitting on a carpet of needles awaiting him. This was when she was going to tell him. She had been delaying it for too long already. It was time to do the Right Thing – which incidentally never was what she really wanted to do. What she really wanted to do now was crawl down beneath some warm covers and forget all about Spike, being the Slayer and all responsibilities she had. But she couldn't.
After all, she was the almighty Chosen One, the Slayer of her generation.

After having been seated for so long she thought she the small green stains on her hands might actually be moss, Buffy saw two familiar shapes in the other end of the Hall. She peered at them. It was Harry Potter and his frequent lover, the blond Slytherin boy. It seemed they were having a quarrel. Buffy thanked whoever was in charge for giving her something interesting to do while she was waiting for Xander to make his entrance.

She got up from the bench, and down on the floor. The long tables came to an end just about where the two boys where standing, and they made perfect covers if you wanted to sneak up on someone. She crawled forward, using as much stealth as she could. She didn't even hit her head on the table once. That made her kind of proud. As she was getting closer, she could hear their voices more clearly.

"… if you'd been half of the man I am."
"Oh, shut up, Malfoy! If you're so brave and valiant, why don't you tell your friends you've been screwing me?"
"Because they might get the wrong idea, idiot! They might think that we were… in love, or something."
"Well, maybe you aren't. But maybe I am."
There was a pause in the conversation. Buffy could hear Draco draw breath violently.
"You aren't. You aren't."
"I'm just saying…"
"Then bloody well stop talking! I don't want to hear any of this nonsense, okay? Feelings and all that crap, that's for you and your little noble-hearted friends. I don't care. You hear me? I don't care. I don't care about you, about what you think you're feeling, I don't give a fuck about any of it. Okay? You got me? And I don't want to hear it. You want to fuck? That's fine. Just don't ask for more, 'cause I can't give it to you."
"Can't or won't, Malfoy?"
Silence again. It was like Draco was recovering from his little outburst, and was now getting ready to strike again.
But he didn't. Buffy saw him – or at least his feet – walk off. He didn't answer Harry.

Buffy saw it best to crawl out of her hiding. When she did, she gave Harry a good scare. He hadn't been prepared for a Slayer coming out from beneath the table.

"Shit! Buffy, don't scare me like that. I could've jumped you on pure instinct."
"I'd like to see you try," she muttered, brushing off some dust from her pants. "Hey, who does the cleaning around here? Someone's doing a crappy job with the floors." She straightened herself up, looking straight at Harry, inspecting him mercilessly. His eyes were a bit red. "Have you been crying?"
"No," he said, sitting himself down on one of the benches in front of her. She didn't follow his example. It was nice getting to stand up after having done so much sitting before. "But it feels like I'm about to."
"Don't. He's a jerk, okay? Listen to me, Harry. I heard this story a while ago, and I think you should hear it."
"Does it have anything to do with me?"
"'Course it has. Just listen. Once, a woman was out collecting firewood in the forest. She came upon a poisonous snake, badly wounded. I don't remember exactly how, but it isn't relevant. Anyway, she brought the snake home, and she nursed it back to health. When the snake was fully recovered, it bit the woman. As she lay dying, she asked the snake why it had bitten her, since she'd been so kind to it. It answered her: 'Bitch, you knew I was a snake.' See my point?"
Harry thought for a second. Then, he shook his head, making his already hopelessly entangled hair even messier. "Not entirely," he said.
"Jeez, Potter, do I have to spell it out for you? Malfoy is the snake. You're the woman."
"Hey!"
"Still talking in metaphors, kid. Anyway, my point is, if you want to socialise with Malfoy, that's okay. Just remember what he really is. He isn't good."
"You don't know him," Harry snapped.
"No, I don't. But I know his type. You're playing by his rules. Don't forget that. He might discard you any minute if he gets bored."
"Then I'll make sure he doesn't get bored," Harry said decidedly. "I'll keep him interested, one way or another."

Buffy sighed. The boy wasn't exactly responding well to her tactics. "Is this really what you want, Harry? All of this hiding in the shadows, lying to your friends… does it please you?"
Harry virtually exploded. "Of course it doesn't please me! Of course this isn't what I want! I want to be able to kiss Malfoy and feel that he loves me back, that he isn't just sexually aroused. I want that more than anything." He calmed down, sighing deeply. "I want to be able to tell my friends without them turning on me out of disgust. I want Malfoy to… acknowledge me. But he won't. He never will. And so, this is the next best thing. If this is all I'll ever get from him, then I'm taking what I'm offered. I won't ever turn him down."

Silence fell between them. Buffy didn't have anything to say. She didn't have any more moral speeches ready.
All she knew was that if their 'relationship' was doomed, so was hers and Spike's. And maybe it was for the best. She was just afraid of how it would feel when they crashed and burned.

"Harry…"
"Don't." He got up. "Nothing you can say can convince me. And anyway, you're going away now, aren't you?"
"We are." She reached her hand. He grabbed it, and shook it slowly.
"Goodbye, Slayer. It's been nice knowing you."
"It hasn't." She rolled her eyes. "All I've done is shout at you about things that are really none of my concern."
He looked at her, a strange look on his face. "But thanks for caring," he said. "Thanks."

---

When Xander finally arrived, she stared at him sternly. "Where the heck have you been, Xander? I was just about to sound the alarm."
"There is an alarm?" His smile almost made her melt and drop her irritated attitude. But just almost.
"No, it was a figurative speech. You know. Now answer my question. Where were you at, carpenter boy?"
"I was… busy." He looked a bit awkward as he was sitting there in front of her, and guilty, too. She noticed his shirt was partially unbuttoned. She decided to let that one slip.
"Busy doing what?" Or whom, she thought, but didn't say. After all, Xander was engaged, and she didn't know him to be unfaithful.
"It's none of your business," he said, still calm and not at all rude.
She sighed. Clearly, this interrogation was getting nowhere. "Fine. Be all secretive. I actually have something to tell you, something important."
"Spill the word, Buff. I'm all ears."

She opened her mouth. She knew exactly what to say, down to the last word. She'd been practising for hours before he showed up. Everything was taken into consideration, and it was like a rehearsed speech. All she had to do now was say it.
Say it. Yes, that was the hard part, wasn't it? Getting the words out of her mouth.
She sighed again. Damn it, she just couldn't. What was it she'd said to Harry? About the opportune moment to tell? This was not it. This was certainly not it.

"Nothing," she grunted, standing up. "It was nothing."
Xander gave her a questioning look. "Okay. Don't build up the expectations so much next time you have nothing to say, okay? Come on. I think we'd better get Willow from madam Pomfrey's. We're leaving soon."
"Oh, God! Willow!" Buffy exclaimed. "I had totally forgot about her! How is she?"
"Well, Giles says she's recovering. He thinks it might've been all of this magic surrounding her that caused her symptoms. I don't think we'll ever know for certain, but that's as good a guess as any. Speaking of our elderly friend, I think he's really hooked up with that professor. I saw them holding hands when they thought no one was watching."
"It still freaks me out," said Buffy, a disgusted grimace on her face. "Let's not talk about it."­­

---

"It's time," said Giles, his voice clad in sorrow. He was very reluctant to get in the carriage, especially since he knew Minerva wasn't going with them. She had to prepare for her next class, and simply didn't have the time, as she'd explained to him earlier. Yet now, here she was. She'd gone down to say goodbye, a final farewell. The end.

Buffy and Xander had helped Willow to get in. She was still not fully recovered from the illness that had struck her, and Buffy's tries to cheer her up by telling her stories about all the wondrous things she'd seen – not including the sex, of course – had only made it worse. She grieved having missed out on all the fun.

Professor McGonagall, dressed in her usual robes but hatless just for the occasion, looked at Giles, and he saw that beyond the smiling surface she just was as saddened as he was. It made him kind of happy, in a way, because that meant that she was going to miss him just as much as he was going to miss her. That, at least, was some sort of comfort.

"Well, I suppose this is goodbye," she said, a tear to her eye. She wiped it away quickly, but he had already noticed it.
"Yes," he said, and grabbed her hand. He clutched it tightly. "But maybe I can visit you some time?"
"That won't be possible," she said. "This was a once-in-a-lifetime deal. I don't suspect the Ministry will approve of yet another breach of our security laws."
"Won't you come to see me, then?" A small hope still flickered inside of him.
She hesitated. She'd seen the hope glittering in his eyes as he looked upon her, and she didn't want to put out the light. She knew how he felt about her, because she felt the same way about him. "Yes, Rupert," she said, smiling at him, a warm glow in her eyes. "I can try."
He couldn't utter another word. He tried, but no sound came over his lips.
McGonagall understood. She simply leaned forwards and kissed him on the cheek – a light kiss, as though it had just been a gust of wind. He was fully satisfied. Last night had had much more in store, and he would remember it for a long, long time to come. A kiss on the cheek, however chaste, was all he could ask for.
"Goodbye, Rupert," she whispered, and let go of his hand aversely.

As he got into the carriage, it felt like his heart was going to break.