When Willow and Hermione caught up with Tara in her quarters, she had worked herself into a complete frenzy.

          "Can we come in?" Willow said as Tara opened the door. "Pretty please?"

          "O-o-o-of course, W-will. C-come in. H-h-hi, Hermione."

          "Tara, baby, you seem a little nervous," Willow said, taking Tara's arm. She led her over to a plush chair in front of the empty hearth. "Sit. Do you have tea stuff?"

          "B-b-by the b-bed."

          "Hermione, could you make her a cup? And heat it with your wand?"

          "Sure, Willow." She touched Tara on the shoulder. "Try and relax, okay, Tara?"

          "Relax. R-right."

          "When do you have to go over there?"

          "T-t-t-t-twenty minutes," Tara forced out, pausing to get her stutter under control. She had no idea why she was the new Deputy Head of Slytherin house. Dumbledore had referred her to Snape, who only demanded that she meet him in their common room. He had offered no explanation, and she had been so nervous and flustered that she couldn't stutter out any questions before he walked away.

          "Okay. Twenty minutes is awhile," Willow said, using her best soothing voice as she took Tara's hand. "We'll go get Dumbledore and fix this."

          "N-no, Will. We can't. I tried. He s-said Snape demanded me. I th-th-think something's going on, though. He had a funny look."

          "Like he knew something you didn't?" Hermione asked as she handed Tara a cup of magically heated tea.

          "Uh huh."

          She nodded. "He does that sometimes. He wouldn't if it was something bad, though. He's not like that."

          "What does Snape want from you tonight?"

          "H-he wants to introduce me. T-to the kids, you know."

          "I don't envy you that," Hermione sympathized. "They're an unpleasant bunch."

          "I-I can't do this. I can b-b-barely speak," Tara said, wide, anxious eyes looking up at Willow. She tried to sip the tea, but her hands shook.

          "There must be something … I know!" Hermione said, cutting her own sentence short. "What if we got rid of your stutter?"

          "You can do that?"

          Hermione nodded. "It's temporary, but at least you could sound like you weren't nervous. I read about it when … well, awhile ago," she finished, not wanting to explain that she had been searching for a spell to fix her front teeth at the time. "Would you like me to cast it?"

          Tara nodded vigorously, suddenly emboldened. "I-if you think it'll work. I'd b-be a lot less nervous, then."

          "It should," Hermione said, raising her wand. "Let's try."

          "So are you really mad at me? About the lightsaber?" Willow had seen Tara off and returned to Grey's room. She leaned back and pressed herself against his chest. Her head rested on his shoulder. In the still darkness of the room, he lightly twirled a few strands of her hair with his finger as he felt himself sink deeper into the bed.

          "I don't know," he answered honestly. "Disturbed is more it, I guess. Not really mad." Her red locks felt silky against his hand. "You guys took a big risk."

          "No. Well, okay, yeah, kinda, but it'll be worth it. Besides, I don't think it would have hurt me too…"

          "I didn't mean you," he interrupted. "I meant with Buffy. I talked to Dumbledore about it today; he was really surprised that you brought her in."

          "I told her about the risks and stuff, Grey. She volunteered. It might make a huge difference in the strength of the spell."

          "Or you could've killed her, Will. Or worse, changed her somehow. You know how important she is. And not just for us, but for everyone."

          Willow rolled out of his embrace, turning over to face him while they talked. "Yeah, I think I do know. I think I know pretty darn well, since, hello, full-time Slayerette here. Well, former, anyway."

          "Of course, but …"

          "And," Willow went on, her argument moving into a babble as she got increasingly worked up, "she's only my best friend in the whole world. I think I might not want to risk her life for something pointless, which I did not do, thank you very much."

          "You took a piece of her soul. That's serious business, Will."

          "I know it is, Grey. That's why I practiced for it for three weeks before I did it. I gave away some of my own, too, I'll have you know."

          "I know … I'm sorry," he said, frowning. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. It's a beautiful gift that you gave me. It was just … really intense, and it made me nervous about how dangerous it might have been. That's why I've been upset."

          "Did … did something happen to you? Like when you touched it?"

          He watched her carefully. She had no idea. "You didn't know about the visions?"

          She sat straight up, totally surprised. "You had visions? When? What?"

          "When I ignited the sword," he said solemnly, "I … saw things."

          "Like what?"

          "I think they were memories. From the souls in the sword."

          "From me?"

          He nodded. "And Tara and Buffy."

          "Tell me."

          "Are you sure…"

          "Tell me, Grey."

          "It was a little weird, like I became whoever the memory belonged to…" He told her each one in turn. At the end, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

          "Why are you crying?"

          "Because it's so … those were so hard, those times. You don't even know. Tara was so scared that night with the candle. Me too, in fact. And when Faith walked into that room … and goddess," she sniffled, "when Angel left Buffy, she was so devastated, Grey."

          "I know, Will. I know."

          "You couldn't. Those were…"

He pulled her in to him, tenderly quieting her with a finger to her lips.

"I do know, Will. I was there, feeling what you guys felt. Living the memories, the way you did." She looked up at him and he brushed some of her tears away. "I think I get it, now. The magic in the sword was bonding with me. Some spells do that."

She understood immediately. "The spell was showing you the strengths of … of us, I guess. Showing you …"

          "Who you really are," he finished. "That was really brave, standing up to Faith like that." He said her name with a surprisingly bitter twist, and Willow put her hand to his face.

          "Hey. She didn't hurt me, even with that big scary knife she had that was almost a sword."

          "Um," he grunted.

          "What were the other visions like?"

          "Others?"

          "From your parents? And Jess?"

          "No visions from them."

          "No?"

          "Uh uh," he answered. "Dumbledore said it was because I already had pieces of them. He said that was why you needed my parents, because the sword has to a mixture of parts of me and parts of … other people."

          "I guess that makes sense, 'cuz they're, well, your parents. You were created from them, really. But what about Jess?"

          The silence lingered for a few minutes while Grey debated what to answer. He finally settled on the truth. "Do you know what a Catenatus charm is?"

          "Sort of. Jess said she cast it on you, and it tells her if you're alive."

          His eyebrows rose in shock. "When did she tell you that?

          "When you were all charred from Voldemort's death ray and I was whacko black magic woman. Why? What's the big deal?"

          "She didn't tell you how it works, did she." It wasn't a question. "Or that…"

          "Or that what?" Willow said fearfully.

          "Or that it's pretty illegal to do it the way we did. You're supposed to get Ministry supervision and approval, because it can be twisted in all sorts of bad ways unless the intent is pure."

          "How does it work?" Tension oozed through Willow's body, all sorts of fears rising up inside of her.

          "I … it's complicated. Too complicated for me to explain right now," he added, his eyes looking haunted for the first time in months. The look alone frightened Willow to the core. "Just trust me when I say that the requirements for the lightsaber were already met."

          Tara watched them.

          They watched Tara.

          No one spoke.

          Snape rarely felt compelled to laugh, but sometimes it was far more tempting than others. Such as now. Tara looked frightened to death, her face pale in the dim torchlight. The situation was both amusing and necessary, and he enjoyed it fully.

          "Miss Maclay," he said in his most sinister overtones, "meet your house." He couldn't wait for her to start stuttering. It would be priceless to see the entirety of Slytherin house holding in laughter.

          "Hello, everyone," she said evenly, the false fear receding from her face. She silently thanked Hermione again for her copious research. "I'm Tara Maclay. Please feel free to call me Miss Maclay, as the head of your house does, instead of Professor. That's not really me. Professor Dumbledore told you why I'm here, and I hope you'll all feel comfortable coming and talking to me when you need someone else to speak with," she covertly glanced at Snape, "and I'm not just here for magical or school stuff either. You can talk to me about anything, any time. Day or night."

          In the back of the sixth-year congregation, Draco watched with interest. He knew Snape openly disliked his assistant, and the Potions Master was revealing only the barest hint of surprise at Tara's composure. Draco knew that meant he was completely astonished, and that made him want to chuckle. He glanced around; most of his Slytherin cohorts eyed her with disdain, but a few seemed mildly interested in what she had to say. Especially some of the boys. She's a looker, he admitted mentally, but the goody two-shoes bit is a little off-putting. From their faces, most of the Slytherins seemed to mirror that sentiment.

          "Very well," Snape said when Tara had finished. "You may return to your rooms. I expect all of you well rested in my class tomorrow. I do loathe taking points from my own house on the first day. The current password, lest you forget, is motherwort. Good evening." He motioned for Tara to follow him into his quarters, which abutted the common room's east side.

          She trailed him as he whispered to a painting of Salazar Slytherin, suppressing a shiver when the painting eyed her evilly, and entered his inner sanctum. With the exception of a small sitting area in front, Snape had darkened the room to pitch-blackness. A sphere of magical light floated in an elaborate candelabra on Snape's coffee table; several uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs surrounded it, barely visible in the dim illumination. Snape pointed to the chair closest to the door, then took one across the table as Tara sat.

          "I am … interested to know how you managed to master your stuttering," Snape said when they were settled in.

          "Sorry to disappoint you, Professor," she said with a smile.

          When she didn't speak again, Snape grew impatient. "I asked you a question."

          "What you asked was why I didn't stutter and sacrifice any chance to establish my authority with a bunch of kids whose attitudes probably aren't a whole lot different than yours, right?" The smile became a smirk. "Anti-stuttering charm, courtesy of Hermione." The smirk became a glare. "I'd appreciate it if you explained what was going on here. We both know that I'm not the ideal match for Slytherin house."

          Snape watched her, his eyes searching but betraying no emotion. Without the stutter, her shyness had vanished. "I see. Isn't Granger the clever one."

          A knock interrupted them; Snape gestured with his wand and the door opened, allowing Draco to slip inside.

          "Thank you, Professor," Draco said, standing at attention beside Tara's chair.

          Snape nodded to him. "As for your question, Miss Maclay, I have asked Draco to join us so that I may answer it for both of you at once. You are, in fact, the last person I would prefer to associate with Slytherin house in this capacity. Which is exactly why you are the perfect choice."

          Snape's having an attack of the clevers, Draco thought.

          "H-how, exactly?" Tara asked.

          "Hmm. Charm wearing off, I see. That's terrible," Snape said coldly. Tara, embarrassed, did her best to ignore it. "You are the perfect choice because not only will the children tell you nothing, they will go far out of their way to avoid your notice."

          Draco immediately figured out what was happening. "Brilliant," he said to Snape.

          The right corner of Snape's lip twitched upwards. "You understand, then, Mr. Malfoy, how this will be useful?" Draco nodded. "Excellent."

          "I-I'm still a little c-confused," Tara said.

          "It's quite simple. Many of the children in this house have access to a great deal of Voldemort's sensitive information. We suspect several of them have already been inducted as Death Eaters, in fact. They trust Draco, because of his father. Draco is a prefect, and thus has certain powers and rights that other children do not. If they are attempting to hide illicit activities from you, they will almost certainly procure Draco's assistance in doing so."

          "I … y-you're using me as a decoy, huh?"

          "If that offends you, Miss Maclay, than I …"

          She interrupted him. "I have to go with Draco on this one. That's pretty brilliant, Professor. I-I wouldn't have thought you'd be that capable," she said, a shy smile masking the barb.

          "Yes, well …" Snape said slowly, taken aback by her easy acceptance of it. He had expected her to argue, but once again, this girl turned out to be much more than she seemed. "I'm glad that you agree." He paused, a triumphant sneer sliding onto his face.

"Welcome to Slytherin house, Miss Maclay."