The blue-uniformed figures were eerily silent as they marched in perfect formation behind Grindelwald and their newly-animated leader. From the rear of the procession, Ethan was amazed that one animated figure could make enough noise for all of them.

            "You will release us at once! I, Cobra Commander, demand that you listen to me! I…"

            Ethan nearly cheered as Grindelwald slammed the blue-hooded buffoon to the wall with a sinewy arm.

            "You will listen to me, you simpering moron: I am your commander. You command bugger-all right now, and if you continue to annoy me, I will turn you back into the toy you so recently were and rend your plastic limbs from the elastic bands that join them. Is that clear?"

            "No one speaks to Cobra Commander in such a tone. Guards! Seize … urk …"

            None of the Cobra guardsmen moved an inch. Grindelwald, fed up with the prattling of this infant, drew his wand with his free hand. With a swish and flick, the spell animating Cobra Commander ended. All that was left was a tiny action figure in the palm of his hand. As promised, Grindelwald proceeded to rip off the figure's arms and legs, then drop it on the stone floor and crush the torso with his boot.

            "Your assistant has terrible taste in henchmen," Grindelwald said to Ethan.

            "Yes, I've been meaning to speak to her about that. It's just that she's so young, you see. She hasn't the proper experience."

            "Indeed. Well, I think that this time we shan't have a problem, but should it happen again, neither of you will remain in my employ any longer." Grindelwald's voice wasn't angry, but rather completely dismissive as he discussed killing off both Amy and Ethan.

            Now it was Ethan's turn to realize he was in over his head. This plan, dangerous from the beginning, was rapidly turning into a sentence of lifelong servitude, and Ethan had no interest in that at all. It was time to cut his losses, Voldemort's wrath be damned. He could find protection from the Dark Lord later on.

            The procession continued, but as Grindelwald took a branching path to the left with his soldiers close on his heels, Ethan Rayne just kept walking. He had been to Hogwarts before, and he had a good idea of where to find the man he wanted.

            "Rupert, old man," he muttered aloud to the empty corridor, "I just hope you still have the appreciation for books that you had in California."

            "STUPEFY!"

            The spell caught the lead cultist in square in the crotch, driving him into the back wall of the Summers living room. He slumped to the floor, moaning pathetically. Jess allowed herself a gleeful smile before taking aim at another one.

            Next to her, Tara took two giant steps backwards. Her magic rose effortlessly, and soon a shimmering barrier stood between the cultists and her and Buffy. Two of the remaining four robed men rushed heedlessly into it and received a nasty electric shock and a flight across the room for their efforts. They were clearly no match for two trained witches, and the last remaining cultist hung back warily, waiting for a command from his master.

            "So what's your name, pretty-boy?" Spike asked as he circled the blonde man warily. He had some idea of what the man was, thanks to Giles, but he had no clue what this renegade angel might be capable of.

            The angel smiled coldly, allowing Spike to dance around the living room while his cultists vainly tried to reengage the witches.

            "Do not presume that we are at the stage where you are allowed to call me by name … Spike, isn't it? The vampire who fancies himself in love with my Slayer?"

            "One of 'em. The other ain't too impressive, though. You'd better stick with the first team, mate."

            Spike suddenly lunged for the angel, his vampiric speed offering almost no warning for a normal man.

            Unfortunately, he wasn't fighting a normal man.

            The angel vanished with a muted pop, reappearing behind Spike in time to see him careen across the floor and slam headlong into Tara's barrier spell. Like an errant pool ball, Spike caromed off the magical wall and into a wooden chest next to the fireplace. He lay unmoving, slumped against the box.

            "Oh, well done, 'mate,'" the angel mocked. "Absolutely 'bloody' perfect."

            "Your English accent's horrible, pal," Jess said. With a waved of her wand, ghostly chains gagged and bound the cultists. Once they were restrained, the tip of her wand shifted to the angel's throat. "Take it from a wee Irish lass: yeh've got no future pretendin' to be a Brit. Now, I think you should think about doin' a runner, before I get more brassed off than I already am, don't you know?"

            His perfect features twisted into a sharp smile.

            "You're the one from that first night, aren't you? The one who threw the beer at her friend. A clever bit of magic, young lady. You have quite the talent, I'd wager."

            "So?"

            "So you should start thinking about how you might fight an adversary who is unaffected by magic … don't you know." The last phrase slipped out in a mock Irish accent. Jess' nostrils flared with anger. Before she could act, he pointed at her and made a flicking motion with his index finger.

            The spell was soundless. All Tara heard was the tinkling of glass as the magic propelled Jess out the picture window and into the front yard.

            "Jess!" Tara's eyes turned white with fury. The angel turned his smile on her and strode boldly up to her barrier.

            "You think you can do better, witch?" He touched the shimmering barrier with a pale hand, then began to press on it. "This will hardly hold me."

In her mind, Tara could feel the physical force of him pushing against the barrier. She knew it wouldn't hold long, and, glancing at Spike's still form in the corner, she realized that it had to. She was the only thing standing between this renegade angel and Buffy. If she gave in, it would mean the end of her friend, and with her, most likely, the world as well.

            "No pressure," she whispered, feeling his hand press a little harder.

            "You can take her? Without ending the world or anything?"

Willow nodded, her black eyes watching Amy tumble down the hallway. She reached up and touched the necklace he had given her for Christmas. "I'm good to go."

Grey clearly didn't like it, but they had no choice. "Don't come apart on me."

            She nodded, not really listening. Amy had no idea the whooping that Willow was about to hand down. "Can you handle the clown with the horns?"

            "If I can get past the ridiculousness of fighting a fictional action figure."

            She looked over, deliberately meeting his eyes. "Whatever that thing was, it reeks of dark energy and badness now. Don't underestimate it. I don't really want to bury you tonight."

            "Gee, that's sweet. Go. I've got this."

            She nodded once and muttered something. Grey saw a blur, and suddenly she was looming over Amy at the far end of the hall. He stepped through the door and began to circle the Sith Lord slowly. He couldn't know how much skill the animated toy had, but he feared the worst. Darth Maul twirled the double-bladed lightsaber slowly in front of him, grinning insanely as the former auror moved along the hall.

            "Jedi…" the Sith hissed. In Grey's head, Buffy's voice screamed BLOCK THE CENTER just as the red energy blade flashed up at him. With a snap-hiss his blue blade erupted from the lightsaber handle, halting the Sith blade in mid-swing. The other red blade sliced up from below; another quick move blocked that one as well.

            The two combatants took wary steps backward and returned to circling each other. I'm no Obi-wan, Grey thought fleetingly as Darth Maul tested him with another series of quick strikes. His lightsaber felt like an extension of his arm as the red and blue blades clashed in the dim hallway. The Sith intercepted his lunges with precision. He never let an opportunity pass to slice in on Grey, twice nearly cleaving the auror in two. The toy fought expertly, as if he, and not his film counterpart, had trained an entire lifetime to battle Jedi.

As natural as the lightsaber felt, Grey had never really fought with it before. Not like this. And his inexperience wasn't doing him any favors. The hallway thundered with blue-on-red impacts. Only Buffy's voice in Grey's head kept him alive after the first few seconds. The power of the enchantment, so shocking and frightening when he had seen it cast, was now all that stood between Grey and certain death, and he embraced it. If he had been wielding his old lightsaber, Grey knew that he would already be dead.

            They danced around one another for a long minute, the Sith using the two ends of the blade to strike Grey from the left and the right so rapidly that it seemed to be simultaneous.

"He's pushing you into the wall," Buffy's voice told him. Her advice came half in the form of words, half in impulses and instinct. She had a distinctive fighting style that came through in the blade's voice. Grey could feel it meshing with his own, and he idly hoped he would get a chance to spar with her to see what the real version had.

Before Grey could get his bearings, he could feel the brick wall pressing in behind his right shoulder. The Darth Maul toy took advantage and slashed down on him from above. Grey knew he had nowhere left to spin. He flashed back to the fight with the Hunters in Diagon Alley, but didn't risk a glance at Willow; she couldn't save him now. His blue blade buzzed past his nose, stopping the red blade mid-slash. Instead of calling out to her, he dropped to his knees. The second blade passed close enough to his head that he felt the heat, but he escaped unscathed. Pushing off of the wall with his free hand, Grey tucked and rolled past the Sith and came up in a crouch just in time to intercept another strike.

Then the strangest thing happened: Darth Maul backed off.

            "Had enough already? Pretty weak," Grey commented, rising to his feet.

            Before he could even think to move, something heavy and metal hit him in the back.

            "What the …" He staggered as something else hit him. Then a third something caught his shoulder as he was turning. A metal gauntlet rattled to the floor next to him, and he brought his lightsaber up in time to deflect another. Behind it, bits of armor from the suit in the hallway sped through the air like shrapnel. Grey blocked several other pieces before a boot connected solidly with the base of his spine and he went down, his lightsaber skittering away down the hall.

            At the other end of the hallway, Willow could feel the dark magic surfacing with her anger. She rose into the air, hovering a few feet above Amy and glaring down at her former friend.

            "Why do this, Amy? What's your problem with Hogwarts?"

            Amy, still on her back, leaned over and spat blood onto the hall floor.

            "So much for not doing magic, huh, Willow?"

            "Newsflash – back on the magic for awhile. Now answer me – why are you here at Hogwarts starting a ruckus?"

            "Because my problem isn't with Hogwarts, you dumb junkie. My problem is you. But looking like this – the magic looks good on you." Amy floated herself into a standing position facing Willow. "How does it look on me?"

            "Kinda veiny. Not so much good." Amy narrowed her eyes. "You're in for a serious butt-kicking after doing that to my boyfriend's room, you know." Willow's tone was matter of fact, even while her voice dripped with contempt. Willow made a downward motion with her index finger. "Sit."

            Unseen magical force dropped Amy back to the floor before she could react.

            "You didn't really think you'd get all wiggy black magic woman and have enough power to mess with me, did you?" Willow asked. She was hanging on to her control by a thread. If Amy started tossing spells at her, she didn't know how long she could keep it up. "I mean, hello to the bad idea."

            "It's always about you, isn't it? Little Miss Powerful," Amy growled. "I'm so sick of you. You think you're so much better than me." She lifted herself back up off the ground.

            "Sit," Willow said again.

            "No," Amy said, waving the spell off.

            "I said sit, bitch!" Willow shouted. She jammed her hand downward and sent Amy sprawling across the stone. "Didja ever think maybe the reason I think I'm better than you is because maybe I am?"

            "You wish." Amy reached up and wiped blood from her nostril. Her black eyes flashed with anger. "It's always been so easy for you, hasn't it, Willow? Everyone else working twice as hard to be half as good. Everybody so ready to forgive you when you go off the deep end." Amy's hand came up and she said, "Burn."

            A stream of blue flame shot from her fingers; Willow whispered a word and leaned to the side. The flame passed by her with a rush of heat on her skin. Behind her, part of the charred brick melted and dripped to the floor.

            "Yeah, right," Willow said, raising an eyebrow. "That's what this is about? You're jealous? You should be, if that's all you got." Mentally, Willow clawed at the last of her control, desperate to hang on. She touched the charm at her neck. The wood was white hot. "Let me tell you something here, Amy – I might be twice as powerful, but that's not what makes me better than you. That isn't what makes people help me when I turn into a junky. Quiet," Willow added angrily as Amy's lifted hand came up again. The fallen witch opened her mouth, but nothing came out when she tried to incant. "I might have twice as much power, but look what I do with it. You and your stupid crap – why don't you get off your duff and help somebody once in awhile? Then maybe they'd help you a little and you wouldn't be so damn worthless."

            Amy's hand went to her throat, but the silencing spell wouldn't allow her to answer. Willow clenched her hand into a fist, and suddenly Amy could not move either. Far too late, she realized exactly how much more powerful Willow was, and seeing the girl's black eyes, Amy figured she was about to die for her mistake.

            "You know what I think, Amy?" Willow smiled, and the black in her eyes spread to her hair. Amy was trying vainly to free herself mentally, but Willow had more than enough power to keep her silent and immobile. "I think you need a lesson. Let's call it 'Why messing with witches more powerful than me makes me a doofus.'"

            A flick of Willow's wrist sent Amy flying across the hall and into the wall. She hung there, pinned spread-eagle and helpless three feet off the ground. Willow chuckled evilly.

            "Now, before I get even more testy, I want you to call off your hound. Then we'll talk about what to do next."

            "What d'you think's goin' on?"

            Harry, a bit more composed after the short walk, shrugged. "I dunno, Ron. We'll find out soon enough, though." They were two hallways from Gryffindor tower, and they were getting antsy.

            "I … know a little about what's going on," Hermione offered, feeling suddenly guilty that she hadn't said anything before.. "It's not altogether pleasant."

            "Hang on – you know what's going on and you didn't tell us?" Ron stopped walking and focused his wide-eyed stare on his girlfriend.

            "Professor Giles swore me to secrecy, Ron. I had no choice."

            "No choice?  No choice? 'Mione, dammit …"

            "Ron, please don't swear."

            "He's got a point, Hermione," Harry said, his own temper rising a notch. "We're trying to get ready for whatever's coming, and you know what it is and don't tell us?"

            "No, no, no. It isn't like that. This isn't about us, only about Spike and the Slayer." She looked abashed, especially after what had just happened with Ginny.

            Down the hall, Ginny eavesdropped shamelessly. Spike and Buffy? What do they have to do with Voldemort, she wondered. Ginny wasn't dull – she quickly realized that what Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been hiding was intimately involved with Voldemort somehow. That accounted for the fear in Harry's eyes down in the Great Hall. She felt her anger soften a little. He really was protecting her. It was one of the sweetest things about Harry. He needs ta realize I can take care of me perfectly well, though, she thought.

            "Maybe we should be the judges of whether it's about us or not," Harry spat, his anger about Ginny working its way into his voice. "It's about Voldemort, isn't it?"

            "Only tangentially," Hermione said, resigned. She could feel his anger and knew it wasn't really about her. "Listen we must hurry along to this meeting. Let's … let's just change and I'll tell you what I know on the way. Is that acceptable?"

            Harry and Ron looked at each other, neither pleased with the knowledge that Hermione had been keeping secrets.

            "Fine," Ron said, "but after … after we need to sort out some rules about tellin' each other things. This is gettin' ridiculous."

            Hermione nodded, chagrined, and they resumed their walk. In minutes, they were at the portrait of the Fat Lady, with Ginny trailing out of sight behind.

            "Swizzle stick," Harry said.

            Nothing happened.

            "Swizzle stick."

            Nothing happened. Again.

            "Did they change the password?" Hermione asked cautiously.

            "Uh uh." Ron took a closer look at the painting of the Fat Lady. She wasn't moving a bit. "Check out the Fat Lady," he whispered urgently. "She's gone still. Like a muggle painting."

The three Gryffindors exchanged alarmed looks.

            "Wands out?"

            "Wands out," Harry agreed. Ginny saw them draw wands and brought her own up from her sleeve. "I'll go first, then Ron, then Hermione. If something's off in there, go to the library for help."

            "No way, Harry. I –"

            He cut off her protest with a raised hand. "No arguments. You'll do as I say."

            Her bright eyes flashed angrily but she nodded.

            "Good. Ron – go left. I'll go right. Hermione, you cover whichever of us is in more danger when you come through the door. Got it?"

            They both nodded. Harry raised his wand in his right hand and with his left gingerly reached for the picture frame. When he touched the ancient wood, the door came free of the wall without protest. He inched it out a bit and waved the others to move left. When they were clear of the line of fire, Harry yanked the door fully open and dove through the opening.

            He finished his dive with an awkward tumble; the graceless move left him crouching behind one of the squashy armchairs. He heard an unfamiliar sound, something between a buzz and a squeak. A burst of red light burned its way through the chair and past his leg. When he looked left, the wall near the door had a black mark the size of a Galleon burned into it.

            "Ron! Stay back!" Harry yelled back through the door. A series of the strange noises erupted from the room again, and a group of red flashes whizzed through the open door.

            "Bloody hell!" came the shout from the hallway.

            "Remember boys: stun. Not kill," said an oily voice inside the room. "It's no use hiding down there, Mister Potter. We can shoot through the chair all day, and I don't think your friends will be coming through that doorway for a bit. Why don't you stand up and face me man-to-man?"

            Harry reached around the side of the chair and blindly fired off two quick stunners in response. You could hardly run out of ammunition, he recalled Giles saying during one of their lessons. You might as well simply fire away and hope to distract them if you have no other options.

            The oily voice became an oily chuckle. "Hoping to get lucky, Potter? I don't think that will save you from me. Now cease this foolish resistance and surrender yourself before I decide to make this less pleasant for you."

            In the hallway, Ginny came rushing up to help Hermione forcibly restrain Ron from diving through the door.

            "Ron!" Hermione hissed through gritted teeth. "You mustn't go through that door! Those red bolts'll cut you down in seconds."

            "Listen to her, Ron. We need to get help," Ginny insisted.

            He yanked his arms as hard as he could, pulling himself free from both girls with a powerful shrug. He leveled a menacing glare at them, his anger overpowering his good sense. "What're you doin' here?" he asked Ginny.

            "You knew I wouldn't let it go at that, Ron – not when Harry's involved."

            He nodded. They could deal with that later. He turned back to the door, and the girls grabbed him again, only to meet another angry brush off. "I'm goin' in to help him!"

            "You need cover," Hermione said quietly, giving in. They could hear the sizzle of those beams from the hall. "What about the Flashbang spell?"

            "The what?" Ginny asked.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "I still can't do it right."

            "What is it?"

            "Not now, Gin!" They locked eyes, identical glares shooting back and forth between them. Inside the common room, they heard another group of blasts, which prompted Hermione to step between them.

            "I'll do it, and we'll both go in." He started to protest, but she wouldn't let him. "We'll. Both. Go. In."

            "Fine. You cast and we'll go. But Gin, you go for help, understand?"

            "This isn't the time, but later you're gonna tell me where you learned a Flashbang spell an' what it is, or I swear that I will make your life miserable, Ron Weasley."

            Ron nodded. "Just go to the library and get help soon's we clear the door." He glanced at Hermione. She had her wand out and ready to go. "Let's do this."

            Inside the room, Harry had his hands full staying behind cover and out of the way of the red blasts. He still had no idea what they were, and he was calculating the odds of escaping unharmed through the door when he heard Hermione cast the spell.

A smoky amber ball shot through the doorway; seeing it, he hurriedly ducked down and covered his eyes. The spell had come from Jess O'Brien, straight out of the auror handbook, and he knew what it could do to the unprepared. When it reached its maximum ten foot range, it exploded into a ball of writhing smoke. The room vibrated from the accompanying thunderclap, and the stored energy flashed with the brightness of ten lightning bolts., Harry could feel it behind his eyelids thanked Merlin that he had remembered to cover his eyes.

With the thunder still ringing in his ears, he heard two voices scream, then a third, then several of the strange buzzing sounds in rapid succession and finally nothing but silence. The air tasted like stale smoke. He made a hasty choice and hopped to his feet, exposing his upper body above the squashy armchair.

            "Your friends are quite talented," Grindelwald said. Despite the evil sneer he gave Harry, he seemed genuinely impressed. "Nothing I couldn't handle, of course, but my worthless henchmen seem the worse for the wear." Four blue-clad solders lay in a heap next to him. "Still and all, I'm glad to see Dumbledore is actually teaching you lot something. The place really had lost its touch for the last hundred years or so after I left."

            Harry glanced at the doorway. Ron and Hermione lay unconscious just inside the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. In the hallway beyond, a tiny figure with a mass of red hair looked to be sleeping facedown. Rage boiled up inside Harry's chest as he recognized Ginny.

            "STUPEFY!" Harry's angry spell sped straight for Grindelwald's chest. The dark wizard caught it on the palm of his right hand and chuckled. None of Harry's next three spells reached him either, and in desperation Harry snatched up a candelabra and hurled it at him. The metal dropped to the ground well short of the dark wizard.

            "Not quite, young Harry. Quite the effort, but then you're quite outclassed. It took Dumbledore and a half-dozen aurors to get me before. I do not believe that you are quite up to the challenge."

            Seething now, and knowing that he was the only thing standing between his unconscious friends and death, Harry stepped out from behind the chair and assumed dueling position. If he could delay long enough, maybe help would arrive. Willow or Dumbledore would make quick work of this bastard, whoever he was. Harry gripped his wand tighter, hoping to hide the nervous shake of his hand.

            "I guess we'll just have to see about that, won't we?"

            Grindelwald smiled. He quite relished facing do-gooders with more courage than brains.

            "I wonder what's keeping everyone," Dumbledore said. He and Giles had been waiting for nearly 30 minutes in the library, and while he had a vaguely unsettled feeling that he couldn't quite place, he was unable to imagine where the rest of their group might be.

            Giles leaned over and poured Dumbledore a refill of his tea before refilling his own cup.

            "Perhaps extricating themselves from the party was not quite as easy for the children as we had hoped. And I know that Willow was quite upset after our revelations about Buffy – I imagine Grey is attempting to calm her down right now."

            "Hmm. Perhaps." Dumbledore sipped the tea and leaned back with steepled fingers. The unsettled feeling wouldn't go away.

            "Albus, I've been meaning to ask you – do you think it wise to include Harry and Ron in these discussions?"

            "You don't think it is?"

            Giles paused, idly tapping the tea cup with his index finger for a few seconds before speaking. "I'm not certain. Hermione has been invaluable, but it is a heavy burden to bear."

            "Not, I assure you, Rupert, the heaviest burden that they will bear in the days ahead. I believe I have divined the answer to Spike's question, and it is forcing me to consider letting quite a bit of truth out into the light that I would rather stay hidden."

            Giles raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's. The wizard's blue eyes were decidedly un-twinkley at the moment, he realized. "What does that mean, exactly?"

            Dumbledore shook his head. "I can't tell you that. Not until I've spoken with Harry. I'm afraid that the past is about to weigh quite heavily on the future."

            The door to the library swung open and Ethan Rayne stepped across the threshold.

            "You don't know the half of it, old man."