Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince...And others.
Chapter Three Hermione's Wish
Spike attacked the living Dummy with a newly acquired fury Buffy hadn't seen since pre-soul days. The quarterstaff nearly snapped in two several times as it connected with loud thwacksagainst the dummies defensive pose. Grabbing her own staff, she intercepted his blow, pushing the Dummy to the wall where it was stilled. Spike looked up, startled for a moment at her smiling face before continuing, wordless, with attacking her staff.
"How was your class?" Buffy asked as she pinned him a few inches above the ground with her staff. He grinned, pushing her away with renewed strength.
"Okay. Didn't get to vent as I might've liked to." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively to her, narrowly missing clocking the poor Hippogriff that was fluttering around with the edge. Buffy rolled her eyes, parrying the intense blows to her feet as he tried to trip her.
"Nope. Not gonna happen," she said with a false determination as she tripped him up and put the staff to his chest as if to stake him. He dropped his own and panted slowly, wiggling his hips as she stood over him.
"Spike…" she said warningly. But she dropped her staff nonetheless, though she made no other move.
"I'll forgive you for shagging Peaches." He said temptingly. She groaned, dropping to her knees so that she was straddling his chest.
"Why do you do this to me? How?" She asked quietly, bracing herself, hands splayed on his chest. His hands inched slowly up her legs, hardly covered but for the robes she wore.
"You like it," he whispered, feeling her shudder. In an effort to cease his words, she bent low over him, kissing him slowly, nibbling his lower lip as she pulled away. He grinned, his hands reaching for the zipper between them.
Hermione slipped through the throng of students that were drifting outside for the weekend air and knocked once on the classroom door. When nobody answered, she shoved the door open. And froze. Pulling the door closed with the quickness she'd opened it with, she slumped back against the door, breathing heavily.
How could that be? She'd seen the pink robed Slayer straddling him, heard her breathy gasps…. Wiping a stray tear, she turned and dashed away, headed for the library.
Anyanka pulled nervously at the plain black robes and cursed the seventeen-year-old body she was inhabiting. Curse D'Hoffryn too. He'd brought back from the Sunnydale ruins, but to put her in the hormone infused body surrounded by these witches and wizards…oh, how she shuddered to be…
Shouldering her bag, she turned towards the library, hoping to find some miserable girl wanting to give her crush a good poke in her direction, or something.
Luckily enough, she found a sniffling girl sitting between two bookshelves, crying.
"Hey," she said rather forcefully, spooking the girl. "You okay?" The girl shook her head and Anya sighed, crouching down before her and thanking the PTB that she at least looked like her old, attractive self.
"Fine. What's wrong?" She asked, pulling at her short brown hair. Hermione looked startled at the girl – who must be a seventh year, though she looked so much older – with the blunt ways and words.
"Hermione." She said quickly. "And - oh, it's nothing, just a stupid teenage wishful thinking."
"Well, tell me." Anya said excitedly, her eyes wide.
"Oh, well, I," Hermione started, wiping her eyes. "It's just that, I just wish Ron would notice me. Y'know, in that way. And Proffesor Spike, Oh well he's taken already. But that was just a stupid crush. He's taken by the Slayer…"
Anya furrowed her brow at this, but nonetheless performed her bit of magic. Turning to Hermione, she said those two words any girl longs to hear.
"Wish Granted."
Hermione, confused, continued to Hall after the fateful encounter with Anya. Harry and Ron waved her over from the Gryffindor table, their plates full of sandwiches and chips. Turning her head once to the staff table, she saw Buffy and Spike talking deeply together, occasionally smiling and turning to the other vampire.
"Hello. How was your afternon?" Hermione asked as she sat between the two boys and grabbing a goblet of pumpkin juice. Ron, next to her, blushed deeply and murmered something.
"Ron, are you alright?" Hermione asked him, feeling odd between the two boys at once.
"Don't worry about him, Herms. He's not feeling well today. At least, that's how he's been acting." Harry said smiling guiltily.
"Mmm-Hmm." Hermione didn't believe the two for a minute, not with the way Ron's hand was sneaking around her waist. Ignoring the hand, she turned back to Harry.
"So when are Quidditch tryouts?" she asked, though not at all entertained by the subject.
"You're very pretty 'Mione…" Ron mumbled, his hand slipping lower. Hermione blushed, a little pleased herself, but tried to concentrate. Maybe Anya did something after all…
"I posted a notice to have them tomorrow. We need two new beaters. Keeper, Chasers…Katie Bell insists on trying out either way, even though she's one of the best we've ever had, and Ginny's also vying for a spot as a Chaser."
Hermione was having trouble keeping up with what Harry was saying, and with her own lack of interest in the subject, she was fixed more and more on Ron's hand inching over her thigh's and his breath on her neck…
"Ron," she said suddenly, standing up. "I just remembered that I never finished your essay for Snape." She looked at him in a flirtatious and expecting way before he got it and stumbled after her.
"Yeah, right." He said, awestruck by her. "See ya, Harry."
Harry watched incredulously as the two disappeared from the Hall, nearly running as they neared the double doors. Shaking himself at the horrible feeling in his gut about their behavior, he looked further down the table to see Ginny leaning into Dean Thomas and running a hand up and down his forearm. He felt his heart twist itself in his throat, and was almost sick before a small mousy girl approached him with a scroll.
"For you, Harry." The girl said, smiling broadly. Harry took it awkwardly to see Dumbledore's scrawled writing. Tonight, It read, was to be their first lesson.
Buffy lay with her bare legs extended to the fire and her eyes closed peacefully. Nibble, too, was laid out on the hearth, her little birds' head dozing in her outstretched talons and her spindly horse legs twisted around, her golden tail flicking occasionally. The heat of the fire warmed her, adding extra pink to her already flushed cheeks. Spike lay on the same couch, bare-chested and with his head in her lap.
"Buffy," Angel's voice startled the Slayer from her reverie, and she looked at the vampire as he stood near them, bag slung over his shoulder.
"Are you leaving?" She asked quietly, not wanting to disturb Spike, who was dozing contentedly.
Angel nodded, running a hand through his thick hair absently. She smiled up at him and rested her hand on Spikes smooth chest.
"Thank you." She said as he turned to leave. He looked back and smiled.
"Yeah." He said quietly, halfway out the portrait hole. "Your Welcome."
With that, the portrait hole closed, and Buffy closed her eyes once more, petting Spikes smooth face as he smiled, his eyes closed, and purred.
When Harry returned late that night, he found Ron and Hermione tangled into each other on the couch, each looking rather pleased. Smiling at them, but also worrisome of where it might take their friendship, he sat in one of the deep-seated armchairs and waited for them to notice him.
When they did, he recounted how he and Dumbledore had traveled into the Pensive, of the memories they'd seen. Both of them were wide-eyed and attentive by the time he'd said his last.
"Wow," Hermione muttered, amazed. "That's just…wow."
"And, strangely creepy. I mean, you were practically in their heads." Ron added. Harry nodded quietly.
"So what've you done today?" Harry asked, reclining and feeling relaxation enter him at once.
"Oh, um, well, nothing. Really." Ron muttered. Hermione however, got a sudden excited expression before pulling a leather bound book from her bag.
"I went to the library. Researching Miss Summers." Hermione said, flipping through the crusty pages.
"Herm's brilliant, right?" Ron said, hugging Hermione's waist and smiling idiotically. To Harry, Hermione blushed and smiled, satisfied.
"Yes, well," she continued, scanning the page with her index finger. "Oh, here it is… ' The Slayer, the Chosen One, is a slayer of demons, vampire's and evil. It is her sacred duty to protect the world from these forces. She works alone as a guardian, and it has been so since the very First Slayer, an African girl of unknown parentage and name who was taken and infused with a part of a demon to enhance her, make her as she is. The First Slayer was said to be animalistic, only thinking to kill. Though she had many offspring with many men, none were Chosen. The second Slayer was a young Englishwoman with no connection to the First Slayer named Isabelle Martin. She died at eighteen in Prague.
Since then there have been Watcher's, who guide and train the Slayer throughout her existence, and the Guardians – an ancient people's hardly seen by human, Slayer of Watcher. They are near extinction as well, only five hundred known to be around still.'"
Hermione closed the book, staring intently at it for several moments before looking up. Harry seemed interested; watching her carefully, while Ron ran his hands over her thighs, brushing them while staring up at her, his face full of fascination.
"Not to say that isn't interesting, Hermione, but why'd you research this? What use is this to us?" Harry was interested, and he voiced it so, eyes still locked to the rubbed leather of it.
"Just curious…" Hermione said quietly.
Over the next few days, Quidditch tryouts were held and schoolwork was as dull as ever. Harry waited intently for another lesson with Dumbledore, but he was frequently absent from mealtimes. He made it an obsession, and Hermione escaped it by searching relentlessly for the girl named Anyanka. When nothing proved helpful, she sought help.
"Professor, Can I come in?" Hermione stood awkwardly at the doorframe, watching the sparing match between her Professor and the Slayer, and was transfixed. Every move she made, he blocked. The fight was seemingly seamless. There were no breaks, no slips. Every second seemed choreographed, right down to where Spike snarled and lifted her into the wall, pinning her steadily, fangs poised over her neck.
Buffy giggled, batting his hands away and landing onto both feet when she slipped down. They both turned to Hermione when they heard her clear her throat. Buffy waved, grabbing a bottle of water.
"'Lo Pidge," Spike said, panting slightly, and Hermione stepped in a bit nervously. Buffy was leaning back into the wall, gulping her water and watching Spike with a trusting eye as he listened to Hermione.
"Well, I have this problem," she started nervously, twisting her hands in her pockets. "My friend Ron is suddenly all over me – and I'm really only complaining a little, but I think it might have something to do with this girl I met…"
"What did she look like?" Buffy asked, suddenly very interested in Hermione's problem.
"Her name was Anya, I think. Brown hair, brown eyes. I think she was a seventh year, she looked a little older."
"I thought she was gone? Dead by what you said." Spike said, turning to Buffy.
"Yeah, I mean, she never made it out, we all just thought – "
"D'Hoffryn brought me back." The brunette standing behind Hermione, who pointed at her accusationly, interrupted them.
"You! You're the girl who made Ron be…all over me!" Hermione shouted, but she was quieted at the firm hand on her shoulder.
"Quite Pidge." He told her, standing before the brunette.
"Anya, Demon girl." He greeted her. "Take it back like a good girl."
"Spike. Still banging every living creature in sight on top of the table?" she quipped, ignoring Buffy, who had shouted an indignant 'hey!' at the last remark. "And I can't. Take it back, or leave."
"Why Not?" Spike asked.
"Do you know the havoc out there because of this…Lord Voldemort? He's the Big Bad you guys should be worrying about. Not me." With a huff, she crossed her arms and flounced her hair. "I'm nothing compared to what's to come…"
Buffy pushed past Spike and crossed her arms, staring the brunette down.
"Hiding behind the protection of others as always, Anyanka?" she hissed. Anya narrowed her eyes and spoke through gritted teeth.
"You won't be able to stop this guy, Buffy. Though I could be helpful if you knocked off the superhero act for once in your goddamn life."
"I think you'd better go, Pidge," Spike said quietly to Hermione, who resolutely shook her head.
"Not until she fixes Ron." Upon hearing this, Anya spun around, her face contorted into that of a demon.
"Fine!" she spat, and snapped her fingers. Hermione, unsure, looked to Spike, who nodded.
"Go on, Pidge." He said, quietly, watching Buffy and Anya stare down. Hermione smiled and nodded, giving Anya one last glare before leaving. It was while Hermione had turned to leave that Anya had whipped out a wand and was now shooting jinxes and hexes at Buffy. Cursing, Spike lunged for the demoness, bringing her to the floor. Her wand rolled away with a clatter, and Buffy swept it up, pointing it at Anya.
"You don't know how to use it!" Anya sneered as Spike held her down. Buffy smirked, aiming it well.
"I think I can figure it out." Buffy said, remembering the words Anya had said when attacking her. "Stupefy!"
The room was filled with bright red light that pulsed through the classroom. When it finally receded seconds later, teachers and students were shoving their heads through the door to see the blonde crouching under the power of her wand as a vampire stood over an unconscious Anyanka.
"Did I hit her?"
When Hermione entered the common room, she wasn't sure what to expect from Ron. As she sat nervously beside him, where he was reading the Daily Prophet. When she sat back, she was partly glad to find his hand reaching for hers, but she knew the spell had worn off. Harry smiled.
Thank God Ron wasn't trying to make out with her.