PG-13; Harry Potter - Highlander; Learning to live in peace time is even more difficult than in war time since there's only the good guys left to fight. Methos shows up at Hogwarts, Hermione apprentices to Dumbledore, and Sybil Trelawney sees Death.

Disclaimer: I own very little, and nothing that is contained herein.

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Life & Loyalty
by MarbleGlove

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Climax, Anti-Climax
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Methos had managed to avoid Cassandra for three thousand years. A lot of that time was during eras in which the various means of travel were slow and cumbersome so it had been easy enough to get away from anyone he had known, but there had been some close calls. Walking down busy streets a couple of times he had recognized her before she could recognize him and left the country. But then, she had never been hunting him. Now she was.

He tried to think of what to do as the silence stretched. Cassandra definitely held the high ground in this particular confrontation: she was currently standing with an unsheathed sword in her hand and she was a witch in the wizarding world. He, on the other hand, was currently wearing only his daggers and his gun, was sitting down, and didn't have any magic that he could control.

He continued to listen to the sounds of breathing.

He was a better swordsman and a better killer than Cassandra. In a fair fight he would beat her. She would know that, however, and wasn't likely to offer him a fair fight and frankly he didn't want to kill her, anyway. He was perfectly happy avoiding her for the rest of eternity.

He still didn't know what the plan was, but the goal was now to bring this confrontation to an impasse and get everyone out of here alive. His life held priority, but Cassandra and the others were certainly part of the goal.

He continued to watch Cassandra whose eyes continued to flicker between all three people sitting in the study, two of whose' eyes continued to alternate between him and Cassandra.

The sound of silence, highlighted by the contrast of four people breathing.

Cassandra had yet to respond to his greeting.

She had, as a matter of fact, not yet said anything.

The ball was in her court and Methos silently waited. Severus took his cue from Methos and silently waited. Miss Granger took her cue from Severus and silently waited.

Cassandra was waiting for something too, but Methos wasn't sure what. Finding that out was, of course, what he was waiting for.

Dumbledore must have some way of sensing happenings within the castle because he raced into the study after not much more time than it would take an old man to get from the Headmaster's tower office to the potion master's dungeon study. Unfortunately, his entrance had the result of startling Cassandra so that she whipped around and laid her sword edge against his throat. She turned herself so that she could see where everyone in the room was. Methos cursed inside his head for having to have this confrontation with so many other people present. Accept what is, he told himself, and deal with it.

First, Cassandra was, despite being the aggressor, obviously the most terrified person in the room. At a guess, she'd had even worse experiences with the wizarding world than he'd had. And now that she was here, she expected one more bad experience. At least when he had decided to return for a visit, he had done so with the desire to spend time with a friend. And it occurred to him that while he considered her to be in the greater position of power, she probably thought the same of him.

"Cassandra." Methos spoke in a soothing manner, much as he would speak to a wounded or frightened animal. "Cassandra, it's all right. No body is going to ambush you. Did you ever meet Nicky Flame? He was one of Rebecca's alchemy students. A total firebrand with so much energy--he never sat still. You remember Rebecca, right?"

Cassandra's eyes locked with his and her glare intensified but it was clear that her panic was receding. "Yes. Of course." She spoke sharply. "I knew Nicky, too. What about it?"

"Well, that is one of Nicky's friends. Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He's a friend and old student of Nicky's."

Methos watched the expression on Albus Dumbledore's face change from the calm that it had settled into when threatened to the confusion to being absolutely dumbfounded. For all that Albus had known that Adam was something unusual, and must have already guessed that this newest arrival to the castle was also more than the mere witch she appeared, he didn't manage to keep his jaw from dropping. It rested against the flat of Cassandra's sword. His eyes were still wide behind their glasses when he finally managed to close his mouth and say, "Nicky Flame? Nicholas Flamel?"

Cassandra transferred her glare to the Headmaster once more, although it was much more relaxed and she slowly lowered her sword so it's point rested on the ground. Her glare was more of an annoyed glare than anything else. "Nobody called him by his full name. You practically had to tie him down to keep him from bouncing off the walls--the fewer syllables in that boy's name, the better."

And like that, the first hurtle was passed.

Cassandra was no longer threatening immediate physical attack. The innocent bystanders were being identified and the battle grounds had shifted from physical to verbal.

As quickly as the shift had happened it could be reversed just as quickly. And while Methos knew he was the better swordsman in a fair fight, this setting was far from a fair fight and he wasn't at all sure if he was the better manipulator.

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Cassandra hated Methos from the very depths of her soul and that hatred was only intensified by how easily he had taken control of the situation away from her. She had been so terrified of the wizarding world and continued to have to work so hard to fight off the flashbacks that Methos had simply changed their positions. She was no longer the attacker and he the victim; she was now the guest to his host. He had greeted her and introduced her and done everything but offer her salt at his table. He had done everything to invoke a host and guest relationship except for any offer she could refuse.

And he had thrown her a lifeline out of her torture flashbacks, he had reminded her of Rebecca the Jewess, with whom she had studied alchemy for so many years, and Nicky Flame, the joyful young boy whom Rebecca had raised along with her husband of the time. Those meetings were happy memories of magic and family and it was Methos who had reminded her of them.

Cassandra had to consciously keep her hands relaxed. They wanted to be tense, holding her sword and her wand, and hopefully doing something both painful and fatal to the man before her. She knew perfectly well it was a stupid thing to do. It was not smart to attack someone with deadly intent in front of witnesses, especially witnesses who were probably on the side of her enemy, and Methos was too unpredictable for magic. Magic always acted unpredictably when cast on an immortal, but with Methos it would probably be more erratic than even that.

Witnesses would prevent a physical attack, but then, they could also be a weapon in their own right. She indicated the three people watching her warily, with fear but also with curiosity. "Do they know who you are? And what exactly you're capable of?"

Methos smiled faintly. "You may be sure that they do not. Have you let them know what your capabilities are?"

"I am hardly comparable to you! I never killed for pleasure!" Cassandra sneered the word. For three thousand years she had learned self-control and just being in the room with him destroyed it all. She clenched her hands, her knuckles went white around her sword hilt. But she didn't raise her sword and after a moment she slowly relaxed them.

"Have you not? You surprise me--most people out age have killed for a reason other than survival at some point. But, Cassandra, all my sins, although they may be legion, are muggle. I have killed in the muggle world, in a muggle manner. The Ministry doesn't bother with such crimes, especially so out of their jurisdiction in both time, space, and citizenship. They would not treat me nearly as poorly as they have you. How do they react to a witch capable of wandlessly casting Imperio? Without even vocalizing the word?"

"I think you know already, Methos. They gave me to the dementors. I tried to heal, and they tortured me, you tortured me for years. I had to kill myself, again and again, with my bare hands, to escape. I don't know how many times I died. It took an eternity. I escaped to Donan woods, and lived there for centuries. Didn't speak to another person for so long that when I next met another person I couldn't understand their speech, the language had shifted so much." She ranted and she hated him but she also knew enough about healing that she knew it was good for her to get the words out there, and she knew enough about herself, that she would never talk about this to anyone other than him.

Hot tears came to her eyes and she had to blink them out and force them down her cheeks to keep her vision clear and steady. She hated him and perhaps what she hated most was that he was the one person in all the world with whom she felt the ability, the compulsion almost, to accept her own weaknesses, even as she fought desperately to be strong.

A handful of years ago she had seen him cry for his brother's deaths and even as she wanted to kill him then and there, she had hated him for having strength in his weakness. He hadn't even tried to hide his grief. He had been able to turn his honest grief into a strength while all of her hidden grief made her weak.

"Oh Cassandra. You remind me why I hate the wizarding world. Their cruelties aren't even done in malice. But Cassandra, you know perfectly well that killing me would not help you, if I lived only in your memories I would get stronger and crueler with every passing year. You can barely control your flashbacks even as we stand." It was the truth--Methos always spoke the truth to her, or at least never spoke a lie that she could catch. And for all the pity inherent in the words he spoke, his tone was completely without inflection.

"Do you think you're my teacher that you tell me how the world works?" Cassandra sneered the question, trying to keep herself under control, fighting the last ditch effort to keep the conflict going. She knew that he would not attack her at this time and that she could not herself make the first blow. That chance had come and gone.

"Am I not? I was cruel and vicious, certainly. Selfish in my desire and intentions. But I was still the one who taught you how to survive, taught you what you were. Did you have anyone who was more your teacher than I?"

"I had no teacher."

"No, perhaps not. But what I said was true, none the less. My death, right here, right now, will not help you. You and I both know that eventually, if no one else gets to us first, we will fight to the death and one of us will die and one of us will live and neither of us will win. But I think that fight will not be here today."

It was the truth. Methos had always had a way of making the truth into a weapon to support his side. Methos wanted them both to live while Cassandra just wanted the conflict to be other, but the truth was that this was not the right time and place.

She could force it to be, she could still attack, she told herself, but having it happen would not make it right. She could feel the future beating at the barrier in her mind and knew that the time was not now, not yet. For all her self-will, the fight was not yet.

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Methos watched Cassandra and concentrated on keeping his eyes impassive and his breathing easy.

He was forcing her to confront a truth and he really, really, really didn't want her to consider him the aggressor. Fight the words, fight the message that I'm giving you, fight against the truth, because that is a fight that doesn't take place in the physical realm and can't get either of us killed. Unless, of course, Cassandra refuses to believe that this is not the right time, decides that it is the right time and comes at him with her sword and attempts to lop his head off. Then, of course, it could get one or the other of them killed, and possibly both depending on how Dumbledore, Severus, and the girl respond to the situation.

Methos knew the mortals were still present but they were merely observers in this fight and he was intently focused on Cassandra. Thus, when Severus spoke, Methos startled.

"Imperio."

In fact, everyone startled and turned to look suspiciously at the dark man who's study they occupied. It took a moment for Methos to realize that Severus had not cast the spell but had spoken the name of the spell.

Methos almost wanted to smile, despite the current situation, at the way his student caught and held the attention of everyone in the room and didn't show even a trace of fear. When he spoke again his voice was his regular deep controlled voice.

"Cassandra Trelawney was imprisoned for casting unforgivable on her stepson who suffered from crucio madness."

Severus paused a moment. "Salazar Slytherin invented a cure for crucio madness which was immediately outlawed for creating a sense of euphoria."

Another pause as they all considered the new fact, and Methos gave in to the urge to show a small smile. His student had put the facts together. "This Cassandra is capable of casting the Imperius curse wandlessly."

This was a day made for tense silences, Methos thought. The silence that permeated the room now was just as tense as the silence that had surrounded them when Cassandra had first appeared with her sword raised. Methos waited for his student to say the answer aloud. Dumbledore and Miss Granger waited with wide eyes to hear the revelation that they were just beginning to realize on their own. And Cassandra was waiting to be vindicated five hundred years after the wizarding world had condemned her.

"It's imperio, isn't it." Severus looked at his old mentor and asked as if they were the only two people in the room. "Imperio is the counter-curse for crucio."

"Yes."

There was a single gasp of shock.

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It was the gasp that signaled the presence of another witness. The two immortals had already known about imperio, Severus had figured it out on his own, and Dumbledore and Miss Granger were silent in their shock. It was Sybil Trelawney who gasped aloud and revealed herself to be lingering in the doorway as if unsure whether to go in or stay out.

Cassandra needed no introduction to recognize her great-to-some-degree granddaughter.

Immortals maintained their immortality in their own physical body, denied the immortality of children. And yet, Cassandra thought, for all that there was no blood relationship between them and they had never met before today, Sybil was her child, her descendent. She was the descendent of the child of Cassandra's husband. Even after all these generations, she could still see Terence in this woman's face, in the tilt of her mouth, in the shape of her hands.

As difficult as it was for her to be there, Cassandra looked at Sybil and took strength from the knowledge that she was needed. The presence of fear and pain in Sybil's expression told her that she had done well to come rescue her descendent from Methos and the evils of the wizarding world.

"I will protect you." Cassandra stated, trying to put as much intensity into her voice as possible, lacing it with the voice to make Sybil believe. "You no longer need to fear Him. I will protect you."

Cassandra stretched out a hand to her descendent but had only taken a single step when she stopped as if slapped. Sybil had flinched. Sybil had flinched away from her. It was not Methos who put that look of fear on Sybil's face but her own presence.

Just as quickly as she had been reassured of her actions, she was devastated.

Hurt and furious, Cassandra spun away from looking at her own descendent and raised her sword up, "Did you manage to turn her against me so quickly, then?"

If not for Methos being slightly paler than before, she would have thought he was as calm as ever. His voice was even as he answered. "You know that's not true. Can you not think of any reason why a seer struggling for self-will might shun your presence, Cassandra?"

The hurt and rage was nearly overpowering and she wanted desperately to be back in her forest, maybe back in wolf form so that she could howl long and loud, share her grief with the world, or at least all within hearing distance. Yes, she knew why Sybil had flinched. And even as she thought it, Methos spoke the thoughts aloud.

"The future beats upon your shields trying to possess your body to make itself known. The future clings tight to your aura and trails behind you like too strong perfume, sticking to all those who come too close. For another seer, you are a source of prophesy in more ways than one. Professor Trelawney has been in your presence for less than five minutes and I imagine she can already feel the migraine develop."

Cassandra wondered what expression was on her face because after a moment Methos continued speaking. "If that were not enough, you use your Voice almost unconsciously, it is so much a part of your lifestyle. And for a seer who struggles already with the future . . . you overwhelm her."

She clenched her hands again, leaving her knuckles white. Above all else, she hated being weak and ineffectual. And here she was-- incapable of doing anything to help her descendent. When she felt the blood well up in her wand hand where her fingernails had punctured her skin she took a deep breath and managed to unclench both of her hands, again.

"Tell me you'll not hurt her."

"I swear I won't." Methos looked at her with his face solemn and sincere-looking. Cassandra wanted to sneer at him but forced herself to at least consider the possibility that his oath was good.

There was nothing she could do, nothing she could say, that would make this situation better. She desperately wanted the world to be different, her life to be different. If she couldn't have that, she could at least return to her cabin where she could tell herself that she didn't care one way or another about the fate of some woman who was scared of her own great grandmother or the continued life of the man who had once enslaved her, or the disdain and pity of a set of complete strangers.

It was over, at least for now.

She whirled around and avoided even looking at Sybil as she made her exit.

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And suddenly it was all over. The conflict was put off; not ended but postponed. For all that it worked out well, Methos wished the confrontation had played out differently. Cassandra had had so few breaks in her life, had so routinely been knocked down, by both himself and others.

She was disappearing out the door when he finally spoke up, fighting against his own desire to just leave well-enough alone. She was leaving without trying to kill him. That should have been enough, but, "Cassandra." Methos spoke at the last minute. "I can offer you something, if you'll take it."

"What?"

"Remus Lupin. He's a wizard and a werewolf, somewhere in Germany I think. But, he's hurting and he's alone, and I think you two could help each other." Methos remained sitting in the chair he had been the entire time of this confrontation, his hands visible and empty. He was offering her a truce and a gift of knowledge. What she did with it was up to her. She nodded and then turned and left. Maybe one day when he returned to Hogwarts, he would know if she had ever accepted his offering.

But for now, it was over.

Methos looked at Sybil still trembling slightly in the corner, Miss Granger looking pale and unhappy in her chair, Severus looking introverted in his chair, and Dumbledore looking unsure of himself in his corner.

The conflict with Cassandra was over for now. What was left were the repercussions.

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A/N: I love getting reviews. They make me happy. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed.

A/N: Normally, I try not to further explain my ideas in the authors note since I feel like if I didn't get it across in the fic itself then the universe of the fic is defined by the idea that did come across and nothing in an author's note is going to fix that. None the less, I'm going to at least state what my intentions were for the previous chapter: that an abusive childhood is more or less necessary to be able to see the future, but it can also postpone the development of power in other areas; and that to be powerful one must be ruthless to both oneself and to others, but that being ruthless is not necessarily the same as being abusive.