Thanks to my reviewers: CF28, Draco's Slayer, Brutal2003, Incepte, and becks89.
He could see her face in front of him as clearly as if she were actually standing there. Her soft blondish-brown curls brushing lightly against those perfectly formed, narrow shoulders were so close he could almost feel them beneath his fingertips. Those delectable doe brown eyes flashing with vitality and sarcasm; he could picture everything. He reached out to touch her, but whenever his hand seemed to graze her flesh she would disappear.
I'm hallucinating, I'm going crazy. Oh Anya, why did you have to be the hero? Why?
Alexander Harris did not even bother to check the tears that fell freely down his face. The tears, being the first to fall since he heard the grim news of his love's demise, were bathing his face in a salty tide of misery and grief.
But when he woke up this morning, he forced himself to accept it. She was gone. That was all there was to it. Denying it would only prolong his pain; it was best just to let the grief come and go. The pain would lessen with time, Willow had said, but she said it would never fully go away.
Once he finally acknowledged it, the waterworks came. It was like he had dammed up the tide, but with acknowledgement came a breach in the dam.
Oh God, how did Will, Buffy, and Giles do this? I feel like I've had my heart ripped out of me.
Xander had a new respect for those three. He couldn't imagine, couldn't even fathom what it must've been like for them to lose the loves of their lives. Not until yesterday.
So immersed in his thoughts (which was odd for Xander) was he, he did not hear Willow open the door and enter the room with coffee and doughnuts.
"Xander? You want something to eat?" she offered tentatively.
"Sure, Will. Thanks," he said flatly as he took one of the coffees handed to him and a chocolate doughnut.
Willow took a seat beside her best friend and surveyed his blotchy features with a sympathetic eye. Feeling her heart clench from the pain he must be experiencing, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. Xander flung all his masculine inhibitions aside and buried his face in Willow's shoulder to let his tears run free.
"How am I supposed to do this, Will? I feel like I'm dying," he sobbed wretchedly.
"You just need to work through it. It'll get better, I promise," she whispered, stroking his back.
She remembered well what it had felt like when Tara died. Of course, she had dealt with her girlfriend's death very badly and ended up killing a man, which only sufficed to add on to her pain afterward. But she could still vividly recall the hollow feeling in her chest, the mind-numbing pain in that place in her heart that was exclusively Tara's. Essentially, it was a pain that had never really gone away completely.
That's the downside of being in the Scooby Gang, you always end up getting something taken from you. She felt so lucky to have her friends though and she was grateful beyond words that they had so willingly forgiven her for her actions. She had been so afraid they would cast her out and she could not say she would have blamed them. But they had welcomed her home, well, after the incident with the skin-eating demon, and back into their lives. Without them, Willow honestly did not know where she would be.
The two friends did not hear the door open and the soft footsteps of their mutual best friend and protector, Buffy. The small blonde looked upon the two on the bed tenderly and glided over to give her part of comfort to the grieving Xander.
Xander suddenly felt another pair of arms wrap around him and he shifted around to let his other best friend hug him. The three just sat there for a long time holding each other, neither saying a word.
Seven years they had been together. Seven years they had battled the forces of evil together. They had all lost people close to them in the fights and all of them had come pretty close to dying. Buffy had not only come close, she had actually died twice. Each time her friends had brought her back.
They had hit a bumpy road a few days ago and differences of opinion had forced them apart. Looking back on it nowthey saw how ridiculous they had been. Buffy was the Slayer (well, technically a Slayer now but she would always be the Slayer to her friends). Fighting evil was her job and she did it pretty damn well.
They should have known that she would not let them down, that she knew what she was doing. They should have trusted her because she had earned that trust time and time again. Instead, they betrayed her and it left both Xander and Willow riddled with no small amount of guilt over it.
However, Buffy was immensely forgiving and had put it behind her. They sought to do the same, but could not help but think they would somehow be forced to pay for their betrayal.
Buffy was the first to break the solemn silence.
"What happens now, guys?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" Willow replied.
"Well, the Hellmouth is destroyed. So, that's out of the picture. What are we going to do now?" the petite slayer inquired.
"It doesn't matter. Just as long as I get to stick with you guys," Xander replied, grateful for something to take his mind off his Anya.
"So, are we gonna go out and find all those slayers or are we actually gonna get normal jobs?" Buffy queried in an amused voice.
"Well, to be technical, you two did have normal jobs before and I was a college student. I mean, a foreman and a high school counselor do not rate high on the supernatural scale," Willow commented.
"Yeah, I think schools should issue restraining orders against us. Or at least me. Look at what happened to the last three schools I stepped foot in," Buffy wryly remarked.
"I bet you loads of teenagers would hire you for those services." To the relief of his two best friends, Xander had decided to join in on the dry jokes.
"I think we should go out and find them, Buffy. Do you have any idea what we could do now that there are hundreds of girls out there like you and Faith? Think about it. No more she alone. We can fight evil so much more efficiently now," Willow said.
"Yeah, that was what I was thinking. We should call for a meeting with all the girls here and later we can talk to the girls at the hospital. Ask them what they wanna do," Buffy decided.
Xander and Willow nodded their agreement and followed her out the door to begin planning their future. It would not matter what was in the future to them, as long as they would not be apart. Apparently, you can take the Scoobies out of the Hellmouth, but you could not take the Hellmouth out of the Scoobies.
Jordan swerved to the right, managing to avoid getting stabbed right in the gut. Unfortunately, she had not removed herself from the pathway of the blade entirely and the result was its being plunged into her left side. She had dodged one bullet only to put herself in the path of another.
Sucking in her scream of pain, she doubled over for a minute while hot tears dripped from her eyes. Sucking in another breath of air that her lungs seemed to be starved for, she swung her own blade to behead the Ubervamp that had wounded her. Her aim was true and resulted in an eruption of swirling ashes.
Please God don't let the third time be the charm, she thought as she grasped the handle and pulled out the offending blade and let it clatter to the ground. Her vision began to recede while becoming distorted further by black spots. Her head spun wildly and she was having trouble telling the difference between sweat and blood dripping down her back and off her forehead. Not that it really mattered at the moment, but it would have been nice to know if she was really bleeding to death.
Not bothering to catalog her injuries at the moment, she was content just thinking that this was probably the most pain she had ever experienced in her entire life. They were like annoying little volcanoes erupting with blood and agony all over her body. The only thing greater than her pain was her fear. Her fear kept her conscious; it probably was what was keeping her alive.
She could write a list on mile-long parchment of places she would rather be than in this fucking hole battling Ubervamps. And she fancied she could really use a strong glass of whiskey or a chocolate chip cookie at the moment, preferably simultaneously.
Yeah, I could definitely use one of those right now. So, Jordan, if you ever wanna see cookies again, you'd better stop thinking and get back to fighting.
Jordan pulled herself out of her wishful thinking and forced herself to jump back into the fray. She slashed, hacked, and beheaded any non-human creature that came her way with a desperate fury to her moves. Her sister slayers were battling beside her and she tried very hard to shut out their own cries of pain because it was bad enough she had to deal with her own.
She gasped when something grabbed her from behind. The sound of tearing flesh caused her stomach to flip-flop and she wondered vaguely where it was coming from. She was so distracted she did not realize until after blood ran down her shoulder that the sound of tearing flesh was her own flesh being torn up by an Ubervamp that had clamped its teeth on her shoulder. Sensation came galloping back upon realization. Her sword fell from her hand as yet another massive torrent of agony washed over her.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" she screamed, instinctively dropping to the ground and flipping her attacker over her shoulder.
The Ubervamp lost its grip and went crashing into a stalagmite or stalactite—she could never remember which was which. Alas, it took a chunk of her shoulder with it.
The black spots returned and it brought friends along for the party. Swooning with wooziness and nausea, the young Slayer's legs failed her and she crumpled to her knees, falling over on all fours. She had lost her sword and therefore her only weapon besides herself and her own incredible strength. Unfortunately, as battered as she was, she certainly did not rate high on the scale of weaponry.
This wasn't exactly how you envisioned yourself in battle, Chica, a voice inside her head mocked.
Oh, shut up, you stupid inner monologue!
Something collided with her and knocked her all the way to the ground, causing her arguing inner voices to run for cover in the back of her mind. She had the sinking feeling it was a body and she was hoping that it was not a fellow Slayer. Tentatively opening her eyes, she found herself staring into the empty blue eyes of a nameless comrade. Her neck was torn, badly. Flesh hung off of it in ragged strips, dripping warm, sticky blood onto Jordan's face. Feeling strength and anger supercede the nausea and dizziness (although, unfortunately not the pain), she gritted her teeth in determination and pushed the dead girl's body off of her.
Above her stood a Turok-Han vampire, its sword poised to exact a killing blow. Jordan screamed.
KERPLUNK! The wooden nightstand toppled over as the girl in the bed fell over the side, banging her head right against it.
"Ow," Jordan sleepily muttered as she rubbed the back of her head.
Her red-tinged eyes blinked over and over to wash away the haziness of her vision before figuring out it was daylight. She sighed and untangled herself from her covers and pulled herself to her feet.
While stretching out her sore limbs, someone knocked on her door.
"Little mistress? Is everything well? Springer heard the thump," her house-elf asked concernedly.
"It's okay, Springer. Just a bad dream. You can come in," Jordan answered.
The door opened with the little creature poking his head in and looking around the room dubiously.
"Your grandmother wants to know if you will be eating in here or if you will join the family for breakfast. Springer thought it best that his little mistress got some rest. So, I tells the family that they should go ahead and eats without you. But your headmistress is here, Miss Jordan," he told her in his high squeaky voice.
"Professor Tranley is here? Again?" What other horrible apocalyptic news did her headmistress have to bring?
He nodded his head to affirm it.
"Alright, I'll be down. Just let me get dressed." She waved him away and rubbed at her sleepy eyes again.
The house elf bowed in respect before exiting the room to give his young mistress privacy. Her highly sensitive ears could pick up the pattering of his tiny feet out in the hallway.
She dressed in black capris and a Netherworld Avengers black t-shirt, which was her favorite band before pulling her thick, shoulder-length auburn hair into a loose ponytail. After applying a minimum amount of make-up she declared herself fit to be seen by company. It was not exactly glamorous, but, hey, it was a hell of an improvement from last night. At least there was no blood and dirt caked all over her.
The tantalizing aromas of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and sausages and many assorted fruits greeted Jordan quite merrily when she reached the top of the stairs. Her parents and brother were situated at the table along with Professor Tranley while her grandmother was flicking her wand about in the kitchen to tidy up. Jordan breathed in deep, reveling in the scents she had been missing for the past four months.
"Hey, look, it's our war hero!" Mr. Firewell bellowed when he saw his daughter enter.
"War hero needs food," Jordan replied in a gruff voice. She piled pancakes and sausages onto her place and drowned them in strawberry syrup, while grabbing an apple and a bunch of grapes. If there was one thing one need never fear of Jordan losing, it was definitely her appetite. If she were to lose that, then something was beyond seriously wrong.
"Well, I figure in a couple of days we can expect about two-hundred Messenger reporters at our door. News of the California hellmouth's destruction has made the front page." Aidan tossed the newspaper to his sister and smirked at her frown of annoyance.
Splayed across the front page of the Winged Messenger were two photographs of Sunnydale. The one on the left portrayed the town before the incident with cars and people scattered about and moving around constantly. The photograph on the right, however, revealed the present Sunnydale. There were really only two things in the photograph: the huge gaping crater that was once Sunnydale and the sign that cheerfully read, "Welcome to Sunnydale." It was actually quite funny to Jordan when she thought about the irony of the picture.
"It was a nice little town," Jordan commented absently. "Besides, the, you know, hellmouth part."
The title of the article was all in capitals: INFAMOUS HELLMOUTH IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA DESTROYED!
"Heh, I'm surprised Mom and Dad weren't called into work," Jordan remarked.
"This morning we requested some time off. We wanted to spend time with our newly returned daughter," her father replied, beaming at her proudly. "We had trouble enough fending them off for visits. Everyone was worried about you." His smile fell at the next words. "Since Voldemort's back and we've got to sort out the business with the Hellmouth's collapse, these will probably be the last few days off your mother and I get."
Jordan grimaced in sympathy for her parents and flung the newspaper aside. She would have read the article, but priorities were priorities and there was a full plate of food sitting in front her waiting to be chewed and digested. She could not disappoint.
"I have spoken with Professor Dumbledore and he has informed me that he and his student will be here today," Professor Tranley announced.
"When?" Jordan questioned.
"Whenever he gets here," was all she said.
Oh, that helps.
She mentally rolled her eyes and continued eating her breakfast. She knew she had to floo back to the Hyperion to let everyone there know she was still alive. After that she had hoped to take her Firebolt for a spin. She and Aidan were on both their school's Quidditch and Quodpot teams. They served as Chasers on the Quidditch team and were both named MVPs on separate occasions.
Thoughts of school sports awakened thoughts of other less pleasant aspects of school. Missing four months of school meant missing four months worth of schoolwork and final exams. She also missed the S.M.P.E.'s (Standard Magical Prowess Evaluation), which was the American equivalent of the British O.W.L.s. The tests, though varied in name, basically tested fifth-year witches and wizards on their magical ability. They provided almost unerring insight into what sorts of careers students should actively pursue once they graduated from school.
Jordan, as a student, was on the average side with a balanced dynamic. She did very well in some subjects, mediocre in others, and positively bombed in a few subjects. Her absolute worst class would have to be Transfiguration, which she could barely maintain a passing grade in. She was an absolute genius in Potions though, often experimenting on her own creations. That subject ought to be a breeze.
Seeing the sudden expression of dread on his sister's face prompted Aidan to tease her. "Bet you're thinking about schoolwork."
"Well, I have four freaking months to make up! How the hell am I supposed to pass Transfiguration? I can barely pass it when I am there," she responded miserably.
"Jordan, please lower your voice and mind your language. Remember we have guests," her mother scolded softly. She sincerely hoped Jordan would have curtailed her propensity for cursing like a sailor by now.
Her face reddened and she resumed eating, but she still continued to whine over the whole ordeal in her mind. Why, why, why? Why couldn't I have just died in battle? It would have made life so much simpler.
Sounds originating from the living room alerted the six witches and wizards of the arrival of the esteemed Dumbledore and his as-yet-unidentified student. The elder Mrs. Firewell flicked her wand and everyone's plate save Jordan's disappeared instantaneously.
Jordan hurriedly shoveled food into her mouth, forgetting her mother and grandmother's constant warnings on eating too much food too fast making her sick. Everyone else abandoned her for the living room to meet the legendary wizard and his young pupil.
Hermione blinked her eyes in surprise at the opulence and size of the place she had just portkeyed to with Dumbledore. Warily inspecting it, she wondered why it was called a house when it was clearly a mansion or rather close to it. Statues of magical creatures and people dressed in old-fashioned robes and Greek-style garments were lined up against the walls and there was even a golden statue of Cupid beside the fireplace, standing on one leg and stretching out as if he were about to grab something. Canvases of oil paintings and modern day portrait-size photographs adorned the walls beside colorful decorations. The occupants of the pictures instantly began to chatter in wonder over Dumbledore's arrival. Some of the people were even abandoning their portraits temporarily. No doubt they were going to other areas in the house to tell them of the esteemed guest.
These people were wealthy, and often times being wealthy went hand in hand with being powerful. She wondered what these people's stance on Muggle-born witches and wizards was. She hoped that Dumbledore would not be foolish enough to take her inside the home of people who were prejudiced against Muggle-borns. Her mind forced her to rationalize things to soothe her fluttering nerves. Dumbledore would not take her to a home full of Muggle-haters and even so, she was with Dumbledore. What did one have to fear in his presence?
"Professor Dumbledore! Glad you could come," a man greeted jovially. This was obviously the master of the house.
Hermione studied the man who shook Dumbledore's hand with such friendly ease. He was a muscular man, but surprisingly limber in his movements. His black hair was slightly wavy and brushed the ends of his ears; his face was covered with stubble and Hermione could detect the faint outlines of a beard and mustache. His eyes were the color of fine honey and sparkled with humor and kindness. She had trouble picturing him as a Muggle-hating bigot, but appearances could be deceiving.
The woman standing next to him was average in height, slender, and extremely pretty. The regal manner in which she held herself would make one think she was descended from royalty, but she had none of the inherent arrogance to go along with it. Her hair was a dark shade of auburn, which was pulled back out of her fair-skinned face. Her keen blue eyes crackled with shrewd intelligence and strength. Like her husband (at least, Hermione assumed he was her husband) she looked to be in her mid-thirties, but with an ageless quality of vitality not unlike Dumbledore's.
There was also a tall, stately redheaded witch who greeted Dumbledore just as warmly as the man and other woman had. She had the look of a much younger McGonagall, with the same commanding presence and stern gleam in her eyes.
"Gabriel, Aurora, my it has been some time since we last saw each other. I trust all has been well in the last fifteen years?" Dumbledore said.
The last fifteen years? Did he last see them when You-Know-Who was at large the last time? Even in her mind, Hermione was having trouble calling the Dark Lord by his true name.
"As well as everything could be. We've been having trouble with the hellmouths, as usual. Although it looks like we have one less to worry about," the woman replied.
"Yes, I heard about this. I suppose that's one of the reasons we are meeting," Dumbledore quipped wryly.
The old man's sparkling blue eyes landed on the tall teenage boy standing beside the woman named Aurora. His tousled hair was as auburn as the woman's, but his eyes were the same honey color as the black-haired man. Hermione automatically deduced that the boy was their son.
And a right fetching one, at that, Hermione mused. Though she was enamored of another boy, she did have to admire the toned physique of the auburn-haired boy as any female with eyes would. His face was delicately chiseled and delectably smooth, a very handsome face with a body to match. He must have several admirers.
"This is our son Aidan," the woman said, laying her hand on the tall boy.
"He's a rising sixth-year at Cristallon," she added proudly, smiling warmly at her son.
He's the same year as I am. Hermione forced her thoughts away from the handsome American and back on the track of wondering why they were here. She thought they had come to meet a Slayer like her, but she had yet to see a girl the right age.
"A pleasure, Mr. Firewell," Dumbledore said, holding his hand out to shake the boy's.
"Wow. Professor Dumbledore. You have no idea what an honor this is. I mean...wow," Aidan stuttered, not believing he was actually shaking the man's hand. "My parents talked about you, but I've always wanted to meet you."
Dumbledore smiled graciously, modestly bowing his head while his blue eyes glimmered with amusement at the boy's awe. Hermione figured he was used to this sort of reaction. After all, he was the only wizard Voldemort ever feared.
Dumbledore suddenly seemed to remember that Hermione was there beside him and he laid a hand on her shoulder.
"This is Hermione Granger, the student of which I spoke," he announced proudly. "She's one of our best and brightest from Hogwarts and is also a rising sixth-year in Gryffindor."
Hermione blushed at the praise from her headmaster and nodded her head in a sudden fit of shyness as the three Firewells smiled at her. She noticed there was an elderly woman in the room also, but Hermione had taken no notice of her before. The woman was short and plump with dark hair streaked with gray and sharp gray eyes. Though old in body, she certainly did not seem old in mentality. Witches and wizards often aged far more gracefully and easily than Muggles due to the magic in their blood.
"This, Hermione, is the Firewell family. Gabriel and Aurora Firewell were some of our most admirable allies during Voldemort's last reign. Even if the American Ministry did not want to give full support, they were among the first to come overseas to lend their aid. The other woman there is Professor Scarlett Tranley, headmistress of Cristallon School of Magic in Washington State. The woman over there is Gabriel's mother, Elizabeth Firewell," he informed the young witch.
"Nice to meet you, Hermione," Aidan greeted kindly, shaking her hand.
Hermione felt the girl's presence before she had even entered the room. It was the same presence of primal strength and power of the Slayer enmeshed with the vibrant magic of a witch, that Hermione fancied she, herself, emanated. This was the girl she had wanted to meet. She met the girl's honey eyes when she entered and the girl smiled as she came to realize who Hermione was. A connection was forged and a kinship born as the two slayer-witches assessed each other silently.
"Ah, this must be Jordan," Dumbledore noted, grinning at the belatedly arrived girl.
"Sorry I'm a little late. I had to finish eating breakfast. Near-death experiences tend to make me ravenous," the girl explained, smiling nervously at Dumbledore.
"I understand, Miss Firewell," Dumbledore replied, shaking her hand.
The girl decided to introduce herself to Hermione and held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Jordan. You must be the other slayer-witch I've heard of."
"Well, yes, I guess so," Hermione responded. "I'm Hermione Granger."
Jordan nodded her head and smiled, then turned to Aidan and raised her eyebrow in a questioning manner. "Haven't been charming the pretty lass to death, have you now?" she teased. Hermione blushed madly.
Aidan smirked at his sister and replied wryly, "Not yet."
Hermione sensed from this bantering exchange the strange and extremely close link between the two siblings. Her brown eyes traveled back and forth from one to the other, noting the physical features and how strikingly each resembled the other. Aside from being a girl and having her features greatly softened to a more feminine tone, Jordan looked a lot like Aidan. Their hair color was the same shade, their eyes were identical, and even the way they cocked their eyebrows was similar.
She blurted the question out before even thinking about it. "Are you two twins?"
"Yep," Jordan affirmed. "'Cept I'm three and a half minutes older. Not that you could tell since he's so damn tall."
"Jordan! Language!" Mrs. Firewell scolded in exasperation.
Almost mechanically, Jordan replied with a sigh, "Sorry, Mom."
"Professor Dumbledore, I believe we should all sit down and Jordan should tell her story," Professor Tranley interjected loudly so as to grab everyone's attention.
Jordan's playful demeanor dissolved into the demeanor of a jaded young warrior. She obviously did not want to relive some of those memories she hid, but she would for the sake of their cause.
"Okay, if you want. You all might wanna sit down because this will take a while," she suggested, already sitting on the hard-back chair by the fireplace beside the Cupid statue.
"Come to think of it--Springer!" Jordan bellowed.
Who is Springer? Hermione wondered to herself. When she saw a house-elf dressed in a patchwork quilt, anger and disbelief flooded her system and she clenched both her fists and teeth as she struggled to stem the tide. The creature looked like any house-elf she had seen, but his coloring was lighter and his eyes were darker. He looked rather genial and good-natured, not like a house-elf whowas abused and mistreated. Nonetheless, Hermione was hard put not to glare stonily at her fellow Slayer-witch.
"Yes, Miss Jordan? Ah, I sees that there is more company. Springer the house-elf is at your service sir and miss." He bowed, only sufficing to anger Hermione more.
The poor deluded creature.
"So, what will you guys have? Tea? Coffee? Butterbeer? Irish whiskey? Chocolate chip cookies?" Jordan asked.
"I wouldn't say no to some tea, if that's alright," Professor Dumbledore answered.
"Hermione?" Jordan asked.
Hermione sucked in some air through her clenched teeth and shook her head to indicate that she didn't want anything. Jordan, oblivious to her fellow slayer-witch's anger, asked if anyone else wished to have refreshment.
Dumbledore was handed a steaming cup of tea sweetened with honey; he breathed the scent in deep and nodding approvingly to the nervous house-elf. Springer beamed at the unspoken praise and bowed in appreciation.
After Springer left, Jordan reluctantly began her story.
"Well, I suppose the story starts with Buffy Summers. She was Called when she was fifteen and she died a year later when fighting the Master. She didn't stay dead because her pal Xander managed to revive her by using...em...using that thing...you know," Jordan said, gesturing around in the hopes that someone would give her the answer she sought.
"When a Muggle drowns they use it a lot to, like, get them breathing again. What was it? PCP? They mentioned that quite a lot. I know it had three letters," Jordan said in a thoughtful voice.
"CPR?" Hermione ventured.
"That's the one! Thanks, Hermione," Jordan exclaimed.
Hermione shrugged and smiled weakly. "Happy to help."
"Um, yeah, well that revived her, but since she was technically dead another Slayer was Called. Her name, I think, was Kendra. She didn't last long, though. Got herself offed by a vampire named Drusilla. Her death got Faith Called and she's still alive. So, ever since Buffy was sixteen, there have been two active Slayers. Everyone following me, so far?" Jordan glanced around the living room to see if anyone was incredibly lost yet. If they weren't yet, they sure would be later; she was certain.
"Shoot forward to present time. You got this...well...I'm just going to call it an entity and it's called the First Evil. It's a non-corporeal thing that basically manifests in the forms of people who've died. It's actually more annoying than scary, since all it could basically do was taunt us. Its minions were the real problem," Jordan said, suppressing a shudder.
"Its minions are called Bringers. They're really freaky looking, by the way. They don't have eyes, just little slashy x-marks over the sockets. The First was sending those guys out to kill off Potential Slayers so no one would be around to inherit the power of the Slayer if Faith died. It's actually kind of funny when you think of all the attention the First paid to Buffy when the line didn't run through her anyway. I mean, she's the strongest Slayer, but still..." Jordan laughed sardonically, but quieted when it appeared no one else found amusement from it.
She reddened slightly in embarrassment and cleared her throat. "Yes, well,moving on...The Bringers weren't its only servants. It also had its own personal human bitch."
She caught a sharp look from her mother. "Erm...what I meant was human servant," she amended sheepishly.
Dumbledore smiled mirthfully at her while Hermione frowned. No doubt this brought to memory all the times she had chastised Ron for swearing too often. Her frown disappeared when her thoughts drifted to her favorite redhead. She forced herself to steer her wayward attention back onto the situation at hand.
Really, it's not like they seem offended by the language, Jordan said to herself sulkily, noticing the smiles on both guests' faces.
"Anyway, the dude's name was Caleb. He was about as nice as a manticore on a bad day. The first girl who ran into him got branded on the neck, gutted, and then thrown out of a moving vehicle," Jordan said bluntly, shaking her head.
Hermione failed to suppress her expression of abject horror and her gasp of like manner. She was not the only one who gasped at the atrocity that Jordan spoke of so casually. The redheaded woman was no longer retaining her stoic reserve and was staring at her pupil with her mouth slightly agape.
Dumbledore heaved a weary sigh and murmured, "Oh dear."
Jordan nodded in silent agreement before continuing. "She was found in time to be taken to a Muggle hospital and she survived. She gave a message to Buffy that Caleb had something of hers. He was stationed at a vineyard and a bunch of us were sent in along with her, Faith, and Xander and Spike--I'll tell you about him later--to retrieve whatever it was he had."
Jordan was quiet for a long time as she sifted through the scattered memories of that fateful endeavor. Caleb had killed two Potentials, many more had been injured and hospitalized (including herself), and Xander had had his eye gouged out by the sadistic preacher. She did not blame Buffy as so many others had done because she had known, from personal experience with family, that casualties were bound to occur in war.
"To say that mission was a failure would be a huge understatement. We discovered that Caleb was not an ordinary, crazy human. The First, somehow, gave him more strength than any man has ever had. Either that or he was drinking re'em blood and we didn't know it. Anyway, he was stronger than a Slayer. We hadn't expected it. That was our real mistake, underestimating the enemy," Jordan muttered resentfully, her expression growing darker.
She swallowed hard before going on. "We lost two girls in the fight. No one really escaped unscathed, especially Xander. The poor guy got his eye gouged out by Caleb. As for moi...well, I was hurled across the room and into a wooden beam. Naturally, I was knocked unconscious so I don't remember anything after that and even everything before that is kind of scattered. I woke up the next morning in a Muggle hospital."
Hermione heard Jordan's mother give a soft cry and her father swear under his breath. Aidan was frowning, his face even paler than usual. The girl's grandmother was twisting her hands about nervously.
"Anywhoo, it turns out Caleb was hiding something. Buffy went back for it alone because no one else wanted to go back there. I didn't want to go back, but I really didn't think it was necessary to kick her out of her own house," Jordan told them, her voice filled with disgust.
"Kick her out of her own house?" Aidan repeated quizzically.
Jordan sighed and threw her hands up. "I don't know what they were thinking. Some of the Potentials even entered into the argument, which I thought was incredibly rude and inappropriate. They didn't know Buffy; they didn't know half of what they were talking about, so therefore it wasn't their place to argue. At least, that was my thinking. I mean, Buffy had been really nice to take us all in, protect us, train us and prepare us. I was just happy to be alive, personally. I didn't think about much else. So, I stayed out of it, because...well...what the hell do I know? It wasn't my business."
Jordan had thought it was awfully presumptuous of Rona and Kennedy to rail against Buffy. Although, with Kennedy it didn't really surprise her since she had her pegged as an insolent, spoiled brat from the start. While Jordan's family might be wealthy and powerful, she and her brother were far from spoiled. Her parents' jobs as Aurors were rather gratuitous even. It was more like honoring the bloodline of Firewell, which was steeped in Dark Wizard hunting and defending the helpless—all the way back to before their ancestors came over from the Emerald Isle. It was too bad Jordan lacked some vital Auror traits to live up to the family tradition.
"I guess, by their line of thinking, people aren't supposed to die in wars. They were mostly a bunch of pampered, whiny prissies anyway," Jordan growled bitterly.
"Especially Kennedy," she whispered, too low for anyone save Hermione to pick up.
"Well, Buffy left us, which scared me because I felt safest with her. I mean, Faith's cool, but she's not a leader type. Then everyone started arguing about who should take charge and then votes were brought into the argument. Basically, everything went to hell." Jordan shook her head at the memory.
"What did you do?" Hermione queried. "Did you go after Buffy?"
"Oh hell no, I was too much of a wuss to go out there alone in the middle of the night. I wasn't a Slayer and I had just gotten back from the hospital. I mean, I didn't want to get landed in there a second time. No, I just sat on the stairs eating munchies while everyone argued. I figured we were all pretty much doomed after Buffy left anyway. I had been about to go play a video game when the power went out," Jordan said flippantly. "Everyone was leaving Sunnydale by that time. Can't say I blamed them."
"Well, Faith took a group of girls, which I wasn't apart of—thank Merlin—into the sewers. There had been a lot of activity down there and she thought that was the place Caleb was hiding his treasure. Well, they were led into a trap because there was a bomb down there. Lots of girls were killed and Faith was knocked unconscious."
Everyone's reactions were as Jordan expected: outright horror. She nodded and added in a wry voice, "It gets even better! They got attacked by Turok-Han vampires. Ever heard of those?"
"No, I'm afraid I haven't," Dumbledore replied.
"Well, they're basically to regular vampires what Neanderthals are to us. I think Mr. Giles put it as the 'vampires that vampires fear.' They're stronger, uglier, and tougher. Holy water and crosses don't affect them. The first one we came across nearly killed Buffy, but she ended up dusting him. They were what the First Evil made its official army out of and there was no way anyone who wasn't a Slayer was going to last against so many of them," Jordan informed them matter-of-factly.
"Well, Buffy had gone back to the vineyard and managed to get the thing Caleb had been hiding. We called it a scythe, which predated any history known to mankind. Caleb had gotten furious over some writings pertaining to the scythe because he wanted it for himself, but it was only for a Slayer to wield. Yeah, I should mention he was an avid hater of women. Thought we were all dirty whores usurping the fruits that belonged to men and so on and so forth. He was a prick. He was none too happy about women with power, like Slayers, either," Jordan said, her expression sour.
"Such a shame," Dumbledore commented, stroking his beard. "Women carry a magic within them that outshines even the most powerful spells. No magic is as great as that which brings forth life."
Jordan along with the other females in the room brightened at the comment and grinned at the wizened headmaster appreciatively.
"Well, Caleb was just...a prick," the girl reiterated.
"Buffy yanked the scythe out of stone like she was King Arthur or something. Pissed Caleb off, I'll bet. And then she walks out of there to save Faith's group from the Ubervamps—what we called the Turok-Hans. The scythe is not only a very cool looking and effective weapon against those creatures, it also proved to be very instrumental in the reason Hermione and I, along with hundreds of other girls, are now Slayers." Jordan nodded her head in Hermione's direction and winked.
"Willow, the resident Wicca, used the scythe to tap into our essences and convert the potential into kinetic, so to speak. It was Buffy's idea since that was the only way we could hope to survive against the Ubervamps. Well, it worked, and…um...here we are," Jordan finished, waving her arms like a true storyteller.
"Performing a spell like that requires an immense amount of power, Miss Firewell. The young lady you speak of must indeed be powerful," Dumbledore noted, looking a bit awed.
Jordan nodded her head vigorously. "Will? She may be the only Wicca I've ever met, but I've no doubt she's probably the most powerful."
Hermione was astounded by this information. The reason she was a Slayer was because of a Muggle woman who practiced Wiccan magic? She had no idea Wiccan magic could make one so powerful. This proved, then, that it had been Wiccan magic that originally created the Slayer ages ago. The young Gryffindor also noticed how Jordan spoke of living with Muggles. She did not speak about with disdain or displeasure; she seriously seemed to have enjoyed some aspects—like munchies and video games, it appeared. Her parents did not seem affronted by their daughter spending months with Muggles. She felt oddly embarrassed that she had automatically begun to fret anxiously over whether or not they would accept her because of her Muggle parentage. She should have known to give them the benefit of the doubt.
"Well, that was a fascinating story. I commend you on your bravery, Miss Firewell. Leaving your home to fight amongst strangers and living in a world that is very different from your own takes a great deal of courage, especially for one so young," Dumbledore told her.
Jordan blushed a bit and murmured, "Um, thanks, Professor."
"I have a proposition for you and your friends who fought beside you," Dumbledore announced, all trace of humor gone.
Professor Tranley seemed to sit up straighter and her placid expression transitioned into a grim facade of dread. Mr. Firewell and his wife clasped each other's hands and exchanged painful glances. Aidan watched his sister closely; his face unreadable, while his grandmother pursed her lips and smoothed her robes.
Hermione noticed the sudden change in the atmosphere of the living room as if an arctic wind had come billowing through. She felt the same sensation of trepidation she imagined everyone else did and she knew what her headmaster was going to request even before he opened his mouth.
"I assume you've been brought up to speed of recent events in the wizarding world?" Dumbledore questioned solemnly.
Jordan nodded her head slowly, her face filled with dismay. "Yeah, I heard. Voldemort's back in business."
Hermione stared at her in surprise. The only people she had heard utter the Dark Lord's name without sounding terrified were Harry, Dumbledore, and Professor Lupin. Most people she knew could not muster up enough courage to say that cursed word. She had been trying in the past few weeks since the Ministry skirmish to say his name with stumbling over the syllables.
"You said his name," Hermione blurted incredulously.
Jordan frowned in confusion. "Yeah. Was I not supposed to?"
Hermione felt her cheeks flame as she stuttered over her words, "It's just...well...nobody says his name, except for a fair few. They always call him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." To herself, she was sounding lamer and lamer by the second.
Jordan raised an eyebrow and drawled, very slowly, "Riiiiight." She was obviously missing something here. Then the girl's eyes lit up as she recalled a recent trip to Europe and how some people had referred to the Dark Lord in like fashion. Having been raised in North America where Voldemort's power had not been able to spread yet, she had been raised ignorant of the power of his name. Quite frankly, she could see no reason to be afraid of a name.
"Oh, right. You guys don't call him by his name. Sorry. You'll have to excuse the ignorant Yankee here," Jordan said apologetically.
"No apology is needed. I think everyone should learn to speak his name without fear. Remember what I said, Hermione?" Dumbledore turned to her and raised his eyebrow.
In a small voice, Hermione repeated his astute words, "Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself."
"Yeah, I mean, no offense meant, but how are you supposed to defeat him if you're too afraid to utter his name?" Aidan pointed out.
Hermione had no other response to that except to say shamefully, "You're right."
"It's not that they think you're cowardly, Hermione," Mr. Firewell assured her with an encouraging smile. "They were raised far away from the horrors of Voldemort's supremacy. It just doesn't seem so frightening or so real on the other side of the Atlantic. My wife and I fought over there though; we were among the few Americans that did. I'll admit, I still have trouble saying his name when I recall the terrible things he had done."
"Yeah, and after the Battle of the Hellmouth, I've readjusted my fears," Jordan remarked, touching the shoulder a Turok-Han had bitten into.
Dumbledore laid a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder before bringing the topic back to his request.
"As I was saying, I would like to propose an alliance between the Slayers and the wizarding world. I feel your skills and experience will be invaluable to our cause and I also believe that this reign will be even more terrible than the last. If he gains enough power over in Europe, I believe North America will be the next obstacle he shall try to undertake," the old wizard said grimly.
Jordan gulped and tried to slow the quickened pace of her heartbeat. Her breath hissed through her clenched teeth and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Um, yeah, an alliance sounds like a great idea. Only problem is I'm not the one you should be talking to. I'll help if you need it, but..."
Gesturing his apology, Dumbledore cut her off, "Yes, of course. I was just about to say that. I would like to speak to Miss Summers and her associates as soon as possible. Time is rather against us."
Jordan nodded her head and rose from her seat. "Okay. I've gotta warn you though, they don't know about the wizarding world. They thought I was weird and probably really, really ignorant, but I don't think they found out. The only ones who know are Buffy's watcher, Rupert Giles, and the one who works with Buffy's ex-boyfriend in Los Angeles, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. He's a former watcher."
Jordan's eyes widened when she suddenly remembered who Buffy's ex-boyfriend was. "Oh, and I should probably mention Buffy's ex-boyfriend is—was, actually, Angelus. He's just Angel now since he's got a soul and all. He runs the Hyperion Hotel in LA, which is where they're staying now. Oh, and the Spike guy, he's William the Bloody, but he had a soul and he died at the Hellmouth. Be a bit careful around Buffy about that."
Everyone's jaw-dropping reactions were synchronized and slightly amusing when they realized who Jordan was talking about. Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles to gawk at the girl, thinking she had gone mad. Hermione was struck completely speechless.
Does she mean who I think she means? Please, tell she doesn't mean…, Hermione mumbled silently.
"Honey, are you talking about Angelus and William the Bloody of the Scourge of Europe? The vampire quartet that terrorized humans for decades?" Mrs. Firewell asked in a strained voice.
Jordan nodded and gave a nervous little laugh. "Yeah, I should probably have explained all that earlier. It's not really my story to tell though except for the fact that they're good guys now. Well, Spike was a good guy."
Dumbledore gave a little laugh, easing the tension that had suddenly sprung up in the room.
"Well, this Angel shall make an excellent ally as well, I hope."
For those who do not have Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander:
Manticore- Very dangerous Greek beast with head of a man, body of a lion, and tail of scorpion. Croons softly while eating, skin repels all known charms, and sting causes instant death.
Re'em- Rare giant oxen with golden hide found in wild lands of North America and Far East. Its blood gives the drinker immense strength.