Title: Hogsmeade
Author: Sonya
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I don't own. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, etc. Harry Potter and all associated characters, setting, props, etc., belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Inc., etc. No copyright infringement is intended, so please don't sue – all you'll get is a really bratty bird and some really spoiled rats.
Spoilers: Up to "Wrecked" in the Buffyverse, up to "Goblet of Fire" in the Potterverse.
Pairings: Willow/Snape, Hermione/Viktor Krum, Draco/Ginny, Fred/Angelina. Other 'ships to be decided.
Summary: Hermione has relationship issues, Willow has sanity issues, lots of big black birds are never a good sign and reading out loud in a language you don't know is never a good idea.
***
Harry was starting to wish he hadn't even come to Hogsmeade.
"How about this?" Hermione asked, holding up a thick book entitled 'The History of the Broomstick' and biting her lip uncertainly.
"Cost you a fortune in postage," Ron answered. "'sides, anything that says 'history of' in the title's bound to be boring." Hermione scowled at him, but put the book back.
"I don't mind about the postage," she said, scanning the store shelves. "My parents said they'd help out, they think it's the least they can do after his parents were so absolutely wonderful to me this summer, and so considerate, too – did I tell you they had a muggle telephone in my room, so I could call home?"
"You've mentioned," Ron said dryly. "How 'bout one of these?" He held up a strand of flashing and snapping neon lights, meant to be attached to the end of a broomstick.
"Oh, please," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Will you be serious?"
"I was!" Ron protested. Hermione gave an exasperated sigh and stalked off in the direction of broom care kits. "What?" Ron demanded, following her. "I really was!"
Harry trudged glumly after them. I could be studying for exams right now; I'd *rather* be studying for exams right now. Potions, even.
"If you're not going to be helpful the least you can do is be quiet!" Hermione snapped at Ron.
"I don't see what the great bloody deal is!" Ron yelled back. "We've been at this for *hours!* Just pick something!"
"He's got a point," Harry muttered. Hermione whipped around to glare at him. "I just meant, you know, it's the thought that counts."
"Yeah," Ron chimed in enthusiastically. "Dobby thought a dirty sock was the best present ever!"
"And I suppose you think I should send Viktor a dirty sock," Hermione said in a dangerously level tone, fists planted firmly on hips.
"Well he'd probably hang it on his bloody wall, if it was from you, Hermy-own-ninny," Ron retorted. Harry winced as Hermione flushed a splotchy red. Detention with Snape. I'd officially rather be in detention with Snape.
"Oh, you are so immature!" she exploded. "Just because *you* don't have a significant other is no reason to be so bitter and petty towards those of us who do!" She stormed out of 'The Quidditch Corner', arms crossed, purposefully jostling Ron as she passed. The door slammed shut behind her, the bell jangling loudly. Other customers were staring.
"Well he bloody well would," Ron muttered at Harry's accusing look. "They're just sickening, don't tell me you don't think so."
"She gets a bit over the top," Harry conceded. "But Ron, you've been baiting her all day."
"Well she shouldn't even be seeing him, I don't know what her parents are thinking," Ron answered, stomping towards the door. Harry followed him with an incredulous look.
"You don't know what her parents are thinking?" Harry mimed as they stepped out onto the snow-covered street.
"It's what me Mum says," Ron mumbled. "You don't see her, do you?"
"Looks like she took off," Harry said, squinting through the snow and peering down the street, trying to catch a glimpse of Hermione's distinctive cloud of hair through the milling masses of Hogwarts' students.
"Oh, well that's just wonderful," Ron scowled. "We spend all morning helping her look for a bloody Christmas gift for Viktor bloody Krum, and then for thanks, she ditches us!"
Harry stared at his best friend in disbelief. He's off his rocker. Completely out of his gourd.
"Can you believe her?" Ron ranted on indignantly.
"We should try to find her," Harry suggested tactfully. I can't believe either one of you.
"What for?" Ron asked. "So we can waste the whole rest of the day shopping for Krum, too? Let's find Fred and George - bet they're having a lot more fun than we've been."
Harry didn't comment; last he'd seen, Fred had been stalking out of a jeweler's shop followed by George, who was reciting florid love poems in an exaggerated voice. Apparently Fred had bought something for Angelina, though Harry hadn't seen what. Ron hadn't noticed, probably because he'd been busy suggesting a set of combs as the perfect gift.
"Well come on!" Ron urged impatiently. "Half the day's gone already!"
Harry was about to suggest that they really should find Hermione when a dark shape came flying between them.
***
"There you go, dear," Madam Rosmerta said kindly; Hermione smiled in thanks, and took the offered mug of butterbeer. The froth was warm against her lips and burned pleasantly down into her stomach; for a moment it made her feel slightly less lonely and miserable.
It was a brief moment. She put the mug down with a sigh, folding her arms on the table and settled her chin on her wrists. I need girl friends. Girls would understand about needing to find just the right thing.
Of course, most girls are so silly and insipid most of the time it's hardly worth it just to have someone to shop with at the holidays. I couldn't stand to listen to Lavender and Parvati swoon over every word that wretched Trelawney woman says all the time. It's pathetic.
Though I'm reasonably sure they wouldn't suggest I send Viktor a set of combs. Combs! Really!
And it's not that Ron doesn't know better, it's just that he's gotten it into his head that he's got to save me from Viktor's nefarious advances, or some such Neanderthal rubbish, as if that's the only reason a boy could possibly be interested in me. And besides, he's not my father and I really don't see how it's any business of –
Hermione's internal ranting cut off sharply as the window next to her suddenly burst inward, showering her with glass. She yelped and ducked under the table, one hand grabbing for her wand and the other shielding her eyes. Somewhere across the room she heard Madam Rosmerta scream quite loudly and shrilly.
A black shape glided across the room, alighting on a wall sconce. It was a very large raven, with a rolled parchment tied with green rope clutched in its beak. As Hermione watched from beneath the table, another raven flew in through the shattered window, winging swiftly towards a table of fourth years. It dropped its scroll, also tied with green rope, in front of a dumbstruck Colin Creevey.
No one in the small pub was making any noise; Colin's raven took off with a caw that made a third-year girl across the room jump and shriek. Another large dark bird flew in when it had gone, dropping an identical scroll in front of Justin Finch-Fletchley. The first raven was still perched on the wall, shrewd eyes darting about. Hermione frowned as Justin picked up his scroll with two fingers and held it in front of his face, examining it cautiously. Colin and Justin . . different houses, different years, I can't think what they have in common . .
A fourth raven swooped into the room and dropped a rolled parchment in front of the now-crying third year girl, who Hermione belatedly recognized as Penelope Clearwater's sister Cassandra.
Three houses now . . but not Slytherin ..
It suddenly clicked in Hermione's brain what Colin, Justin and Cassy had in common. Oh *no* . .
She must have tensed, because a shard of glass fell from her hair and shattered noisily. The first raven's eyes snapped to her, and it launched itself with a great whoosh of air. Its wingspan had to be as wide as the table, and its beak, clenched around the rolled parchment, looked like it could easily snap off a finger. And it's coming right at me!
Hermione threw herself to the floor, covering her head with her hands as the raven swooped low over her. The backdraft from the beating of its wings ruffled her hair as it dropped the scroll on the floor beside her. She lifted her head in time to see it continuing smoothly back out the window.
"What was *that* about?" Colin exclaimed; Hermione turned and saw him tugging the rope around his scroll loose.
"No!" she cried out. "Colin, don't –" but he was already unrolling the parchment, frowning in puzzlement.
"Excito veneficus serpens," Colin read off loudly. "What's that mean?"
Oh no, oh no, oh no -
Cassandra Clearwater gave a full-fledged, terrified scream as the green rope around her parchment began writhing and twisting itself out of its loose knot. The sound was soon drowned out by the clatter of dozens of chairs being knocked backwards, scores of feet all rushing towards the doors. There was a pained yell that sounded like Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Madam Rosmerta had joined Cassy in screaming her lungs out, while running madly for the kitchen and slamming the heavy wooden door behind her. Hermione was forced back under the table to avoid being trampled.
In all the commotion, she almost missed the faint hissing sound coming from just beside her.
***
It was dark, and there was screaming all around her. The ground shook, and Willow stumbled, throwing her hands out to catch herself. She saw they were glowing, blood red sparks dancing between the fingertips. Power was coursing along her veins, and she could hear her own ecstatic breathing over the cacophony of shrieks, the obscene rasping seeming to echo everywhere, overwhelming everything.
"Dawnie?" Willow called out into the darkness, fingers clawing at the hard asphalt ground. "Dawnie, I'm sorry!" It echoed away into the black, sorry, sorry, sorry . .
"Everyone's sorry," snarled a voice just over her shoulder, and she was jerked to her feet, whipped around to stare into accusing eyes. Buffy snarled at her, her face distorting into vampiric features. The screams around them grew louder, more frantic.
. . big day, big day . . bitch! I'm supposed to work on the factors!
"I didn't mean to!" Willow cried, staring in shocked revulsion at her friend's demonic face. She reached for Buffy's hand pleadingly, but the minute her fingers touched the vampiric slayer's skin, the red sparks burst into flames. She scrambled backwards in horror as Buffy just stood there, the flames rapidly engulfing her entire body.
"Did you pat its head?" Buffy asked tonelessly, before disintegrating into ash and faintly glowing embers. Willow turned and ran headlong into the dark; the screams and the lustful, breathless gasping followed.
She crashed into something, falling backwards. A face loomed out of the dark; Dawn.
"Dawnie, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry Dawnie, I –"
"Hello, Strawberry," Dawn sneered lasciviously, her face slipping, like her sister's, into vampiric form. Her eyes glowed red. "I just want a little taste." Dawn lunged. Willow joined the screaming.
She was still screaming when she sat bolt upright in bed, blankets kicked off onto the floor, back pressed against the headboard, trying to crawl right into the wall. She blinked in harsh winter sunlight, screwed her eyes tight shut and tried to calm her breathing.
Dream. Just a dream.
Memories trickled back; getting off the Knight Bus in the bitter cold of predawn, walking down an empty street lined with shops that sold things like flying broomsticks and cauldrons, knocking on the door of the Three Broomsticks and telling the disgruntled, pajama-clad innkeeper that Stan sent her.
I'm in Hogsmeade, which is far away from Sunnydale and broken arms and blood rituals to raise the dead and I can't hurt them anymore now and it was just a dream and –
And someone was still screaming.