A/N: I know this chapter barley counts as a chapter it's so short, sorry!
Disclaimer: The recipe belongs to Nigella Lawson (I chose this because this chapter reminds me of a Pavlova or a meringue, creamy and innocent but layers of secrets among the delicious-ness, the pips in the passion fruit are like the little gritty bits of life).
Chapter twenty-one; To Emerald City.
Pavlova by Nigella
This version comes, appropriately enough, from an Australian book, Stephanie Alexander's compendious, addictive Cook's Companion. I was taken by her family tip of turning the cooked meringue over before smearing it with cream, so that (in her words) the marshmallow middle melds with cream and the sides and the base stay crisp.
Preheat oven to gas mark 4/180ºC. Line a baking tray with baking parchment and draw a 20-23cm circle on the paper. I often don't, and just imagine what size the circle should be as I dollop the meringue on. This seems to work fine.
Beat the egg whites with a pinch of salt until satiny peaks form. Beat in the sugar, a third at a time, until the meringue is stiff and shiny. Sprinkle over the cornflour, vinegar and vanilla and fold in lightly. Mound on to the paper on the baking tray within the circle, flatten the top and smooth the sides. Place in the oven. IMMEDIATELY reduce the heat to gas mark 2/150ºC and cook for 1 ? hours. Turn off the oven and leave the pavlova in it to cool completely.
Invert the pavlova on to a big, flat-bottomed plate, pile on cream and spoon over passion fruits scooped - pips and all - from their shells. Don't be tempted to add other fruit.
"You never said he couldn't be killed," Buffy seethed addressing a livid Dumbledore.
Silence ensued after these words were spoken, Dumbledore seemed to be contemplating his next move, strategising with a suspicious malice. Buffy and co. stood in the centre of the room dripping bloodied water over the immaculate marble floor.
The students watched the seen play out with growing tension, over at the Gryffindor table Harry was inching his hand towards his wand carefully, waiting for the moment to strike. Next to him, Ron was openly gaping at the three women and three men; Hermione was also staring with her mouth un-hinged.
"Well aint ya gonna say something Gandalf," Spike mocked, taking a threatening step towards the head table.
"Please follow Madame Pomfrey, she will get you cleaned up, then we shall talk," Dumbledore said in such tones that any regular person would have cowered in fear. However Buffy did not she smirked at him hideously, proceeding to turn on her heal following the flustered matron.
"All students commence to your dormitories, immediately!" Dumbledore beseeched.
In the entrance hall the usual uproar and general chaos developed.
"I'm going inn!" Harry whispered to a bewildered Hermione and Ron.
"What do you mean?" Hermione implored.
"The hospital wing, I wanna find out what's going on!" Harry murmured.
"I'm coming with you mate, this one I gotta see," Ron said.
"Fine Hermione are you inn?" Harry asked.
"Oh, of course I am!" Harry smirked concealing them all with his Invisibility cloak.
0000
The stark white room contrasted distressingly with the red water dripping over the crisp bed sheets. The trio could see all three corners of the room perfectly from the one they were crammed into; the strange group of six people were now each sitting on their own bed, fidgeting with their bandages.
Suddenly the worn swing doors burst open to reveal an irate Dumbledore.
"Expelliarmus!" He shouted the spell sent five ornate axes, two swords and one crystalline dagger flying to Dumbledore and landing with a clatter at his feet.
"How dare you enter these halls? You are not welcome here!" He bellowed.
"How dare we? You were the one who 'forgot' to mention Voldemort was immortal! We barley escaped alive from him!" Willow shrieked as she gingerly stood to face him.
"Hay listen white beard, we only want fucking answers no violence remember signed that fucking truce," Faith sneered.
"You want answers, I will give you them as long as you never step foot in my school again."
"Deal," Angel and Buffy said in unison.
"How come he can't be killed?" Willow asked.
"I told you about the prophecy; Harry Potter is the only one who can kill him. But there is more which I think has something to do with him hiding the source of his power in the Tibetan mountains," Dumbledore said sighing.
"So it's like an Adam deal find the source of their power and destroy it, only this time Buffy wont have to make with the punching through stomach thing," Xander mused.
"So what do you mean by the source of this poofs power?" Spike asked.
"Meaning all the magic he knows is being concealed somewhere, along with something else…my theory is it's his soul laid there to make him immortal."
"So if we destroy his soul then Harry can kill him?" Angel said.
"I believe so."
"What part of the mountains?" Xander asked.
"I think the north side would be more preferable too Voldemort, see that was where he killed his second muggle."
Buffy looked at Dumbledore examining him closely, to see if there was a trace of a lie on his words. His crystal blue eyes stared strait back at hers, and for a second it seemed as if everything stopped, the two weary soles bored holes into each others all knowing eyes, a silent understanding passed between them.
"I will allow you access to a fireplace. Be warned that if you ever step foot in this castle again you will not come out alive," Dumbledore threatened, his usually joyous face becoming a mask of indifferent fury.
"You have my word," Buffy stated. Therefore, the six blood drenched worriers stepped into the hospital wings marble fireplace, leaving in a whirl of soot and emerald wind.
000
Buffy's P.O.V
I landed with a dull thud onto our Persian rug, my five friends falling next to me. The fireplace sparked green for a moment before settling back to a dim yellow. Dawn was nowhere to be seen, probably still sulking about her lack of being involved, (my fault).
I brushed of my jeans, standing gingerly. For once I had no idea what to say to my friends, how to go about things, I had utterly failed.
"Buff its ok it's not your fault," Willow said patting my arm.
"Yeah don't worry about it, you're still the Buffster! Super girl of them all!" Xander laughed, I felt so much respect for him, he went through hell without us noticing and he was still able to make me smile.
"Thanks guys," I gurgled. I felt ridiculous I new it wasn't my fault but still there I was sobbing.
"Don't worry about it B but hay next time we go on a mission…can I get a name, like the faithsta! Yo that'd be so cool!" Faith made an impressive gesture with her hand as she said the pretend name.
"Somehow I don't think that's really your style," Angel said as the two walked upstairs.
"Well what's yours then? Night-Angel or how about THE BIG FORHEAD!" Their cries became steadily fainter as they wondered further up the house. Willow, Xander and Spike followed behind, briefly asking if I was coming. In a minute, I said.
I didn't move until I was completely certain they had all headed upstairs, to their tightly secure rooms, comforting duvets and warm showers awaiting them. The room felt larger than it had, peaceful, it was as if a great storm had just subsided. Our living room laid in shadows just the moonlight from the bay windows illuminating my way.
Our phone flashed a lime green, indicating a new message. I walked over curiously pressing the receive button.
"Hello all, you're probably to busy fighting demons to pick up the phone but I just wanted to let you know that your good friend Lola is right now hiding in a closet! My mother is driving me mad, I thought you may need this information when they find my body as I would have killed myself from the tediousness, preferably with a heavy dosage of E. OK well I hope you are all having fun, bye!"
Lola's sarcastic voice was cut of with a startling beep; I deleted the message and went to sit on the sofa.
A memory came into my head, of a time when I was five when I went through a faze of using my Dad as a climbing frame. I used to jump on his knees with his help, clamber on his elbows then swing my legs round his shoulders. Sometimes I could really imagine he was a climbing frame and our yellow kitchen was a playground.
I remember how he used to pretend to drop me when I used his arm as a swing, my blond hair would fly around my face, in my eyes my mouth and I would shriek pretending I hated him for almost dropping me but really everything was fine.
Life is a lot like a climbing frame with many obstacles in your way before you reach the high top, and when you do, you can see all the way over the playground, you can almost touch the fluffy white sky.