Author's Note: The quoted burial rite passage is taken from Book of Common Prayer. The description of Hogwarts comes from the HP series and a J.K. Rowling quote. Virtual cookies to my lovely betas!

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Silence

Since I lost you I am silence-haunted,
Sounds wave their little wings
A moment, then in weariness settle
On the flood that soundless swings.

Whether the people in the street
Like pattering ripples go by,
Or whether the theatre sighs and sighs
With a loud, hoarse sigh:

Or the wind shakes a ravel of light
Over the dead-black river,
Or night's last echoing
Makes the daybreak shiver:

I feel the silence waiting
To take them all up again
In its vast completeness, enfolding
The sound of men.

David Herbert Lawrence
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03. The Unexpected Guest

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Like the true gentleman that he was, Lorne had gallantly offered his arm to her in a silent show of support. Buffy idly wondered if the gesture was something the Empath Demon in all probability regretted doing now, as she clutched it in a vise-like grip, as if it alone were her lifeline. In a way, it was. With her other hand, the blonde Slayer adjusted her dark sunglasses once more, not wanting any of the funeral attendees to discern her identity. The truth was, she had already recognized far more people present than her beleaguered mental state could withstand. Sitting in the front two rows of folding chairs were Olivia, Xander's parents and relatives that she still remembered from his almost-wedding to Anya, Willow's absentee parents, Robin, a fully healed Rona and Vi, Clem, and Andrew who was bawling his eyes out. Fortunately, her worry appeared to be unwarranted. Everyone was too caught up in their own grief to give a damn about the somber faces sitting around them.

The Council's new head honcho had risen from his seat. A small frown settled over the petite blonde's fair features as Buffy observed the dignified man approach the podium and begin delivering an eloquent eulogy on behalf of the New Watchers Council. Patrick Carter, her mind supplied a beat later as she matched the face to the name. Although the veteran Slayer had had little contact with the bureaucratic side of the NWC, as her job description tended more toward field work and instruction, Buffy remembered the thirty-something Englishman well. They had met during the previous year's annual Christmas ball. Initially, Buffy had come up with the idea as a chance for the girls to cut loose and let their hair down. But as it turned out, the grownups had welcomed the reprieve just as eagerly. The blonde Slayer had been sharing a slow dance with Giles when Patrick had politely asked to cut in, clad in a sharp tuxedo and exuding charm and witty intelligence. Allowing herself a moment to revisit that happy memory, Buffy exhaled a relieved breath, reassured that the Council was in good hands.

Despite the fact that she probably had spent half of her life hanging out in cemeteries, the sunlit backdrop seemed almost foreign to the blonde Slayer. Somehow, the day made the grass greener, the white marble gravestones brighter, and the pervasive feel of death that much fainter. Surreal. Taking in a deep breath, Buffy detected the unmistakable musty odor of freshly-dug earth. She flinched, knowing what that particular scent meant. Lifting her gaze toward the blue, cloudless sky, Buffy absently noted the unseasonable warmth of the day. Overhead, the sun shined down on the funeral procession in glorified radiance, yet its warm rays failed to penetrate the blonde Slayer. Buffy decided then that she preferred the dark cover of night, with its unstill quiet and soft shadows, to this washed-out bleakness... because the day offered her no distraction, no shelter from the clarity of reality and the ecstasy of grief. Silently, tears began streaming steadily down her pale cheeks, searing her vision.

Viciously, Buffy wiped at her tear-stained cheeks as Rona and Vi took to the podium. Snippets of their impassioned, if highly-censured, testimonial and emotional anecdotes floated through the veteran Slayer's ears without any real recognition. At some point, Buffy thought she had heard mention of her own name. With a deep frown, she realized that the two young Sunnydale alums had just called her a hero. Unable to stop herself, Buffy let out a small cynical chortle, startling the nearby people and earning her quite a few reproachful glares that she failed to notice. She certainly did not feel like a hero. Burying those Potentials in her backyard, the blonde Slayer had felt something irreparable break inside of her. They hadn't been just necessary sacrifices or casualties for her, despite Giles' teachings... it was as if her heart had died a little more each time another innocent's life was snuffed out by evil, evil that she couldn't protect them from. They were never just casualties in her mind. And now, Buffy Summers was burying her dead again.

It was all wrong. What kind of hero did it make her to be alive and well when only two of the fifty odd Slayers she had led into battle survived? I should be the one they're burying, said a small voice in the back of her head and Buffy silently nodded her assent. The service continued on as the blonde Slayer grew more disconnected to her surroundings with each new speaker. Everything became hazy and muffled. At a gentle tug on her arm, Buffy let Lorne pull her to her feet as they filed down the aisle with the throng of mourners down to the burial site. They were standing too far back to hear the priest's liturgy clearly, but Buffy wasn't bothered. It was something she had committed to memory a long time ago, ever since her own mother's funeral. "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen," she whispered to herself. All of a sudden, Buffy was very glad that she was standing too far away to see the coffins being slowly lowered into the ground.

"Do you want to throw in the flowers now or should I?" Lorne inquired softly, gesturing to the large bouquet clutched in his hands, jolting the blonde out of her semi-catatonic state.

"Oh, um, just leave them with me, I guess."

"Sweetheart, the service has ended, there's no wake."

Just like Mom's. For the first time, she noticed that people were slowly but surely leaving. Woodenly, Buffy remained in her spot as her view of the freshly-filled gravesites became less and less hindered.

"I have to leave soon," the Empath Demon's apologetic voice floated to her after some time.

Buffy blinked herself back to reality with a start, realizing that they were now the only ones left in the cemetery under the waning sunlight. "Oh sorry, Lorne! I didn't mean to keep you here for so long," she babbled, glancing down to check her watch and frowning when she realized that it was still set to Pacific time.

"Don't worry, gorgeous. My flight's still in an hour," Lorne smiled down at her reassuringly.

"You should go, then."

"Are you sure, honey melon? I can always switch to a later flight, if you want," he offered, voice filled with concern.

"I'll be fine. Go, Lorne. I've taken up too much of your time already," Buffy replied.

"Are you sure? How are you going to get to the hotel?" the Empath Demon persisted.

"I'll call a cab," Buffy answered automatically.

"You don't have a new cell phone yet," Lorne pointed out.

Buffy sighed tiredly. "Fine, I'll walk then."

"But it's getting dark out."

"I'm a Slayer, Lorne, the thing that creatures of the night fear," she countered testily.

Lorne hesitated for several long minutes as Buffy grew steadily more annoyed. He had not gotten to know the Slayer extraordinaire very well in the past few days, but he couldn't help but feel a mixture of protectiveness and affection for the young woman. He supposed Buffy possessed an indescribable, intrinsic quality that he couldn't quite put into words. She drew people to her like moths to a flame and he was no exception.

"God, Lorne! You're like a freaking mother hen! Just go already!"

The Empath Demon smirked to himself, relieved to finally see the tiny blonde display some emotion that was neither sorrow nor hopelessness. "Okay, hon. Remember that if you ever need anything, you have my contact info, right?"

"Yes, Lorne," Buffy nodded, making a show of patting her coat pocket where she had stored his business card.

Abruptly, Buffy pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Lorne looked shocked for a split-second before reciprocating the gesture wholeheartedly. He couldn't help but marvel at how small and frail the blonde Slayer felt in his arms as she spoke softly into his chest, "Thank you so much for everything. You don't know how much this has meant to me."

Lorne rubbed her back soothingly and kissed the crown of her golden head. "It was my pleasure, sweetness. You take care of yourself now."

With that, the tall Empath Demon handed her the bouquet of white orchids and stepped out of their embrace, walking away into the sunset. Sighing sadly, Buffy hugged the delicate flowers to her chest, walking slowly toward the row of freshly interred gravesites. Untying the ribbon that held together the bouquet, the blonde Slayer knelt down at the foot of the first headstone and placed a single orchid on the loose soil. Pulling herself onto her feet, she moved on to the next grave.

She didn't know how long she had been standing there, rooted to the spot, having lost track of the passage of time as she said her good-byes. All the blonde Slayer knew was that it was dark now, and she was once again staring down at her own tombstone. Right then, she felt her spidey sense go haywire. Someone extremely powerful was approaching, someone with a magical aura that would have dwarfed even Willow's at the mega Wicca's peak. What was more, the force felt pure to the blonde Slayer, not tainted by the possibility of corruption like Willow's had always been. Buffy stood her ground as the familiar waves of magical energy rolled over her in soothing waves that she had once fondly described to herself as 'warm fuzzies of the platonic variety'.

"I hoped you would come," she whispered softly, her calm voice betraying none of the pain that was tearing apart her heart.

"Sorry I'm late, my dear."

Albus Dumbledore sighed wearily. The Hogwarts Headmaster was truly sorry for his tardy arrival, even if he had hastened there as soon as he could, life permitting. Upon hearing the Slayer's empty, emotionless tone of voice, he felt even sorrier. He quickly came to the conclusion that whatever events had taken place were most definitely worse than Dawn's retransfiguration.

"How are you holding up, my dear?" he asked, bracing himself for her reply.

"Not so hot. But still alive and kicking." She paused for a long moment, pulling off her sunglasses and stuffing them into her coat pocket. "Unfortunately."

Dumbledore's bushy, silver eyebrows knitted together in concern. Three years he had known the veteran Slayer's delightful company—they were no more than the blink of an eye in comparison to his one-hundred and fifty odd years of existence. And yet, their every minute spent together had been ingrained in his memory like indelible ink. Like a breath of fresh air Buffy Summers had breezed into his world, utterly different from any creature he had ever met before—a welcome respite from his increasingly weighty duty and responsibility. "A vacation from reality" she had dubbed their little rendezvous. With a heavy heart, the Headmaster realized that he hadn't been there for her when she had needed him the most. He should have suspected that something was amiss when he sensed a disturbance in the magical balance seven days ago. How could I have been so heedless? Albus berated himself as he glanced at the row of new gravestones—until one epitaph caught his eye. Merlin's beard!

"Buffy! You died again!"

"Guess you didn't get the nice, pretty invitation then. Yep, and let me tell you that third time's definitely not the charm," she replied humorlessly at his sharp intake of breath.

It was not everyday that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump was shocked by anything. Buffy Summers had managed this feat an embarrassing number of times already in their three short years of acquaintance. But tonight, Albus was flabbergasted. The petite blonde still had not turned around, so Albus obligingly stepped forward to regard her and was once again shocked into speechlessness. Buffy looked visibly younger, her figure healthier than he had ever seen it before and her face had lost its gaunt quality. However, it was seeing her eyes that made the wizened wizard gasp. Buffy's once luminous hazel irises looked all but dead now as they stared evenly at him in a mute, bloodshot shade of brown under the dim moonlight. Gone were the self-assured confidence and determined fire—the spark that had been uniquely her own.

Albus's heart went out to her. "Buffy—" he began, only to be brusquely cut off.

"It's Eliza now."

He blinked in confusion, "I beg your pardon?"

"It's Elizabeth Joyce Ashbery now."

Ever quick on the uptake, Albus swiftly responded, "Of course it is. That's a lovely name, dear," he assured.

Albus tentatively reached out, clasping her by the elbows and slowly pulling the diminutive blonde towards him. He exhaled a breath he hadn't realize he was holding when Buffy willingly stepped into his embrace, letting the warm fuzzies wash over her. For an interminable time, they stayed that way. Two lone figures could be seen clinging to each other in the darkened cemetery. If it weren't for the fact that the Council Headquarters was situated in that very city, they would have been rudely interrupted hours ago by ravenous vampire fledglings. But as it were, the duo remained undisturbed until Buffy reluctantly lifted her head from his chest and looked up at the Headmaster with grateful eyes.

Albus smiled benignly down at her, "Shall I escort you home, my dear?"

Ever the gentleman, Buffy thought. "Sure, I booked a hotel nearby but I kinda want to go back to my apartment in Rome."

"Not a problem."

Albus pulled out a wrapped lollipop from his robes as well as his wand. It was then that Buffy noticed his entire left hand was blackened and shriveled, as if the very flesh had been burnt away as he held the lollipop in his scorched palm. Normally, she would have been the first to inquire after such a serious injury, especially on such a close friend as Dumbledore. But Buffy had not the energy to care at the moment.

"Portus."

Buffy arched a finely shaped brow as the lollipop glowed bright blue momentarily. "Nifty."

"Touch your hand to this. Bibbity bobbity boo."

The Slayer hesitated for a moment before she grasped the stick of the lollipop and instantly felt a jerk behind her navel as the lollipop pulling them both away from the cemetery in a burst of whirling wind and color. Quite abruptly, she felt her feet hit hardwood flooring with jarring impact, only just managing to stay upright. As soon as the spell of disorientation faded, Buffy's eyes quickly darted around the darkened living room before she strode over to the doorway and flipped on the light switch. Relief flooded into her system as light bathed the familiar room. Everything was where she had left it weeks before. Running her fingers longingly over the soft leather of her couch, the blonde Slayer finally became aware of her long-suppressed fatigue. She wanted nothing more than to take refuge in the familiar comfort of her bed, surrounded by the soft silken feel of the sheets imprinted with the memory of him.

"It's late. You're welcome to stay in the guestroom or Dawn's old room. Take your pick," Buffy offered in a tired voice.

"The guestroom will be fine, my dear." Albus smiled warmly. He scrutinized the diminutive blonde as she nodded absently to his reply, trying in vain to read her mood. Shaking his head slightly, the Hogwarts Headmaster relented in his efforts. Even his keen perception was of no help as he stared down at the shell of the vivacious young warrior he had known and loved. He decided morosely that now was as good a time as any. "Before you go, will you reconsider joining me at Hogwarts? You need not answer right away."

Buffy was surprised by Dumbledore's request, yet she had somehow been expecting it all night long. It certainly wasn't the first time the benevolent Headmaster had posed the offer, but each time she had declined, no matter how tempted she was by the promise of anonymity and the allure of simple peace and quiet. There had been too many ties and complications anchoring Buffy to her world back then—but now? What was left? The school and whatever Angel had left her in his will—nothing she couldn't bear to be without.

Buffy Summers succeeded in shocking Albus Dumbledore an astounding third time that evening.

"Okay, Dumbledore, I'll go. I'll be packed and ready by noon."

She couldn't sleep once she had said goodnight to Dumbledore, closed the door to her familiar bedroom, and crawled underneath the bedclothes. The acute feel of the soft material against her skin evoked a torrent of memories lying just beneath the surface of her precarious resolve. Ripping off the bed sheets with undue violence, Buffy stalked over into the walk-in closet and slumped against the garment shelves. "No rest for the weary," she sighed as she pulled out several suitcases and began the methodical process of packing up all that physically remained of her life in Rome and enough weaponry to outfit a small army. By six o'clock in the morning, the blonde Slayer was busy brewing coffee for herself and tea for Dumbledore. Her suitcases were neatly lined up by the front door. The flurry of activity had helped to distract her mind from unbidden meanderings.

Albus strolled into the kitchen around 6:30 a.m., surprised once again, this time by Buffy's uncharacteristic early bird routine. "Eliza, haven't you always been a—what did you call it? Oh yes—a 'night owl'?" Albus frowned at the dark circles that marked the blonde's lower eyelids.

Buffy shrugged, "I couldn't sleep. It's no big."

The flippant tone was ruined by her refusal to meet his eyes. Dumbledore's frown deepened.

Trying to divert the elderly Headmaster's piercing gaze, Buffy quickly offered, "Would you like some tea? I always keep some of the good stuff around for Gi—" her mouth clamped shut at once as if she had uttered some choice swear words in front of her mother. She quickly poured Dumbledore a cup before turning away with preternatural speed to scrub some invisible grime off of the immaculate kitchen sink.

Albus mentally counted to five before venturing to speak. The atmosphere in the apartment felt tangibly strained.

"B—Eliza, dear. May I ask a question?"

Buffy turned around and forced a smile at Dumbledore. She was determined to prevent herself from having another emotional breakdown if it killed her. "You can ask, but I'm not sure I'll answer," she said honestly. There was no point lying to Dumbledore.

Blue eyes fell on hazel. "Why did you decide to change your name?" he asked. "Not that I've anything against Elizabeth," he added with a small grin, "it's just rather that I'd grown fond of Buffy Summers." He watched as Buffy's gaze looked past him out of the kitchen window and lost focus for an instant. When her gaze slid back up to meet his again, Albus was startled by the blankness he saw, her previous candor having slipped away.

"Because, I hated how everyone always made fun of it."

The Headmaster held her gaze for several long seconds, waiting, willing for her to say more, but she looked away instead. He counted to five again. "If you're all ready, we might as well leave now. This way we'll be able to catch breakfast. The house-elves prepare delightful eggs and sausage," he suggested, talking over and putting an arm around her lower back for support.

"Sure. How are we getting there? Pork knee again?"

Albus saw through the Slayer's thinly veiled sorrow at once, but felt obliged to go along with the charade for now. "Yes my dear, may I?" He gestured to a stack of paper napkins sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Knock yourself out."

"Portus. Quite generous of you, Eliza, if I do say so myself," he jested.

Buffy rolled her eyes as Dumbledore muttered a Latin word she didn't recognize to magically shrink her luggage. The blonde's jaw fell slack as her hefty suitcases were instantly miniaturized to the mere size of matchboxes. "Dumbledore, you have to teach me that one sometime! Just imagine all the stakes I could stash away in my pockets!"

Albus's brilliant blue eyes danced as he replied sagely, "All in good time, my little grasshopper."

Despite the turn of events of the past few days, Buffy couldn't help but crack a real, albeit brief, grin at the elderly Headmaster's decidedly Muggle pop culture reference. Dumbledore tucked her miniaturized suitcases into his robes and they were off. The wizard and the Slayer materialized on a wide, cobblestone path leading to the main outer gate, which was comprised of a set of gigantic oak doors flanked on either side by pillars topped with statues of winged boars. At once, she was assaulted with a dizzying wave of magic so intense that it took her a few seconds become acclimated to it. Buffy managed to maintain her balance without any difficulty this time as she took in the sight of the colossal castle that would have put most of the other palaces and citadels she had toured throughout Europe to utter shame, easily exceeding even her wildest expectations.

Buffy could make out a breathtaking view of the Hogwarts castle situated atop a cliff above the outer curtain wall that ran as far as her eyes could see. The structure itself was huge, rambling, and quite scaring-looking, with a jumble of towers, turrets, and battlements. She got the distinct impression from the diverse combination of buildings of varying styles and architecture that the castle had been expanded and adjusted dramatically over the years as its student populations grew. Moreover, she surmised that the entire construction must have been held together by immensely powerful magic for the towers to be able to stay upright in their gravity-defying manner.

"Welcome to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he announced with a flourish and visible pride.

"Very impressive. But where's the moat, Gandalf?" She quipped lightly, raising her eyebrows.

Dumbledore let out an amused chuckle before saying, "I'm afraid there isn't one anymore. The crocodiles had a nasty habit of gobbling up the children every once in a while, so the school board decided to do away from it centuries ago. However, there is a sizable lake to the south of the castle, which we'll see on our way."

The Headmaster's explanation was lost on the tiny blonde as her gaze fell upon the two huge, skeletal, winged horses with dragon-like faces and black leathery hides that were tethered to a black Rockaway carriage with side-hanging lanterns awaiting them at the foot of the main entrance gate. The veteran Slayer instinctively stretched out her senses, but the deformed horses failed to register on her demon radar. Weird. Curiosity got the best of her as Buffy neared the carriage with the Headmaster in the lead, "Um, what the frilly heck are those?"

Albus chuckled at Buffy's delightful diction. "Those are thestrals, my dear. Only those who have seen death first-hand can see them with unaided vision. They are incredible magical creatures with exceptional speed and sense of direction, and were once believed to be harbingers of ill fortune. Fortunately, that was disproved as superstition long before the present age."

"Did anyone tell you that sometimes you're like a scary walking textbook?" Buffy deadpanned.

Dumbledore chose to ignore her comment and instead petted the thestral closer to him. As Buffy approached, both animals turned abruptly to stare at her with their shining white eyes. The diminutive blonde stiffened momentarily but then thought better of it. However, as she strode over to Dumbledore, the two thestrals snorted and stamped their hoofs before lowering their snouts to nuzzle her. Buffy scrunched up her nose in exasperation at the unexpected friendly reception. Great! 'Death is my gift', of course the freaky horses would flock to me like vampires to blood... ew, icky metaphor. Just quit now while you're behind, she grumbled inwardly while tentatively running a hand through a thestral's smooth, sable mane, earning herself a pleased whinny for her efforts.

"Come on. We'd better get in," Albus interjected, interrupting the Slayer from her scattered train of thoughts as he climbed into the velvet-trimmed interior of the antique carriage.

Buffy slid open the beveled glass window pane on her side of the carriage as the thestrals pulled them at a leisurely canter along the path running around the glittering lake. Feeling the temperate wind whip past her face, the Slayer surveyed the edifice of her new residence as their carriage entered through the ivy-covered entrance of an underground inlet at the base of the cliff and onward up the hill to the front doors of the castle. At a wave of Dumbledore's wand, the double oak castle doors creaked open revealing a capacious, cavernous room lit by torchlight, with a ceiling so high that it was barely visible to the pair as they made their way inside. The blonde Slayer shifted her gaze as something shiny glimmered in her peripheral vision. Four giant hourglasses stood in a corner opposite them, each filled with a different colored pile of gemstones in its lower bulb. Buffy presumed the red ones were rubies; the blue, sapphires; the green, emeralds; and the yellow, citrines. Before she could ask him what they were for, the wizened wizard was already pulling her along the flagstone floor toward the open double doors to their right.

"This is the Great Hall," Albus introduced as they entered into a vast chamber lit by hundreds of suspended candles and flaming torches along the sidewalls. At the Headmaster's commendation, Buffy lifted her gaze upward and was promptly graced with a dazzling view the enchanted ceiling which exactly mirrored the outside sky. "Wow," she remarked a bit breathlessly as they walked up the center of the hall, two long wooden tables situated on either side, and approached the raised platform at the front on which sat another shorter table. "This is the High Table, my dear, where the faculty takes their meals," said the Headmaster as he took his spot in the regal-looking, high-backed, throne-like chair in the middle while Buffy settled herself in the chair to his right. Seeing as how they were still ten minutes early, Dumbledore turned towards Buffy, his voice tentative.

"Eliza, I'd like very much to give you a tour of the castle and grounds after breakfast. And perhaps, afterwards you'll grant me an account of what has transpired since our last meeting? Know that you are under no obligation to bare your soul to me, but please, my old heart can only take so much suspense."

Dumbledore looked so hopeful that Buffy caved almost immediately and gave him a curt nod.

"Would you like me to introduce you as Elizabeth Ashbery to the faculty, my dear?"

"Yeah. And you should probably tell them that I'm not a student or anything. I mean, I don't want a curfew or people getting overprotective and stuff."

"Yes, I suppose. Shall I inform them that you are a visiting family friend?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much the truth—except the family part."

"What of your age?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't think I can't pull off being twenty-six now. This sucks," Buffy pouted, the effect of which made her appear even younger.

Dumbledore grinned. "Seventeen, then? It's the legal adult age in the wizarding world," he suggested.

"Okay, I guess." She pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. "God, I can't believe I'm a freaking teenager again!"

Just then, a tiny little wizard with a shock of white hair, mustache, and beard joined them at the table.

"Ah, Filius. I'd like you to meet a dear family friend of mine who will be staying at Hogwarts for some time, Miss Elizabeth Ashbery. Filius Flitwick, Charms Professor, accomplished Dueling Champion, and Head of Ravenclaw House," Dumbledore introduced warmly.

And so the introductions went to each of the meager summer staff that included Flitwick, Sprout, Pomfrey, Pince, and Sinistra. Buffy thought they seemed nice enough, if a bit too curious as to why their Headmaster had brought an apparently Muggle, American girl to Hogwarts. Sighing softly to herself, the blonde Slayer tried her best to keep up polite conversation, craving instead only the Headmaster's company or the enfolding oblivion of solitude.