DISCLAIMER:  The characters aren't mine.  I'm borrowing them from the esteemed Joss Whedon and J.K. Rawling.

      SPOILERS/BACKGROUND:  Everything from BtVS Season 1 to Season 6, AtS Seasons 1 to 3, and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

      Reviews always welcome!

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      CHAPTER 30:

      THE FORCE OF THE GAME

      Monday morning came.  Willow was still awake, and was startled to see the sun rising outside.  I stayed up all night.  She yawned and transfigured another cup of water into an espresso.

      Hermione had shown her the Speedreading Serum the previous afternoon, and Willow had begun brewing it with a vengeance.  Without any friends in Slytherin, her books were her only company, especially after curfew.  Looking around her bedroom, Willow was amazed at how much the pile of unread material had shrunk in one day and night.  She had always been shy about bragging about her photographic memory, but she admitted to herself that that combined with the potion and her lack of anything else to do was allowing her to burn through books like a fire in a forest.

      I just studied for sixteen hours straight, she realized.  Even at her best—or worst, depending on one's perspective—back in Sunnydale, she had not done anything of that magnitude.  Being here just seemed to awaken a side of her that was only half-awake in Sunnydale, sending her already heartfelt drive for knowledge into overdrive.  This stuff was a hundred times as engaging as anything in high school, if nothing else.

      She considered going to sleep and forgetting about breakfast, but thought better of it.  She had to stay awake for another two hours because her next batch of Speedreading Serum was going to be done then, and breakfast would be right about at that time, since it was just before five at the moment.  Besides, trying to go to bed on nothing but an espresso was not going to do her any good, and if she went to breakfast, she could mooch stuff for later and sleep through lunch.  In addition, her sleep the previous morning and afternoon had been extremely troubling.  She had been inside Voldemort's mind again, though whether her dreams were the same as Harry's, she had no idea.  They were talking about an agent inside the castle.  Lupin's attacker.  In all the excitement of the past few days, it had almost slipped her mind that the professor's assailant was still at large.  Neither Voldemort nor Lucius had said enough to reveal anything about the agent's identity, however, leaving Willow with more than enough to think about as she studied.

      Two hours later, Willow set down her Herbology book and murmured a simple Chilling Charm over the charcoal under her potion.  Satisfied that nothing was going to catch fire in her absence, she headed off to breakfast.  The potion would be cool and ready by the time she returned.

      She entered the Great Hall and took her usual place at the end of the Slytherin row.  At first, she didn't notice anything usual, since she paid little attention to the Slytherin Game, but after a minute, she noticed that there had been some reshuffling along the table.

      A new girl sat at the head of the table.  The girl was large and pug-nosed, with hair that looked as though its owner believed that good products were a substitute for good health.  In addition, Vincent Byron, the boy who had been advancing steadily along the table that the Baron has used as a demonstration the previous day, was now back at the end of the line, though if he was bitter at his new status, he didn't show it.

      "Who's that?" she asked the slight eleven-year-old curiously.

      He looked a little surprised, an expression that looked a little out of place on his solemn face, though whether it was because he believed she should know the answer or he was surprised she was talking to him, Willow couldn't tell.  He answered simply, "Pansy Parkinson.  The other sixth-year prefect.  She had to come back now that Draco can't come back for the summer."

      Willow nodded as she took this in.  "And … um … did something happen to you?" she asked.

      He smiled wistfully and shrugged.  "Pansy doesn't like me much."

      "Oh.  Well, sorry to hear that."

      "Oh, I don't care.  Would you?"

      Willow laughed.  That was true; she really didn't care what other Slytherins thought of her.  But from what the Baron had pointed out to her yesterday, she thought that Vincent actually did care.

      "Well said."

      "But I'd watch out, though," he said.  "Have you noticed her looking down here?"

      Willow tossed another glance at the head of the table, and realized that Vincent was right.  The girl had been making sidelong glances down the table in their direction.

      "Is she looking at you?" she asked.

      "Actually, I think she's looking at you."

      "Me?!" Willow asked, a hushed but forceful whisper.  "Why me?!"

      "Your ally," Vincent answered simply, and Willow wondered at the odd sound of that word coming from the innocent-looking eleven-year-old's lips.

      "She has something against Buffy?  She's never even met Buffy!" Willow exclaimed.

      Vincent shrugged.  "No, but she's heard stories by now.  And … she's had her eye on Malfoy for years now."

      "What?"

      "Is something going on between Buffy and Draco?"

      Willow's mouth compressed.  That's right, no one else knows where Buffy went, she thought.  "They're friends," she said neutrally.  They had parted on somewhat rocky terms, but if Draco was asking her to stay with him while dealing with his mother's death, they had to have gotten over that somehow.

      "Just rumors," Vincent shrugged.  "But I think Pansy is paranoid enough to believe them, even if they aren't true."

      "So … why me?"  Willow was getting a sinking feeling in her stomach.  She was beginning to understand why so many Slytherins were so paranoid.  They often seemed to be right.  Nonetheless, it irked her that someone would want to want to play politics with Buffy and Draco's relationship—before the two of them themselves even found out what that relationship was.

      "Because you're Buffy's ally.  Or, at the least, she believes you're the only one who knows the truth about the rumors."

      Wonderful, Willow thought bitterly.  It made a perverse kind of sense, in a way.  Buffy had ninety points already and had been invited to sit at the head of the table when she only had forty.  Draco was the head of the table, and Buffy was becoming his friend.  His "ally," she thought bitterly to herself, cursing Slytherins and their stupid games.  If it became known that they were more than that—if in truth they were—Pansy would hate Buffy even more.  Willow was simply involved because of guilt by association, and because of the fact that she was here.  She groaned inwardly.  She had seen Cordelia act similarly at times, trying to degrade someone's friends to get at them indirectly.  Only she had a feeling that the Slytherins took such things to a higher level than just spreading petty rumors.

      "Well, thanks, Vincent.  And I hope you get your spot back soon," she added, not really knowing what to say.  She pocketed a few muffins and rose from the table.  She had been awake for a long time, and she had somehow managed to make an enemy that she'd never met.  She left the hall as quickly as she could without seeming to hurry.

      Pansy was right behind her, she realized, along with a troupe of her friends.

      Oh, crap, she said, trying to quicken her pace to reach the stairwell through the entrance hall.

      "Rosenberg!" a voice behind her called.  Willow sighed and stopped.  There was no way she could pretend not to hear that.  She sighed and turned around.  Pansy was striding towards her.  She was wearing an extremely poor attempt at a colloquial smile that made her look rather ill.  Four other Slytherins, all from near the head of the table, accompanied her.

      "Um … do I know you?" she asked cautiously.

      Pansy smiled depreciatingly.  "Pansy.  Pansy Parkinson.  Sixth-year prefect.  Just got in from Bristol yesterday night."

      "Oh … OK.  Well, nice to meet you," Willow continued meekly.

      "Anyway, since I'm a prefect," Pansy continued, and Willow noticed she put the faintest hint of an emphasis on the last word as though to impress her status upon the redheaded Wiccan, "I'm supposed to get to know new students.  A few people have said that there's another American exchange student with you."

      "Buffy," Willow confirmed.  There was no chance that Pansy didn't know that name already.  "She's on vacation at the moment."

      "Really?" Pansy pressed.  "Where did she go?"

      "Um … just traveling around.  She's never been to England before."

      "Really?  Any specific places?"

      "I really don't know," Willow replied.  "She just needed to get away for a little while."

      "A bit of a dangerous time to be doing that, don't you think?"

      "I do," Willow agreed, allowing herself a smug smile.  "Which is, you know, why I'm still here."  A few Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs that had happened out to watch the events chuckled at that, but the Slytherins' expressions barely flickered.

      "And you haven't the faintest idea where your friend is?"

      "No," Willow said firmly, turning to leave.

      "Really?" one of the seventh-year prefects, Miles Barclay, crooned dangerously.  "Diffindo."  There was a tearing sound, and Willow suddenly felt a draft on her side.  The seam of her robe had been torn open.  She grabbed her wand, fearing that they were going to take it or something, or simply because it was the most obvious thing to do, but that was not what they were after at all.

      "Accio letter!" Pansy cried triumphantly.  With a horrified shock, Willow realized that she had never removed the letter from her robes because she had put it into her pocket the previous day and had never changed.  It must have shown somehow, or one of them had been using an X-Ray Charm, or something.

      "No!" she cried.  "What are you doing?"

      "Being a little skeptical of a Mudblooded Yank," Pansy spat as she opened the letter.  Willow flinched, and her eyes darkened slightly.

      "Accio letter!" Willow cried a moment later, and the letter flew back to her hands, but it was too late.  It had been short and to the point, and more than gave away where Buffy was staying at the moment.

      "So that's the way it is, eh?" Pansy seethed.

      "What did it say, Parkinson?" asked one of the new fifth-year prefects, Martin Gandersworth, slowly but with unmistakable anticipation.

      "In a moment," Pansy growled.  "I need to teach this Yankee Mudblood a thing or two about lying to her superiors."

      Something inside Willow snapped.  "Really?" she grated.  "Because I seriously don't see any of those around here.  Incendio," she muttered, burning the letter to ash.  No one else would get a chance to read it.

      She suddenly realized that she had made a mistake.  None of the others had realized that the spell was directed at the letter, not at themselves.  Five spells were already headed in her direction.  She reacted instinctively, unthinkingly.

      "Protego!" she cried, radiating the spell to affect everything headed her way.  All five spells bounced off her invisible shield and exploded harmlessly on the walls and ceiling.  The shield crackled with the impact, but it held, and Willow breathed a sigh of relief.  That had been four prefects and Bulstrode, who would have been a prefect had she been in any other year than Draco and Pansy's.

      Some of the softer-bellied Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws quickly took their leave at this point, but Willow noticed that none of the Gryffindors or Slytherins budged, and indeed, many Gryffindors were even crowding forward for a better look.  There had to be at least thirty people watching by this point.

      Five more spells headed her way, and again Willow blocked.  Dammit, where are the teachers? she thought, but the impact of the spells on her shield was enough to convince her not to worry about that at the moment.  She hadn't expected them to keep pressing their attack.  She realized that they probably couldn't back down, now, not if they were so concerned about their status.  Radiating spells was difficult.  Willow guessed that none of the five people facing her could have blocked simultaneous spells from even two of the others, much less all five.

      On the other hand, though Willow didn't want to fight, the fact that they had started it gave her a window of opportunity that she didn't intend to waste.

      She and the five Slytherins traded shots for another thirty seconds or so.  Willow's wand seemed to hiss with glee in her hands, as though it had been itching to do this for a long time.  At the moment, however, Willow was under too much pressure to care.  She smiled, half in amusement, half in exasperation, as several of the Gryffindors actually started cheering like fans at a boxing match.  Ron and Hermione looked like they were trying to get an opening to join in on her side, but the spells were flying back and forth too quickly and the Gryffindor prefects were clearly worried about unintended consequences of throwing more spells into the mix.  Eventually, however, Willow saw an opening and pounced instinctively.

      "Crescendissimi!" she cried.  Several of the onlookers took steps backward at that point, and those that had their hands free quickly clapped their hands to their ears.  A violent sonic boom rocked the chamber, and echoed in the stone halls.  It was all the more terrifying because there seemed to be a terrible voice rumbling within the boom, a voice that echoed with mind-numbing power.  Willow had steeled herself against it, however; she had slipped in a counter-curse a moment earlier amid a series of other spells.  She continued shouting her spells right through the burst.

      Suddenly, with a sharp impact, all five of the Slytherins' wands flew from their hands at once.  The echoes of her Soundburst hadn't even died, but they were the only sound left in the entrance hall.  Even the Gryffindors had been stunned into silence.

      Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of one running foot and one running peg.  A moment later, Moody burst through the doors of the Great Hall.  Seconds later, Snape emerged as well, followed by McGonagall and Flitwick.

      "My goodness!  What in heaven's name happened here?" McGonagall demanded, breathless.

      "It would appear," Moody said, a truly predatory grin spreading across his features as he regained his composure, "that our Miss Rosenberg has the ability to radiate Disarming Charms."

      "Oh, my goodness!  Splendid!  Five points to Slytherin!" Flitwick cheered happily.  Several Ravenclaws and Gryffindors had to hide grins.

      "Who started this?" McGonagall demanded sternly.

      "She did," all five Slytherins said simultaneously.

      "Really?" Moody asked dangerously.  "That isn't what I saw."  He fixed them with extremely pointed stares from his magical eye, and they squirmed uncomfortably.

      "Miss Rosenberg?" McGonagall asked sternly.

      Willow hesitated.  A moment later, she pointed to her torn robe, and shrugged.  "I'm sorry, professor.  I overreacted."

      A chorus of protests suddenly arose from the few members of the other Houses that had remained to this point; there were still a dozen or so, mostly Gryffindors, including Ron and Hermione.  McGonagall listened for a moment, then waved her hands for silence.

      "I see.  Very well then.  Five points from Slytherin from each of you." McGonagall said to the five Slytherins clustered at the base of the steps.  They flinched as a group, and many turned more hateful gazes on Willow.  This time, Willow resolved not to flinch.

      "And detention for the five of you from me," Snape added.  "This was inexcusable.  Not to mention extremely inadvisable," he said, with a surprisingly respectful nod in Willow's direction.

      "Oh, I guess it's my turn, then," Moody growled.  "Well, Severus and Minerva seem to have dealt with you lot," he said, indicating the five Slytherin upperclassmen.  "And Minerva frowns on the kind of punishment I'd like to add," he added.  The Slytherins took a collective and quite undignified step backwards at that; none of them had forgotten the time he had turned Draco into a white ferret and bounced him around the room, even if it had only been a fake Moody at the time.  The fake had been acting exactly as the real one would have.  McGonagall sniffed pointedly.

      Willow gulped.  That meant he was turning to her.  Sure enough, the wooden-legged wizard turned in her direction.  Willow put away her wand and waited meekly.  "I heard that," he said simply.  Pointedly, in a way that let Willow know that he was talking about more than just the sonic boom.

      "I … yes, professor," Willow admitted.

      "Anyway," Moody continued.  "Fourteen points to Slytherin for a combination of good reflexes, good manners, and a good example to a number of my students of outstanding defense against the dark arts under pressure."  Willow grinned.  Moody was giving her just enough so that Slytherin would lose a single point for this incident.  "I would also like to speak to you privately," he said.  "Tonight, after dinner.  I won't call it a detention, but I would greatly appreciate it if you could come."  His words were polite, but his tone was commanding.

      "Of course, professor," Willow said meekly.

      "All right, everyone, show's over!" Moody called.  The audience immediately began dispersing.  Ron and Hermione mouthed a quick "library" to Willow before they left with the others.  Willow nodded in acknowledgement.

      Willow watched after the departing Slytherins for a moment.  They were talking heatedly under their breath as they went, and they were two levels up the stairwell when Pansy suddenly stopped as if realizing something horrible.  She turned to look at Willow, sending her a look of truly venomous hatred.  The others gave her equally angry looks, but Willow caught the distinct look of fear in the expressions of some of the others even at that distance.  Willow smiled back innocently, whispered a quick charm to repair her robes, and walked off to join her friends in the library.

      Professor Moody stood in a corner of the entrance hall, watching students trickle out of the Great Hall and off to their classes, studies, or amusements.  He suddenly became aware of a presence nearby, and turned his magical eye around in his head to see one Albus Dumbledore standing beside him.

      "I was wondering when you were going to come out," Moody grinned.

      "Well you know, I couldn't leave without finishing my strawberry waffles.  Winky made them especially for me, I couldn't well just put them down and run."

      Moody grinned.  "Can't say I blame you, then."

      "How was she?"

      "Only went dark for a moment, and only when worrying about her friend.  Once she took care of that, she was herself again.  In control of both herself and the wand."

      "Young Harry's influence is good on her."

      "For the moment," Moody said with more than a touch of cynicism.  "I think it'll fade if all they have to go on is just letters."

      "Quite pessimistic, but I agree, unfortunately," Dumbledore admitted sadly.  "What did you think of her little trick?"

      Moody shook his head, remembering the vague voice he had heard within the boom of Willow's most dramatic spell of the duel.  "Albus, that girl is truly amazing.  Working an Obliviate into a Soundburst at a frequency too low for normal ears to hear, working one spell inside another … I had been an Auror for four years before I even started learning anything like that.  Took me a year to get it down."

      Dumbledore nodded sagely.  "Not even Tom ever managed anything so complex during his time here, especially so precisely.  I do believe that all our ambitious prefect lost was her memory of the contents of the letter."

      Moody grinned wickedly.  "Shame.  She had her heart set on it."

      "Nonetheless, Willow has made some powerful enemies today."

      Moody's grin did not falter.  "True.  But those powerful enemies might have made an even more powerful enemy today," he said pointedly.

      "Do talk to her about that later," Dumbledore said.

      "I will," Moody promised.  "Among other things."

      "And I suppose I might start thinking of what to say to the directors.  Our good great-family heirlings will have Fudge leaning on them by sunset."

      "How does 'sod off' sound?"

      "Perhaps too honest for this situation."

      "Honesty can be a good thing."

      "This is quite a role reversal for us, isn't it?"

      "Just saying.  Honesty.  Good."

      "True, but the directors are already … anxious … regarding Miss Rosenberg.  It would be unwise to antagonize them further."

      "Maybe we ought to talk to the directors ourselves, then … before the little ferret-wannabes and Fudge get the chance."

      "I think so, too.  I'll conference-Floo them immediately.  They'll need to hear about this, anyway."

      "Mind if I tag along?  I'll be seeing Willow after breakfast, if nothing else."

      "I was just thinking I could use someone good at glaring …"

      Moody glared at him.

      "… all right, well, maybe not that good …" Dumbledore continued

as the two aged wizards strolled off towards the Headmaster's office.

      "Willow, that was blooming incredible!" Ron was practically bouncing in his seat as Willow sat down.

      She did her best to smile.  "Shh," she said.  "We're in a library."

      "You don't look as happy as I would in your position," Hermione noted.

      Willow shrugged.  "I'm not really all with the yay-for-fighting thing."

      Ron looked stunned.  "Willow, that was awesome!"

      "I think you said that already."

      "Well, maybe this will cheer you up," Hermione said.  "We have something for you."

      "Oh?"

      "I just got a letter from Harry last night saying we should give it to you," Hermione continued, getting up and walking a little way back into the library shelves.  Willow rose and followed.

      Hermione reappeared a moment later, however, carrying a large, flat, rectangular package.  Willow's eyes widened.  It wasn't hard to guess what was inside.  Her heart skipped a beat.

      "Our portrait!" she exclaimed.

      "It would appear so," Hermione agreed.  "Though Ron and I haven't actually gotten a chance to see it yet …" she said subtly.

      Willow smiled.  "All right, I'll open it here and let you see it," she said.  "On one condition."

      "Sure."

      "You have to help me get it back to the Tower without anyone else seeing."

      "Oh, no problem at all." Hermione said.

      Willow smiled and unwrapped the portrait.  In truth, she didn't want to wait until she got back to the Tower to see it, either, so it wasn't asking a huge favor to open it here.

      "Oh my gosh," Hermione said, a smile crossing her face and her eyes beaming.  "That is so cute.  You two look great together.  Are you taking notes?" she asked, changing the tone of her voice to indicate that she was no longer speaking to Willow.

      "Huh?  Who?  Me?" Ron asked, befuddled.  Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly at the ceiling.

      "All right," Willow said.  "Enough ogling."

      "Oh, very well," Hermione said.  She waved her wand quickly and chanted, "Reducio."  The portrait immediately shrank to the size of a photograph.

      "Good idea," Willow noted.  She yawned.  She might have thought of that herself, but her brain was frazzled.  In addition to the fact that she had been fighting, she had been awake too long, and spent too much time on Speedreading Serum, which tended to drain one's focus when it wore off.

      Not long afterward, Willow was quickly falling fast asleep, lying on her side and staring across the room at the image of herself and Harry sitting on the bench in the studio, her arm softly in his, and each looking at her from within the frame empathetically.  She knew it wouldn't do much good long, but for the moment, it was comforting to have something to hold onto more than a letter.  Breathing deeply, Willow drifted off to sleep.

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      Coming Soon: Chapter 31, "Unexpected Gifts."  The directors aren't incredibly happy about Willow's actions, but Moody and Hermione & Ron have some things for her to help make up the difference.

      Sneak Preview:

      "Oh?  Is this a good or bad thing?"

      Moody shrugged.  "It probably would have been a good thing if you could have stayed out of sight, but since it's happened, I guess this is a good thing from where you stand now."