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

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!

CHAPTER 32:

THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS

Peter Pettigrew shuffled nervously in his cell. It had been almost a week since his capture, and still no agent of the Great Lord had so much as made contact with him. He was not at Azkaban and the Ministry was keeping his location in extremely close confidence, but the Great Lord would still have to be aware of his location. His master had spies everywhere.

Suddenly, he heard a commotion from the direction of the guardroom at the end of the cell block, and his mystical senses pricked up at the sudden feel of magic being used. A lot of magic, by the feel of it, since his mystical senses had never been as sharp as James or Sirius', and he was some distance from the guardroom. Whatever happened, it was over quickly; the sense faded after a few intense seconds.

A minute later, a familiar figure strode haughtily into view and stopped at the door of his cell.

"Hello, Peter," she greeted him coldly.

"Bellatrix?" Peter was surprised, and a cold sweat began to dampen his hair and shirt. Voldemort never sent Bella on rescue missions.

"You seem to be worth quite a bit to the Ministry. Two novice Aurors and a Hit Wizard in the other room. Quite a workout."

"Please, don't kill me!"

"Skipping to the pleading for mercy already? And here I was expecting at least a little bit of idle banter and bravado first."

"Please, I never told them anything!"

"Good for you. However, our agent at Hogwarts informs us that the good Professor Snape will have Veritaserum ready in a few days."

Suddenly, another voice thundered in the chamber. "Stupefy!"

"Protego!" Bellatrix snapped in return, and Peter was instantly reminded why she had been the Dark Lord's favorite for a decade even before she was sent to Azkaban. Caught off guard, she shifted from casual conversation to deadly duelist with the speed of a striking cobra. The red ray of a Stunner ricocheted off her shield onto the ceiling. Peter couldn't see who had fired it, but it had come from deeper within the cell block, which he had thought was empty. He shifted to the front of his cell, looking down the corridor.

"Impedimenta!" Bellatrix counterattacked. A Shield Charm answered her, erupting seemingly in midair, and succeeded in turning Bellatrix' attack aside.

"Maybe there's a real guard here after all," Bellatrix mused. "Impedimenta!" she fired again, but immediately behind that curse, she chanted again, "Finite!" The guard blocked her Impediment, but her counterspell flew true in rapid succession behind it, nullifying whatever invisibility spell or potion the unseen last guard had been using.

A man gradually faded into view. He was a tough-looking wizard of average height in his middle years, though he was clearly in outstanding health despite his wiry, grey hair. He held his wand like a fencer, and if he were at all nervous about the fact that Bellatrix had struck him, he was hiding it incredibly well.

Bellatrix smiled coldly. "Dawlish!" she greeted him. "It's been a while."

The elite Auror returned her smile coldly. "Not nearly long enough," he returned coldly.

"You act like you aren't happy to see me."

"Oh, I am. Snape's Veritaserum will be much more useful on you."

Bellatrix' lips compressed. "Crucio!" she grated.

"Protego!" Dawlish growled in response. There was a ferocious crackle in the air, and a shower of sparks erupted from the meeting of their spells, but Dawlish's shield held.

"You've been out of the loop for fifteen years, Bellatrix," Dawlish grated. "I've learned a thing or two."

Bellatrix' eyes glittered. "Mad-Eye isn't with you this time," she hissed. "Magneto!" The two cell doors nearest Dawlish, as well as four of the iron sconces in the walls, twisted and tore free of their moorings and whirled in the direction of the Auror. Peter's cell's door held.

"Terrandicto!" Dawlish roared, and a semicircular wall of earth erupted from the floor, blocking the torrent of metal.

"Vibro!" Bellatrix growled. The twisted pieces of metal embedded in the wall suddenly pulsed and vibrated, and the wall of earth crumbled.

"Stupefy!" Dawlish snapped the moment his face came into view. Bellatrix grinned coldly.

"Protego!" she snapped. Dawlish's Stunner rebounded back at his head.

His form blurred as he ducked, and the Stunner passed over his left shoulder and burst on the wall behind him. Peter's eyes widened. No one naturally moved that fast. He had to have managed to work in a Haste spell under his breath while he had been behind the wall. A moment later, he was bearing down on Bellatrix like a pouncing lion, a Shield Charm flashing into existence in front of him to ward off any attack.

Bellatrix was unimpressed. "Ethereate," she grated. Her form became translucent and immaterial for a moment; Dawlish skidded straight through her, and his back was completely exposed for an instant.

"Expelliarmus!" she shouted. There was a burst, and Dawlish's wand flew from his grasp and clattered across the floor. Silence fell. Dawlish stood still, not even turning to face the dark witch, apparently unable to believe he had lost.

"Fifteen years to practice and that's the best you can do?" Bellatrix mocked, her haughty demeanor returning, even though her hair and clothing showed the signs of battle. "You should have joined us when we gave you the chance."

"Azkaban must have unhinged your mind. Then again, you were never wound very tight to begin with."

Bellatrix' eyes flashed. "And yet I seem to be the one who still has her wand here."

"Your arrogance is going to be the end of you someday."

"Your incompetence is going to be the end of you … tonight."

Dawlish sighed. "I admit defeat. However, tonight, it will only be the end of that traitor, not me." He started into motion again, his arm blurring.

"Stupefy!" Bellatrix snapped, speeding the burst across the room like a laser.

The Auror vanished before Bellatrix' ray reached him, however, and the Stunner exploded harmlessly on the wall. Peter let out a hopeless scream, and his mind went numb. Bellatrix' spells were fast enough, when she wanted them to be, to catch even a Hasted target. Dawlish hadn't been trying to move anywhere, however. All he had needed to do was get a lightning-quick hand into a pocket inside his robe for a waiting Portkey. Without his wand, however, he wouldn't be back in time. Peter began screaming even before Bellatrix turned back to face him.

She shook her head and compressed her lips contemptuously at the sight of him, unmoved. "Now … where were we?"

Buffy had long since lost track of the time. She had lost track of just about everything. Had it been hours? Days? Weeks, even? She no longer cared. She was just a single, lonely consciousness of misery and despair, floating in a timeless, lightless void. She had relived all the worst memories of her life at least a dozen times apiece—including the last few minutes of her freedom, from the moment Voldemort had struck her with the Imperius. And, worse still, the fresh memory of the creature Lucius had brought down from the mansion in a carpet bag.

Just as the memories were getting unbearable, the dementors began to file out. She could feel their influence growing less, though her mind was already ragged with the effort of resisting them. They did not go far, however. She could feel them, just beyond the door, ready to return at a moment's notice. She still had no idea how many of them there were. But Voldemort's presence was still strong. She could feel him, feel the evil emanating off of him like stench from a bog. Moments later, she also heard the quicker, firmer strides of Lucius re-entering the room. It was strange how her other senses adjusted so quickly to make up for the loss of her eyes. Voldemort's steps were softer, less pronounced, like he was weightless and drifting across the room like a wraith. Lucius was more … human, though Buffy was loath to give him that label.

"No, Lucius," Voldemort said sternly. "Do not release it yet."

"My lord?"

"Release her."

"My lord?!"

"Do as I say, Lucius."

"Yes, my lord."

Buffy suddenly felt her feet on the ground. However, before she could so much as make a move with her legs, Voldemort chanted "Petrificus Totalus!" and she was suddenly frozen in place, as helpless as she had been before. Then she felt Lucius' hands upon her, working at her bindings … and she shuddered as they lingered at times somewhat longer than was appropriate. I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill him, she repeated to herself, but her thoughts were scattered, unreasoning, unfocused. The blindfold came first, then the gag, leaving a sore ache in her mouth as Lucius had to pry it free. Next, her arms were released, and the boning of the jacket was loosened.

"That is enough," Voldemort said firmly. Lucius allowed his hands to linger a moment longer on her upper arms before he retook his place behind his master's shoulder. Buffy glared at them both, but she could barely even will her eyes to move, so she had little success.

"Very well, Lucius," Voldemort said, his voice laden with diabolical anticipation. "You may release it now."

Lucius leant over and unfastened the clasps on the carpet bag, and then quickly stood back, departing the room moments later. Buffy's mind raced, trying to guess what Voldemort could have in there … she had no idea what a 'boggart' was … before the bag parted. A pair of hands reached out and grabbed onto the sides of the bag, and their owner pulled themselves out a moment later. Buffy's eyes would have widened had they been able to.

It was Xander.

A moment later, however, she realized that it was not Xander. He turned towards her. Wrinkles and ridges appeared on his face, his eyes turned an inhuman golden hue, and fangs sprouted in his mouth.

"Buffster," he said, in a menacing mockery of his usual quirky tone. "Fancy meeting you here."

Voldemort stirred behind her, and pulled out a short sword from within his robes. He tossed it across the floor, and it skidded to a stop only a few feet from Buffy.

The vampire Xander approached her, and Buffy struggled to move, but to no avail. Xander put a hand on her cheek; it was a mockery of his former affection, as his touch was cold and lifeless.

"You realize you cannot fight it," Voldemort observed. His voice was soft, but it had an incredible intensity. "You love it and hate it at the same time. Seeing your friends become your enemies is a great fear, indeed. But I sense that your fear goes deeper. You see this thing, and your instincts tell you to fight it … but deep down, you enjoy knowing that you cannot fight it. It removes the burden of choice, of responsibility, of consequence, the overwhelming burden that every Slayer has borne since the days of Babylon. For you fear not only that nightmares might come true for your friends … but the choices that you might have to make … if you could …" He put a sinister emphasis on the last words, as the vampire Xander bared its fangs and leaned towards Buffy's throat.

Suddenly, she could move. Voldemort had released the spell.

She twisted aside reflexively, driving the vampire back with a fierce headbutt. She dove for the sword. The vampire lunged for her, and Buffy twisted aside like a cat, the blade swinging around and crashing down on the back of the vampire's neck. Xander's face turned and gave her a hurt look as it fell from his body, and both crumbled into ash.

Buffy turned then, intent on lunging at Voldemort, but he was no longer there. Had he Apparated out of the room?

Then Buffy realized that the ashes were swirling. Another figure took shape, and Buffy backed away. Suddenly, the swirling ashes coalesced and took on human form again. Now Dawn stood before her.

"Hey Buffy," she pouted. "Remember me? Oh, that's right, you don't, you never did. Well, what do you think of me now?!" Then her face wrinkled, her eyes turned golden as well, and fangs sprouted from her mouth exactly as they had from Xander's.

Buffy's eyes widened in horror. "No … no, this can't be happening!"

Dawn stepped forward and belted her across the mouth. Buffy stumbled backward from the force of the blow. "Really? 'Coz from where I'm standing, it looks like it's happening."

"NO!" Buffy screamed, diving forward and under Vamp-Dawn's next swing. She aimed a savage kick at the base of her sister's spine, sending the vampire that had been her sister flying across the room. Driven by instinct and the desperate drive for her own survival, Buffy sprang after her, and brought the sword across her sister's neck just as she swung around. The ashes that had been her sister fell to the floor.

A moment later, the ashes swirled again, and the form of Giles emerged. Buffy didn't even wait this time. She lashed out in uncontrolled fury and desperation, and the vampire Giles crumbled to dust before it could even get a word out.

They kept coming. Anya. Oz. Cordelia. Faith. Buffy was hacking and slashing with animalistic abandon, trying to prevent the figures from forming long enough for her to see what they were, but they always managed to do so just before her decapitating blows struck.

As the second Slayer's vampiric visage crumbled to dust as well, the dust streamed all the way across the chamber, putting some distance in between Buffy and itself before it began to reform. Buffy started across the room, but froze midway, her mouth dropping open in horror. Angel stood before her.

"Buffy?" he said, his voice tight with emotion.

"NO!!" Buffy screamed, leaping forward, covering at least twenty feet in the air, her blade sweeping out in a long, graceful, powerful arc. Her aim was true, though the tears were already welling up in her eyes. She closed her eyes, waiting for the crumbling sound of Angel disintegrating into dust.

There was no crumbling. There was a thud. With a lurch of horror, Buffy turned to see Angel's body on the ground. There was no dust. There was blood, and Angel's human head rolling away into the corner, and more blood streaming from his human neck. She looked at her sword and her hands and saw them besmirched with more blood … Angel's blood … human blood … she had killed a human … Angel … a human Angel …

She sank to the floor just as Voldemort reappeared in the room. He transfigured her sword into a wisp of smoke, and it drifted away with a soft, muted hiss. Buffy made no move to stop him. Her mind was too numb to even form the command to send to her limbs.

"Choices, Miss Summers, choices," Voldemort said softly, even gently. "Inescapable choices. Lucius believed your greatest fear was harm befalling your friends. An astute guess, but short of the mark. You do in fact fear harm befalling your friends. But," he said, and Buffy realized that he had been coming closer, for he took her bloodied hand in his own as he said this, "your deepest fear is not only that harm may come to your friends … but that it may be forced to come from your own hands."

"No … no …" Buffy's refrain was mindless, only semi-conscious. She couldn't get the image of the blood on her hands out of her mind, and the dementors were still near enough to force the image to play itself over and over again, and the image of Faith stabbing the deputy mayor, and the murderous image of the First Slayer, and everything else she had learned of what had happened to every girl in her lineage before her—what they had been forced to do, and to endure.

Buffy was too numb to resist as Voldemort bound her again. He employed no spells, no weapons. She simply stood there, her consciousness somehow removed to deep within herself, as he refastened the impenetrable straitjacket around her, replaced the blindfold, and floated her into the air again. He left the gag hanging around her neck as a reminder that it could be restored whenever he wished, but did not force her to wear it again.

The dementors had returned then, and the memory of the entire incident began to replay itself in her mind over, and over, and over again. She was given nothing to eat; at odd intervals, far apart, he would use a nourishing charm of some kind, that kept her alive, even physically healthy, but denied her the physical sensation of eating something. Eventually, even bound as she was, she had managed to fall asleep from sheer weariness.

Suddenly, she felt the torrent of horrible memories streaming through her consciousness begin to subside. The sound of coarse robes rustling reached her again, and she realized, with what part of her mind was left for rational thought, that the dementors were filing out for some reason.

"Good evening," Voldemort's voice suddenly reached her. It was the first human voice she had heard in a long time, and despite how much she hated its owner, she latched onto it like a drowning swimmer onto a life preserver.

She answered by taking a few deep breaths. She wasn't sure she trusted her voice, and she was not going to give him such a tangible indication of how fragile she was at the moment.

"You're looking well," he noted mildly.

She took another few breaths.

She felt his hand on her arm. She was amazed that, despite the fact that his hands were thin and bony, his touch did not revolt her the way Lucius' had. It did not have the same vulgar heat behind it. A moment later, she realized that he was actually only checking her pulse.

"Your discipline is impressive," he noted. "For one carrying the memories you do, for being surrounded so long by so many dementors. You amaze me more and more every day."

"How … how long?" she managed.

She could almost feel him smiling at that, though she had kept her voice steadier than she would have believed possible only moments earlier. "It is now the evening of Monday, the first of July, Miss Summers," he answered casually. Buffy was surprised that he was actually giving her an answer, and she wondered if he was lying, but for some reason, she actually thought that he was telling the truth. If he wasn't, he wasn't lying by much, as that would make it two days since her capture, which felt about right.

"I was supposed to come home on Sunday," she informed him. Her voice was getting steadier again.

"So you were. I took the liberty of writing to young Willow and informing her that you were staying here. I am quite an adept forger, though in the future, of course, you'll be writing your own letters to calm your friend's anxieties about your extended stay."

"Go to hell, my lord," she hissed.

He chuckled softly. "You have strength, but we already know I can hold you long enough to make you write a letter."

Buffy cursed inwardly. He was right. Her mind was constantly tired, and she was emotionally drained. There was no way she could fight him forever … not with his dementors and boggart, and Lucius and Bellatrix assumedly not far away.

"What do you want with me?"

Voldemort laughed softly. "Now, now, Miss Summers. That would be telling. The possibilities are endless. Besides … I haven't finished making those plans yet."

Buffy's mind raced. "In other words, your Plan A for me didn't work."

Voldemort laughed again. "I don't deny it. Your detective's instincts strike true again. 'Plan A,' as you call it, was simple and unimaginative, however. I see this now. You were to have gone home on Sunday as planned, under my Imperius. It would not have been hard to use you to lure your young friend here, along with my wand that she carries; to finish off the wolf, though of course, you were the only potential dreamweaver with the capability of breaking into his dreams and revealing my agent; to spy on that fool Dumbledore's preparations for his futile resistance; and to exert my power through you into my former House, where your influence is waxing as quickly as my own did—though, of course, I was only eleven."

"Sorry for spoiling your plans."

"On the contrary, Miss Summers, you are proving to be magnificent beyond my wildest dreams … both of you are, in fact … and, ultimately, I will still have your help in luring young Willow to my side as well. Imperio."

Buffy resisted, but she had no chance against him in her current state. The calm of the Imperius Curse descended upon her with terrifying ease, though she still felt a piece of herself that was still herself, and centered her attention there, struggling to break free.

"Tell me about young Willow," Voldemort commanded softly, lowering his voice. "Start with how you came to Hogwarts. Tell me everything."

No, no, no! the piece of herself deep within herself railed, but it was no use. Words began to flow from her mouth. She told about how Dumbledore, Fudge, and Flamel had come to Sunnydale with their letters; about Dumbledore's secret vault in Gringott's with Voldemort's old possessions, where they had gotten her wand; about their Trust Fund; about Willow speaking Parseltongue at Hogsmeade; and she told about Willow and Harry, which hurt her personally more than anything else she was saying, though she realized some of the other secrets she had revealed were probably actually more damaging and that he had already known something of Willow and Harry's relationship from Snape's letter. By the time she finally shook free of Voldemort's spell, her mind felt like someone had scraped it for hours with sandpaper.

"Well," Voldemort said, a smile in his voice, but actually also a touch of awe, as if even he himself could never have anticipated what she would have been able to reveal to him. "I'm glad we had this little conversation. You both are exceeding my wildest expectations. By the way, in case you are curious, earlier tonight, your friend fought her first duel at Hogwarts, and acquitted herself magnificently."

"You can't hold me under that mind-control mojo forever," Buffy protested weakly, the last of her strength ebbing. She wasn't going to talk to him about Willow any more if she could possibly help it. She also wasn't about to believe that Willow had been gotten into a duel with anyone, though the tone of glee in Voldemort's voice as he had said that had been disquietingly genuine. "You have too many other things to do."

"Quite right, Miss Summers, quite right. Ultimately, however, you will do what I ask of you."

"No." She didn't have the strength to muster a stronger oath of defiance.

"Truly, Miss Summers?" Voldemort asked, a subtle but burning intensity in his voice. As a signal that the conversation was coming to a close, and to emphasize that he intended to have the last word, he refastened the gag between her teeth. "Think of your situation. Think of where you have come in three days. Think of how far you were broken on Friday night alone. Think that we have the rest of the summer together.

"And think that you are right. I do indeed have other things I must do. I will be here often, but I cannot linger here forever. And think that in a few more weeks, my Imperius will no longer be necessary to bind you. Lucius' will be strong enough. But as long as you do as you are commanded willingly, he will not touch you, lest he suffer my wrath. Then think of the other option … yourself under Lucius' Imperius, and myself not here to keep him in check. You are not the only one that I have kept restrained here. Think of that, when you consider how necessary you intend to make it for us to control you."

Tears flowed anew behind Buffy's blindfold as Voldemort strode from the chamber.

Author's Notes: Thanks again for all your feedback! It really makes all this worthwhile.

Buffy13-buffyspike4eva: Special thanks to you for all your reviews of the earlier chapters! W00t!

Also, in case you were wondering, Moody and Dawlish capturing Bellatrix was in no way part of canon, but I don't remember ever reading who did capture her, so I think it was a legitimate ad lib. The "fifteen years" was tricky because the Lestranges and Barty Crouch were captured after the war ended (which was sixteen years before the end of this because this would coincide with book six' timeframe, after OOTP), but I don't think we ever find out how much later.

Coming Soon: "As Time Goes By." Time continues to turn at Hogwarts and the end of summer approaches. Willow keeps getting stronger and stronger, and is knocking on the door of some much more advanced stuff.

Sneak Preview:

"Thinking of becoming an Animagus, are you?"

Willow shrugged and nodded.