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.

CHAPTER 34:

A BROKEN BREAKING

Buffy sat on the bench at the side of the chamber, looking at her hands.

She was dressed in a loose, two-piece outfit of green, silver, and black that looked vaguely like Arabian dancing attire. It was far less decorative, as it had been designed for fighting, not for display, but it was cut similarly, with loose-fitting harem pants and a close-fitting choli that ended just above her navel.

She had not had to wear the blindfold in a week, though the room was now lightless, so that was generally irrelevant. She had had heat now for close to two weeks, though with the dementors perched just outside the door, she barely felt it. At least they were no longer in the room with her, however.

Suddenly, she straightened and stood, her attention drawn outward for a brief moment. She had been growing able to sense the Dark Lord's presence approaching from increasingly great distances over the past few weeks; her senses were growing attuned to him, and his power was growing as well. The door opened a moment later, and Voldemort smiled coldly at the sight of her genuflecting on the floor, her eyes to the floor at her feet. Deep within her, she despised what her body was doing, but the reactions had been conditioned into her so deeply at this point that she felt the part of her that was still her retreat into a far corner of her mind whenever she felt his presence approaching. It was her own simple but ferocious self-preservation instincts as a Slayer, only turned against her by the Dark Lord's careful machinations. She had been a psychology major. She knew what was happening. She was simply finding herself increasingly powerless to do anything about it.

"Good evening," he greeted her politely.

"Good evening, sir," she answered. "Is it evening?"

"It is indeed," Voldemort replied. "Perhaps if you perform well today, we shall see about getting you a timepiece."

"Thank you."

"Come."

Voldemort turned, and Buffy followed. The room that had been the main vault of Malfoy Manor, where Voldemort had stood to meet her when she first came here, had been emptied of its contents. A goblin digging team had been brought in the day after Buffy's capture to build some new tunnels and vaults in another part of the palace to house the Malfoy fisc; the Dark Lord had not told Buffy the details. The original vault had been constructed into a gladiatorial arena, and Voldemort was bringing his most prized fighter out to play. A small viewing box had been hewn into the wall near the ceiling at one side of the chamber, fifteen feet above the floor; Lucius, Bellatrix, and a couple of other Death Eaters were already seated there. Voldemort led Buffy to the center of the room, stood back from her, and tossed her a long, slender, curved sword. Buffy made no move to pick it up; she knew the rules by now. She was not to pick it up, or even move towards it, until Voldemort had left the chamber.

"I have urgent business in Florence tomorrow," Voldemort informed her. "So I will have to leave for a while, though I assure you it has been a delight to stay here as long as I have."

"Thank you, sir."

"So, for a send-off, I would like to do something special. Fortunately, MacNair recently arrived bearing quite a special catch." He nodded towards one of the other Death Eaters in the box.

Buffy remained silent, not meeting the Dark Lord's eyes.

"You performed admirably against the Blast-Ended Skrewts last Friday," Voldemort continued. "Tonight, we up the stakes." With that, he vanished, appearing in the viewing box beside Bellatrix. Buffy picked up the sword as the door into one of the other smaller vaults opened and a creature emerged.

The creature had the head, wings, and forelegs of an eagle and the body and hind legs of a horse. It gave a ferocious, predatory scream when it saw her.

"It's called a hippogriff," Voldemort announced. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said then to his Death Eaters, "I present to you Bucky versus Buffy."

Buffy did not understand the joke in that, if there was one, but the Death Eaters laughed wickedly. That was all peripheral to her at the moment, however. She was more concerned with the mass of beak and claws bearing down on her.

She twisted aside, attempting to rake it across the side with her blade, but it was a lot faster than something its size should have been. It twisted aside, and lashed out with one of its own razor-sharp feet. Buffy spun her blade and deflected the claw, sparks flying from the blade as though the creature's talons were made of steel, not bone. The force of the blow drove Buffy back a step, and the creature twisted and pounced, its beak driving straight for Buffy's face.

Buffy dropped to the ground and rolled, her body seeming to blur as she moved, and Bucky pounced right over her and skidded across the stone floor. Buffy had to keep her arms in close to her body to make to roll fast enough to avoid the hooves of Bucky's trailing legs, so she had been unable to slash the creature across the belly as it had leapt over her.

The hippogriff came at her again, and Buffy realized that it was a lot more intelligent than either a horse or an eagle. It pulled up short, attempting to draw Buffy in with a feint, and only Buffy's preternatural reflexes allowed her to pull away in time. She recovered her balance in the nick of time and sprang sideways to avoid the creature's follow-up lunge, tumbling across the floor and vaulting to her feet again in one fluid motion. The sound of a single, dry pair of hands applauding reached her ears for a moment, but she shut it out.

The creature began to circle her then, like a lion waiting for a moment to pounce. Buffy sprang forward, and Bucky matched her a moment later; Buffy caught both the hippogriff's claws on her blade at once, stopping him in his tracks, but was held there by the force of the creature's attack. She had to throw one foot out behind her to steady herself against being thrown backward. The creature screamed, and darted forward with its beak.

Bucky's head was less than two inches from her head when Buffy's left fist connected with the bottom of its beak with a crushing off-handed uppercut. Its head jerked backward violently from the force of the blow, and it beat its wings and sprang backward with its hind legs to sail out of reach of her counterattack. Buffy's savage spinning counter claimed only a few feathers from the hippogriff's chest, but drew no blood.

She had him back close to the wall now, however, so she pressed her attack. Her legs blurred as she crossed the distance separating them in three powerful strides, her sword held angling diagonally upward in front of her. She thrust out at the last moment to add extra speed to her sword.

Bucky turned the blade aside with one of his claws, but Buffy had expected that. She spun forward, and thudded into the hippogriff's chest with a savage shoulder bash, using all the force she had built up in her dash. The creature was thrown back against the wall. Buffy spun and thrust forward again, then, this time at an angle from the left to get around the creature's razor-sharp talons, which were suspended in midair at the moment, since Bucky had been driven back onto his hind legs. Buffy doubted he could turn very quickly on just his back legs.

She was right. He blocked with one powerful wing.

Her sword sheared straight through feathers and flesh on the hippogriff's wing, but the force of the spasm that tore through the creature's body as the blade went through was too much for even Buffy's grip; she had sacrificed balance for speed in her thrust. The sword tore free from her grip.

She drove herself backward, but the force from Bucky's movement had jarred her arm, and she was a step slow. Bucky sprang forward. He was not aligned right to hit her with his beak or claws, but he kept his wings spread, ignoring the pain. The mighty wing of the creature crushed into her chest as Bucky sprang past her. She was thrown to the ground. Had Bucky been healthy, she would never have been able to get to her feet again.

She rolled over onto her stomach and threw her palms out onto the ground as though doing a push-up. The hippogriff dove for her, and Buffy pushed off with an explosive breath, throwing herself high into the air with nothing but her hands. Bucky's claw impacted where she had been lying a moment later, driving into the ground and rending flakes of stone from the floor.

Then Buffy landed atop the hippogriff's back, and grabbed onto the feathers on the back of the creature's neck, hanging on for dear life. The creature shook itself violently, attempting to throw her, but she held on, just barely.

A moment later, however, the hippogriff suddenly drove itself backward. Too late, Buffy realized what he was doing; all she had time to do was brace herself for the impact, as the creature drove itself back-first into the side of the vault, crushing Buffy between itself and the stone wall. The air flew out of Buffy lungs and lights danced in front of her eyes, but fortunately, the creature was not as powerful moving backwards as forwards. Somehow, Buffy held on, though the spots in front of her eyes were clearing slowly and she knew that she probably wouldn't last another impact or two of that nature.

Then the hippogriff twisted away from the wall, and Buffy, still dazed, could not maintain her grip. She was able to pull of a last parting shot with her fist at the back of the hippogriff's skull, however, and the force of her being bucked from the creature's back actually added to the velocity of her strike. Bucky staggered, though Buffy was thrown back-first and upside-down into the wall. She only barely managed to get her hands down to prevent her head from sliding into to the ground. As it was, the back of her shirt, as well as the skin of her back, were scraped and torn as she slid earthward, and a fierce gasp of pain escaped her lips.

She was not down or out yet. Not yet. She was losing the exchanges of blows, however. She could sense that she was not going to last much longer. But she was not ready to give up yet. She felt the adrenaline rush that had always come whenever she was in serious danger taking over her, blocking the pain away for a few precious seconds.

With a predatory scream of pure self-abandon, she threw herself from the floor and back at the hippogriff, before it could recover from the blow to its head. Her choli, already torn and hanging clumsily around her shoulders, was more a hindrance than a help, and she tore it free of her body. In the heat of the battle, she no longer cared who was watching. Her legs still unhurt, she drove herself skyward, twisting the torn cloth in her hands and wrenching it with a wild and desperate act of contortion around Bucky's eyes as she swung onto the hippogriff's back again. For a brief moment, Bucky was blind.

That was all the time Buffy needed. With the last of her adrenaline, she threw herself sideways over the hippogriff's shoulder and tore her curved blade free of the creature's wing, where it had remained lodged for the last few seconds. The hippogriff let out a scream, but it was choked off as Buffy crouched forward like a tiger for a split-second, then drove forward and drove her blade into the base of Bucky's throat, driving the blade home with a feral scream. The blade sank into the creature's neck to the hilt, and blood spurted from the wound, staining Buffy's exposed flesh.

She rolled aside as the hippogriff crashed to the ground, and the adrenaline rush faded. She had to crawl over to the hippogriff's corpse to retrieve the tattered remains of her fighting top. Her sword faded and vanished. The animalistic abandon that had overtaken her faded at the same time, and she was suddenly acutely aware of the eyes on her, though she had not yet turned to look at them and quickly decided that she wasn't going to.

She picked up her shirt and held it around her body as best she could, then forced herself to her feet. She stood looking away from Voldemort and the viewing box, feeling Lucius' eyes burning into the back of her body. Her eyes narrowed.

"You do not stand with your back to the Dark Lord, girl!" she heard the accursed flaxen-haired man shout. She stiffened.

"Lucius!" Voldemort's sharp bark cut him off, and the tiniest sliver of a smile, completely mirthless, touched Buffy's lips. Lucius' disappointment was almost palpable.

Then, Voldemort's voice rang out to her. "Lucius is correct, Buffy." Buffy stiffened again, much worse this time, but Voldemort continued quickly, "But do wait a moment. Reparo."

Buffy suddenly realized that her top was whole in her hands again, and she quickly slipped it on.

"Now you may turn to face me," Voldemort continued dispassionately. His voice was pleased, excited even, but she knew him well enough by now to know that it was her performance, not her appearance, that had pleased him. She turned. The three male Death Eaters all had barely concealed leering expressions on their faces; Bellatrix looked almost envious, which made Buffy smile maliciously to herself. Voldemort's half-serpentine face was content, but there was no desire in it, which actually made it the easiest of the group to look at, despite its inhumanity.

"Well done," Voldemort congratulated her. "This memory will keep me in good company on my trip. However, business calls. I must be off. Lucius, please see her back to her cell."

"At once, my lord," Lucius answered obsequiously.

Buffy's mouth contorted in a sneer. She had no need of anyone to 'see her back to her cell.' She had long ago realized that she wasn't getting out of here on her own. Voldemort was no longer there; he had Apparated as soon as he had finished speaking. Buffy was already limping back to her cell before the echoes of the Dark Lord's order had died in the cavern.

She shrugged her way into the cell and lay down along the bench by the back wall, intent on getting as close to asleep as possible before the dementors returned to their positions outside her cell; it was almost impossible to sleep with them there. If she managed to get to sleep before they returned, she tended to have nightmares, but at least she could get some rest.

A moment later, however, that hope sailed out the window … or would have had there been any windows … as she heard the soft creak of the door opening again and felt a presence enter her room.

"Yes?" she asked, still lying facing the wall and declining to turn around.

"I was commanded to see you back to your accommodations," Lucius responded casually.

"Well, I'm here, and you've seen me," she responded.

"Temper, temper."

"I don't recall him giving you any orders after that."

"Indeed, young princess, neither do I." His voice was like black silk.

Buffy chuckled mirthlessly. "I'm no princess."

"No? Well, you might have been. I do believe my son's affection for you was quite genuine, and quite more than merely political."

A faint spark of heat rose within long-dormant ashes in Buffy's heart for a moment as he said that, but it cooled a moment later as though it had never been. Nevertheless, she held her tongue. Lucius was not Voldemort—he had neither the Dark Lord's sheer power nor his psychological skill. She had no intention of saying anything to him that she did not have to. In addition, she could feel the dementors reestablishing their positions just outside the door, and the cold cocoon that she had developed to protect herself from them was enveloping her again.

"Turn around," Lucius whispered, low and insistent.

Buffy neither moved nor spoke.

"Turn around," Lucius said again, a little louder. Buffy ignored him again, withdrawing further into her mental cocoon.

She suddenly felt his power building behind her. Before she could even think to move, or emerge from her cocoon enough to make the command, however, she heard his voice again behind her. "Imperio."

She gasped, but her mind had been worn down over the weeks, just as Voldemort had said it would be. It was the first time Lucius had ever used the Imperius Curse on her, however. His Imperius was different than Voldemort's; Voldemort's created the sensation of fangs pressing on the surface of the victim's mind in the attack, but created a sense of complete calm afterwards, like being half-asleep. Lucius' was less refined, but softer; it felt like Buffy's nerves had been wrapped in soft, dark silk that pulled her limbs as it wished.

"Stand up," he commanded her. Wordlessly, Buffy turned and rose to her feet.

"Come closer," he continued. She began to move towards him slowly. The dark ember that had burned briefly a moment earlier sparked again within her; once again, it lasted only a few brief moments, but it lasted noticeably longer and burned tangibly hotter than it had moments earlier. She stopped a few paces from him.

"The Dark Lord is gone," Lucius informed her, sounding for all the world like he was in complete control, despite the obsequiousness with which he had spoken to his master only minutes earlier. "In his absence, I am the master of this palace."

Buffy stood still. She had not been commanded to move or do anything. However, her mind was working. For some reason, it seemed to be working better than it had in weeks.

"In his absence, you are to obey me as you obeyed him," Lucius continued. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Buffy answered obediently, but the spark within her flared again for a brief moment as she said it. It was a sensation she had half forgotten; when Voldemort had been the one in her cell with her, she had not felt that spark in weeks even when the Dark Lord was not using Imperius.

"Good. Now, you know what I have desired of you for many weeks."

"Yes, sir," Buffy answered again. This time, the spark flared up again and did not die, however. A part of Buffy's mind that had been hibernating, even comatose, for weeks suddenly awoke again. She was still under the control of Lucius' Imperius, but suddenly, she felt that she could fight it again.

She began to circle Lucius, slowly, as though dancing, drawing a finger slowly, sensuously down his body as she circled him, starting at the side of his face and working her way down to just above his waist. Her body was still not her own to control, but for the first time in weeks, she felt another consciousness within herself that actually felt like fighting for control again.

Her hands slipped beneath Lucius' robe and began to slide the Death Eater's rope belt free of his waist. There was an unmistakable bulge beneath his trousers. Her hands continued their work as though mechanical, but the touch of … that … set off a fire of disgust and revulsion through the newly-reawakened part of Buffy's consciousness. Lucius, completely oblivious, closed his eyes and gave a soft, guttural nothing sound in his throat.

Buffy genuflected in front of him.

"Good, Slayer, good," Lucius moaned, his voice quivering with expectation.

The spark in the back of Buffy's mind swept outward, blossomed, became a burning flame. Her inner thoughts crystallized, and while she was still not in control of her limbs, she suddenly felt more in control of her mind than she had in weeks. It was as though her consciousness had been broken, but was somehow reassembling itself under the pressure of the Imperius Curse, and of Lucius' undisguised attentions. Lucius opened his eyes, perhaps sensing something faltering in his Imperius, realizing he had allowed himself to get too engrossed in the moment and had allowed his concentration to falter.

"Bad, Slayer, bad," she grated, her voice laden with undying venom. It was the last warning Lucius got that his Imperius had been broken.

Buffy sprang forward and skyward with all of the strength she could muster. Had she not just been worn down from fighting a hippogriff, she might have killed him. As it was, her knee connected with his crotch at the same time her elbow connected with the bottom of his chin. Had she been an inch taller or her arms an inch longer, she might have made it to his windpipe.

With an earsplitting howl, Lucius flew backward and off of her as though he had been hit by a truck. His wand fell from his fingers and clattered across the room.

Buffy was nowhere near finished with him, however. Dazed with pain, he was in no position to get a spell off on her as she lunged forward, seized him by his robes, swung him around, and drove him back-first against the wall. Another cry of pain burst from his lips.

"Petrificus Totalus!" a cold, dry, familiar voice behind her hissed. Buffy suddenly felt her arms, and the rest of her body, frozen in place. Lucius, while not frozen, was still pinned against the wall by her unmoving grip, and was too short of breath to get a spell off.

How is he still here?! He said he was leaving! Buffy's mind raced. She was in trouble. Lucius' cry of agony had disguised the popping sound of Voldemort's return.

"You astound me, do you know that? Weeks of effort have just been wasted. I thought I had taught you better. I'm very disappointed in you, Lucius." Lucius jerked at that, and Buffy would have had she been able to. He hadn't been speaking to her?

"I ought to leave you there like that, do you know? Pinned in the air against a stone wall by a Slayer … not so unlike crucifixion, actually. I imagine you'd die very slowly and painfully in a few hours."

Lucius' face drained of what little color it had left. "N … no, my lord … please …" he begged, his breath ragged.

"Silence!" Voldemort hissed. "Fortunately for you … extremely fortunately for you … I still have need of you. Mobiliarbus." Buffy suddenly found herself pulled away from Lucius, as though she were a mannequin being dragged backward. She stayed upright, and her frozen position did not change, but Lucius suddenly fell forward and lay rasping for air on the stone of the cell.

"Th … thank you … my lord …" he managed.

"I SAID SILENCE!!" Voldemort roared, in a far more powerful and chilling voice than Buffy had ever heard him use before. She had never really noticed, but he had never shouted at her before. Not once. Voldemort brushed past Buffy then, and lifted Lucius to his feet. "Tie your belt," he hissed dangerously. Flushed with embarrassment, Lucius struggled with his belt.

"You fool," Voldemort continued. "You pitiful, witless fool. Did you think I set no wards on this chamber, or on the girl? I felt the moment her spirit blossomed again. You've just set the treatment back at least three weeks. Perhaps more."

He loosed his grip on Lucius then, and the once-proud Death Eater, his suave demeanor utterly shattered, collapsed against one of the benches along the wall, still in agony, but getting no sympathy from either of the other occupants of the room.

Voldemort was recovering control of his voice, recovering the low, almost dignified intensity that Buffy had found at once so terrifying and so hypnotic for the last few weeks. "Get your wand, and get out of my sight. If you have a scrap of wisdom in that overconfident brain of yours, you will remain extremely scarce for some time. I do believe you have just made two of the most powerful beings in the world very upset."

Lucius staggered to his wand, collapsing on the floor twice en route. Eventually, he managed to get to his wand.

"Don't," Voldemort commanded as Lucius began to draw power to heal himself. He waved his wand and mouthed a few complex incantations that Buffy couldn't quite follow, but she caught the word Crucio in the midst of it.

"If any healing spells touch you for the next forty-eight hours," Voldemort continued dangerously, "the curse will be unleashed. Localized. Just in that region between your legs that you seem to have some difficulty controlling. Pain always seems to be an effective instructor of discipline."

Buffy could not see Lucius anymore, as he had had to pass by her to get to his wand, but from the sound that burst from his throat at that, Buffy thought he might be about to cry. She would have smiled had she been able, and an unmistakable twinkle entered her eyes despite her predicament.

Lucius limped from the room. Voldemort did not say a word, or move back into Buffy's line of sight, or release the paralysis spell, for another few seconds. Indeed, from the lack of sound or movement of air, Buffy did not think he was moving any more than she was. Her spirit was roaring within her, however, and she felt herself fighting to throw off the Full Body-Bind. With a hiss, she felt one of her fingers move, then another.

Suddenly, she found she could move again. Voldemort had released the spell. She held her ground, however, remembering the last time she had aimed a flying kick at the Dark Lord. She also did not turn around to face him. She straightened her posture, abandoning the pose that she had been frozen in while holding Lucius to the wall, but kept looking at the wall. If he wanted that show of respect, he could try to compel her himself—and she was keeping her muscles tense for when he tried.

"Well, that was disappointing," he hissed nonchalantly.

"It was," Buffy said, disciplining her voice to nearly a match of Voldemort's own self-control. "Though it would have been a lot less disappointing if you hadn't shown up for another minute."

Voldemort actually chuckled. "I must say, it was quite tempting."

"You should give in to temptation more often."

"Regrettably, I require Lucius alive at the moment. Had it been otherwise, I would gladly have gone about my business in Italy. However, in another few weeks, I will have much less need of Lucius Malfoy. Perhaps then we will both be able to chastise him properly."

"Ooh, I'll mark my calendar."

"Back to your flippant American ways, for the most part," Voldemort noted. "Pity. You were learning so well. Imper ..."

Buffy had been expecting him to pull that curse out again, however, and had been waiting for the feel of him drawing his power. As soon as he began the word, she twisted and lunged, low and hard, her legs nearly blurring as she drove herself across the room in the direction of Voldemort's voice. Her aim was true, she realized with a flash of desperate hope as her fist closed on Voldemort's face.

Suddenly, her fist was swallowed in a field of blackness. Voldemort's cape had swirled out as if possessed of a mind of its own, throwing itself in the path of her attack. It was punching a wall of thick, soft, cold velvet—and it took all the momentum out of her attack.

"Impedimenta!" Voldemort's voice hissed from behind the cape. A burst of impact hammered Buffy in the solar plexus like an immense fist; Voldemort had aimed his curse straight through his own cape, throwing it from his body but throwing Buffy back across the room at the same time. Spots danced in front of her eyes as she rolled to her feet, but she knew that it was too late.

"Imperio," Voldemort's voice came again.

Her mind was fully awake again now, and she fought back against Voldemort's mental attack with every bit of the ferocity she had found within herself on the night she was captured. She was feeling more herself than she had in weeks, and every reawakened fiber of her being was screaming against the possibility of repeating the last few weeks. She was tired and hurt from her duel with the hippogriff, however, and had already been mentally drained by the effort of breaking out of Lucius' Imperius, weaker though it was. Gradually, painstakingly, the barbs of Voldemort's curse forced their way past the surface of her mind. She gasped, and actually cried out as they penetrated, and the calm of Voldemort's Imperius descended over her again.

Minutes later, she was back in the hated bindings that he had not made her wear for several weeks now. However, her mind had regained much of the sense of itself … and something more. On their last night together, she, Willow, and Hermione had been studying dementors, and Hermione had told them the story of how Sirius Black had stayed sane at Azkaban, surrounded by the things. It had been because he was innocent, and that he had been framed—it had not been a happy thought, but unlike most of the other unhappy thoughts everyone was left with, it had kept him sane.

In the corner of her mind that was still herself, working wildly as Voldemort bound her again, Buffy realized why Sirius' bad memories had not destroyed him while others' had. Duty. Sirius knew that somewhere out there had been a Death Eater on the loose with his sights set on his godson's life. That had given him a sense of purpose, of duty. Those were never happy things, but unlike other miseries, they gave reason and direction to life. They took miseries and made them not better, but worthwhile. They kept a person from going mad.

As a short, sharp pop announced Voldemort's departure from the room, a slow, combative smile crossed Buffy's face. The dementors were returning into the room with her, but their presence did not affect her the way they previously had. With most of her mind free once again, but with the memories of the things that had been done to her over the last few weeks still fresh in her mind, she was able to call to her mind once again why she did the things she did, in spite of her fears about the people she loved, in spite of all the horrible things that she had done and that others had done to her. The simple clarity of her duty, lost for so long since leaving the Hellmouth, returned to her, and she remembered why she fought, who she fought against, and who she was.

In every generation, there is a chosen one. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.

That was not a happy thought. But it was something to hold onto.

A/N: Thanks again for all your feedback (and quadruple thanks to Jedi Buttercup for reviewing the last four older chapters, too)! I feel like I should throw you guys a picnic. You guys rock. (Maybe we could just meet at the Three Broomsticks after work … any takers?)

The pace will really start picking up at ch. 36, and we'll start getting toward parts that should be a little more … active. (Though giving Lucius a bit of comeuppance this chapter was kinda fun, too.)

Coming Soon: Chapter 35, "Teaching and Learning." An unexpected piece of news and an unexpected career opportunity present themselves to Willow.

Sneak Preview:

"Were you looking for me?" Willow asked.

"I was indeed," Dumbledore confirmed. "I was wondering if I could borrow your help for the rest of the day, and maybe tomorrow."

"Um … well, sure," she agreed, hoping that she wasn't volunteering for anything exceptionally dangerous. "What do you need help with?"