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!

CHAPTER 41:

THE FIRST GUSTS OF THE STORM

Vincent Byron was sitting in the Slytherin common room, enjoying a game of wizard's chess with Elaina Delacroix, the seventh-year prefect and current head of the table. Chess was a great game, but the real game was in the fact that they were playing together. Elaina recognized Vincent as the most advanced of the incoming class and the most influential among the first-years. Her playing with him increased his status in the eyes of his classmates, and sent the message that he was forging powerful alliances as well as being powerful in his own right. Elaina herself was sacrificing some temporary status by playing with a first-year, but for the sake of establishing an alliance that all the observant players knew would grow in power if Vincent at all lived up to his potential.

"Check," Elaina announced.

Vincent sighed. He could take her last bishop with his last knight, and then she could take his knight. Neither one of them would have enough pieces left to win. She was playing for a draw.

"Boring," he shrugged, and played into the tie.

"I've had enough excitement for one night," she answered wearily. Vincent believed her; Elaina was not normally known for being risk-averse, despite the fact that she had been the one prefect besides the absent Malfoy not in on the attack on Willow.

"You should be happy about it," Vincent observed. "I think your playmates might have made Willow mad."

"Mayb … gyaah!" Elaina's measured response was cut off as the door from the corridor outside swung open and a fierce wind blew in. Vincent, Elaina, and the other Slytherins in the room had their wands in their hands in a flash. Dark, fingerlike trails like black cirrus clouds had reached out past the door to pull an elongated, windswept stormcloud through. The cloud swept through the room like a gale, throwing papers, books, and the chessboard to the floor. It sped through the arch at the far end and up the stairs into the heart of Slytherin Tower.

"What was that?" Elaina asked breathlessly.

Vincent grinned. "I thought I said. Willow mad."

Torrence Appleby was in the infirmary visiting her Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, whom she'd grown rather fond of before he was attacked. She hated seeing him restrained the way he was; it was going to be the night just after the full moon, so even though he had lain in torpor for the past two nights after his change, Madame Pomfrey was taking all precautions. The nurse kept saying he was healthy, they just didn't know if he was going to wake up, which made no sense to her; she hoped she'd understand more when she was older.

Suddenly, a small mist appeared next to her and a house-elf materialized.

"Is you a nurse, Miss?" he asked her.

"Um, no, but I'm here a lot …" Torrence answered nervously.

"I is needing medicine for head-hitting and bumping and oozy-woozyness," it told her.

"Concussion," she summed up for him. She walked over to a cabinet where Madame Pomfrey kept her mid-level remedies, and withdrew a light blue tincture. "Here," she said.

"Thank you," the elf said, quickly grabbing the medicine and vanishing again, casting an odd, almost remorseful, glance in Lupin's direction as he did.

"Don't mention it," Torrence said with a shrug. A moment later, however, a motion out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and drove all thoughts of the elf needing a concussion remedy from her mind.

"Madame Pomfrey! Madame Pomfrey!" she cried. "He's awake!"

Professor Severus Snape was in his office, grumbling as he looked up and down the row of sleeping potions turned in for the final quiz of the summer term from his first-year Potions class. It was good to see children wanting to get ahead, but it was always discouraging to see how far they needed to get to do that.

Suddenly, there was an insistent knock on the door of his office. He checked the clock on the wall. "Office hours are over!" he called.

The door opened, and Snape suddenly jumped to his feet.

"Good to see you again, too, Severus," Draco Malfoy greeted him. Snape bristled; Malfoy had never used his first name before, but the young man's eyes were glittering like silver ice, his shirt was somehow missing, he was carrying Harry Potter's Firebolt, and he was somehow here, when he was supposed to be up at his manor getting ready for his inauguration, so he guessed that there were more important stories to be told.

"This is rather unexpected," Snape observed coldly.

"I'm full of surprises," Draco answered, matching Snape's coldness. "But not for you, tonight. I gave you a duplicate of my wand a long time ago. I was hoping you still had it."

"Of course," Snape answered, quickly shifting aside a portrait of a green dragon on the wall, which gave an annoyed snort at being moved. A small, silver vault door came into view, and Snape pressed his hand against it.

"It's me," he said, and the door opened. Snape reached in, rummaged inside for a moment, and withdrew Draco's spare wand. He had never understood why the boy had wanted him to take care of it, but apparently he needed it now. Snape had always been above average at reading the threads of the Great Game, but the Malfoys were masters.

"Thank you," Draco said as the Potions instructor handed the wand to him. He took the wand and strode for the exit. Snape shrugged and began to examine the potions in front of him again. Then Draco paused at the door.

"Yes?" Snape asked.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Rosenberg is going to fight You-Know-Who at my house, where he's held Buffy prisoner for the last two months and my father's been disguised as me with Polyjuice Potion."

"What?!" Snape roared, leaping to his feet. But the Malfoy heir was already gone, and by the light draft in the corridor when Snape reached it, he had to have flown away on Potter's Firebolt.

"Three points from Slytherin for flying in the halls," he growled.

Harry sprinted through the halls of Hogwarts, ignoring the concerned looks he was getting from some of the other students he passed. He had not gotten far when Deggle appeared alongside him, bearing a vial of medicine from the infirmary, which he took greedily. He was able to make much better time after that. He had almost reached the Headmaster's office when a whooshing sound echoed through the corridor behind him, approaching rapidly. Draco came into view, riding his Firebolt, alighting a few paces away.

"Wand?" Harry asked.

"Wand." Draco handed the Firebolt back to Harry, which actually surprised him; then again, Draco had been right when he had said that Harry could not find the way to Malfoy Manor without him.

"Good," Harry answered brusquely, and continued on to the Headmaster's office. Malfoy was right alongside him. Fortunately, no one passed them; Harry had no idea how he was going to explain this. Of course, anyone who had seen a shirtless Draco Malfoy flying through the halls of Hogwarts on Harry's broomstick was going to be talking now, and probably following as quickly as they could.

They reached the gargoyle that concealed the entrance. There was a note at the base. Harry picked it up. Could Dumbledore possibly already know?

The force behind the most powerful countercurse, Harry read.

"What's that?" Draco asked. Harry passed him the note.

"The force behind the …" Draco read. "What's this?"

"Love," Harry answered softly. The gargoyle rumbled into motion, revealing the stairs to Dumbledore's office.

He caught Draco mouthing "Love?" silently out of the corner of his eye as he strode quickly up the stairs.

Dumbledore was seated at his desk. There were notebooks on his desk that looked to be the same alchemical notebooks that he had been reading the last time Harry had seen him, but the wizened wizard appeared to be taking a break. He was playing a game of Go with Fawkes; it was hard to tell who was winning.

"Professor!" Harry called urgently.

Dumbledore turned calmly to look at them. "This day has been interesting," he noted, with a kind nod towards the two of them.

"And it's not even eight," Draco grated.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. He turned to Fawkes. "Draw?" The phoenix gave a musical, assenting chirp.

"Do you know?" Harry asked quickly.

"I can guess, considering that I just felt the most powerful presence this castle has ever seen emerge in the second-floor girls' bathroom and sweep towards the tower."

"I was down in the Chamber," Draco confirmed.

"So I see," Dumbledore said. "And speaking of things I see," he continued, and he reached down behind his desk and pulled out a small cloth tunic. He Transfigured it quickly to Draco's size and tossed it to him, and the Slytherin prefect donned it gratefully.

"Oh, yes, and one more thing," Dumbledore noted. "This arrived in the mail for you a few days ago, young Mr. Malfoy," he said, withdrawing a long, thin parcel from a nook in the wall. Draco's eyes widened as he unwrapped it.

"My Skyfire," he breathed.

"For some reason, this came here when all the rest of your mail was redirected to your manor. If I didn't know better, I'd say that whoever impersonated you had no idea that this was coming."

"No one did," Draco shrugged. "Well, just Buffy." Harry turned an appraising look on the Slytherin prefect. There had definitely been something in the way he said her name. Willow had told him that Buffy had begun to fall for Draco. She had never been entirely sure of whether or not the feeling was mutual.

"Now, as a favor to an old man, I would appreciate it if you did not trouble my mind with any more worries tonight," he said wearily.

"Dumbledore, you have to do something to stop her," Harry said. "She's like … well, she's …"

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted gently, "I of course could have no idea of what Willow might be doing, but if—purely as a matter of conjecture—for any reason, Willow might be about to do something foolish, I think it would certainly not be me that would have the best chance of stopping her."

"Dumbledore, are you …" Draco began, but Harry cut him off. A moment later, realization dawned in Draco's eyes, and he turned an appraising look at the Headmaster.

"Of course," Draco said. "We would hate to burden you."

"Oh yes, Harry," Dumbledore said as they turned to leave. "I have no idea where you might be going, but if you happen to see Miss Summers, I have a package for you to give to her, too."

Dumbledore was silent for a minute after Harry and Draco had left his office. Eventually, Fawkes gave an inquiring note and cocked his head at the ancient man, leaning forward to make it clear that he wanted an answer.

"I could fight her, I suppose," he mused. "I might even win. But then she might decide she'd rather work for someone else, and then where would I find another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Dear me, but we do seem to go through so many …"

Fawkes gave another pointed chirp.

"Reason with her? My dear Fawkes, we do need to get you a mate."

The phoenix gave a decidedly irritated squawk.

Dumbledore laughed lightly.

Fawkes decided to change the subject, and gave a soft chirp, almost a purr. Then he gave another questioning chirp, somewhat lighter than the last, though no less serious.

Dumbledore smiled. That question was much easier to answer. "Oh, that? No, no Slytherin has ever been able to use it," he admitted as a breathless Torrence Appleby burst into the room, "but Buffy will. I have no doubt about that."

The top of Slytherin Tower pulsed with light and white noise from Willow's preparations for war. Three cauldrons were boiling with potions, and the redheaded wiccan was weaving defensive spells into her body and clothing and enchanting some of her and Buffy's personal effects gathered from their room.

She was just levitating the last of her Giant Strength potion into a row of vials when she heard footsteps approaching on the stairs. Her heightened senses detected the smell of greasy hair.

"I thought you might show up," she grated, not turning around.

"Miss Rosenberg, I'd certainly like to know what you're doing," Snape grated.

She turned to face him. "I'd certainly like to know if you think you can stop me," she answered coldly.

Emotions warred on Snape's countenance. Eventually, his shoulders sagged, a resigned expression spread across his face, and he backed up a step.

"Oh, but I did want to thank you for coming," she suddenly said coldly. "You see, I wasn't quite sure how to get there. Legilimens," she chanted, with a contemptuous flick of her wand. Snape let out a surprised croak before falling to the ground, clutching his head weakly.

Moments later, Willow was ready to leave. She turned to look at her smooth, trusty Cloud Nine that she had never even used before. Nonetheless, she was not interested in a smooth ride at the moment. She wanted speed. She waved her wand over the broom, focused her mind back on their first day at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and chanted, "Ad paragonum emendo." The broom blurred. In its place was the prototype that Willow had seen in the window of the Diagon Alley shop.

"Up," she commanded, and the Skyfire leapt into her hands as lightly as the Nimbus 2001 had for Buffy.

She sat astride her broom, ensuring that the wards she had placed to prevent all the artillery she was carrying within her robes from breaking were stable, and turned to face the southern sky.

"VOLDEMORT!" she shrieked into the wind, which whipped into a howling gale at the force of her unleashed fury. Instantly, she was airborne, streaming southward, dark clouds massing around and behind her as she gathered speed. The north wind fed off her wrath and sent the clouds in her wake like vast wings, but she outran them, streaking across the sky like a falling star.

"Put it away, Bella," Voldemort commanded softly. Bellatrix quickly stashed the crystal ball back underneath its cover.

"Give me your arm," he said. Bellatrix immediately held out her arm to him. Voldemort's long fingers trembled with excitement as he rolled up the dark-haired woman's sleeve and pressed his fingers to the Dark Mark on her forearm. He wasn't sure which feeling thrilled in him more: the feeling of his wand truly awakening after so many years of dormancy, or the reawakening of the power in that little slip of a girl from California whom Dumbledore had managed to spirit away to Hogwarts almost right from under his nose. The old fool had kept the girl from his grasp for a time, but even he could only stall the inevitable. The excitement of both of those was such that he barely remembered the anger and frustration he felt at having his plans exposed before they were ripe.

He turned, enjoying the view from the balcony of Malfoy Manor, searching the northern horizon eagerly for the first sign of his prizes. Hogwarts was only twenty minutes away at the speed young Willow was traveling. "And so it begins," he whispered.

Author's Notes: Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! Especially for those of you who were actually regular readers of my modest little diversion from real life, I should have been better. The first few weeks of school were … hectic … is the only lame excuse I can make.

Coming Soon: (And hopefully sooner than last time, though my once-a-week summer schedule might be hard to keep up.) Chapter 42, "Storming the Manor." Willow, Harry, and Draco converge on Malfoy Manor, with a cadre of Death Eaters manning the outer defenses and Voldemort and his lieutenants waiting within.

Sneak Preview:

Draco turned back and took another long look at the manor in the distance. "We're off our bloody rockers, you know that?"

"It had occurred to me," Harry admitted.