The Trap
The moon shone down on the Scottish Highlands; casting its silvery light on the mountains and the glen where the black horse galloped towards the lake.
Buffy sat quietly on the stallion's back, her mind darting from one idea to another as the being she rode charged at the stone wall separating them from the loch. Now wasn't the right time to fight for her freedom, any movement might put the not-a-horse off its stride and send them both crashing into the wall. So the Slayer remained calm, monitoring her surroundings and hoping that the creature's magic would ensure they'd both land safely on the opposite side. They were almost at the wall now, closing in... three strides away... two...
The black horse's golden eyes glowed. Muscles bunching, back-arching, neck stretching, the horse made the impossibly high leap. Buffy leaned forward, her hand entangled in the long mane, her legs gripping his sides, and praying that once they were over he'd release her. She'd a bad feeling he wouldn't, that this was just the start of something much worse, something that he hoped would end in her death.
The wall vanished from sight as the horse cleared it and landed in deep mud. Without the slightest founder, it set off again – straight for the lapping waters of the Black Lake. Buffy squirmed on its back. Yep, still stuck.
"Stop!" Buffy yelled. "I know you're a Kelpie, an Each-Usage, and you're classified as a demon."
The horse snorted and shook its head, in either disagreement or disgust.
"You would try to deny it!" The lake was its destination. What was the best way to stop it? Wand or Stake? No, not with magic, they'd trace it. Her stake? She'd no idea if a Each-Usage could be killed with a stake, but most things didn't appreciate a piece of wood sticking out of their jugular...
"I'm giving you a choice, Mr Ed." The edge of the lake was closer now, fifty yards, forty... "Stop or become Mr Dead." Weirdly, she felt guilty threatening it. Why? Was it because it didn't look like a demon? Or because it didn't give of the demony vibes?
The horse dared to roll an eye, open its mouth and show her its teeth.
Killing it might bring her bad luck. She gave a little mental shrug. It sure as hell would bring her bad luck if she didn't. The beast was classed as both dangerous and endangered by the Ministry. If they found out the last Kelpie in the area had been slain, they might come looking for her.
SPLASH!
She took one huge breath before she was submerged in a cold, dark, watery world. Using the hand that was magically trapped in the horse's mane, she pulled back with Slayer strength. The ancient holding magic of a Kelpie versus the equally ancient demon-fighting Slayer.
The horse opened its mouth, bubbles exploding from it as the creature screamed in pain. It rose through the water, its head breaking the surface of the lake and enabling Buffy to grab a mouthful of air.
"Whoo-hoo!" She lifted her fist, triumphantly waving a large clump of horsehair in the air. Now their roles had been reversed. The shock of losing half its mane to her had broken the sticking magic and now she had the horse trapped between her legs.
"Who's laughing now, demon Mr Ed?" Still keeping her grip on the horse, she spun the hair between her palms to form a twist of rope. Ha! The Sorting Hat said she wasn't clever enough to be a Ravenclaw? She so was!
When the horse attempted to throw her, Buffy was ready. She leaned forward, looping the noose she'd made over the horse's nose to create a rudimentary bridle. The Each-Usage shook his head to throw it off, but the halter was made from his own hair and was going nowhere. He plunged, trying to dive, but Buffy kicked at his sides and the Kelpie rose to the surface.
"No, you don't!" Buffy dug her heels in, and drove the Each-Usage towards the lake's bank.
Once on dry land, Buffy slipped from his back and backed away from the animal. The water horse stood, his head hanging and shivering.
"Serves you right," she said, trying not to feel sorry for it. "If you hadn't tried drowning me, none of this would have happened. You need to remember, there's always something darker out there than you."
A flash of Glory's face came into her head and then the portal she'd leapt into instead of Dawn. Although the memory wasn't as raw as it had been, her words of warning still hung heavy in the air. Death had been her gift. It had her turning abruptly away from the horse. To avoid looking at it, she busied herself with her clothes: pulling off her wet coat, sitting on a rock and tugging off a shoe. When she tilted it, lake water poured out.
"What, in the name of the Bright Shining Ones are you?" a man's voice asked.
She looked up, to find the horse gone and a tall, dark-haired, sharp-faced man dressed all in leather standing in its place. He rubbed at the base of his skull and his eyes widened. "What have you done? You've ripped half me hair out! I've a bald patch! You've turned me bald, woman!"
Buffy took off her sock and wrung it out. "I was half-drowned and you lost a little bit of hair and yet you're the one complaining? Suck it up."
He stopped searching his head for bald patches and took a quiet step towards her.
"Come any closer, Horse-boy," she said, still looking at her wet socks and not at him, "and I'll do more than put a bridle on you. I'll wrap this sock around your neck and strangle you with it."
"I'm sorely aggrieved. A favour I did, and I'm rewarded with threats of violence, and... baldness." He flounced over to the trunk of a broken tree and plonked himself down on it, looking every inch the wronged man.
"What with the huh?" Buffy rolled her sock back on. "Hey, demon. Newsflash. You are the one who abducted me and tried to kill me. Quit whining!"
"I did not, and stop calling me a demon!" he protested bitterly. "I was only just below the lake's surface all the time. All you needed to do was stick your head out the water."
Buffy huffed in disagreement. Her version of the events varied from his.
"A lesson I was teaching you. A lesson to be less trusting of those you meet."
"Yeah? Of People like you," she muttered darkly.
"Aye, even me," he admitted. "But it was a lesson I setting out to teach." He rubbed the back of his head once more. "An' I have the baldness to prove it."
Buffy wrung the water out of her coat and gave him the stink-eye.
"If," he continued grandly, "a Each-Uisge I'd been, I'd have had you at the bottom of the lake before you'd the chance to cry out your mother's name." He smiled – smugly – at her as if he'd just scored a point.
Buffy eyed him. His long dark hair was dry and so were his clothes. Did that happen naturally when he came out the water? Or had he used magic to dry himself? She could too. Except... she couldn't – not with the Ministry's Tracer spell on her wand.
"You're not a Kelpie?" she asked, frowning. "What are you? Some sort of shape-shifting Were-horse?"
The man didn't answer. He went on in his soft lilting accent, sounding more and more cocky as he spoke. "Did your family never tell yer to avoid strange horses that you might find grazing near water?"
Buffy shot him the evil eye. "Nope. It was more of avoiding perverts and weird men in the mall."
He continued on, quite happily. "Bad things happen to pretty maidens who go off with strange horses or are lured in a handsome face like my own." And his smirk bordered on a leer.
"Are you attached to that face?" she asked. "Or would you like me to rearrange it – for free?"
He waved a hand. "Ach, you're just feelin' sore because I made a fool of you."
"I'm not the one wearing a bridle and complaining of baldness." But really, he had a point. She'd gotten on his back and rode off without thinking things through. She'd forgotten about all she'd learned as a Witch and she hadn't listened to her Slayer vibes. A price had been paid for that mistake, and she'd been lucky that it hadn't cost her more than a quick soak in the lake. With a sigh, she stood up and began pulling on her saturated jacket, the wet fabric sticking to her arms.
When a waft of warm, sweet magic drifted over her, Buffy tensed, relaxing only when she realised that the Kelpie was drying her with his magic. He had a little smile on his lips that confused her.
"The least I can do is stop you dying of pneumonia." He offered her a hand and Buffy gave it a suspicious look. "Ach, don't be like that with me. I'll not be tricking you again. I've been respectably beaten, and the laws of magic say that I owe you a boon."
Curious but still suspicious, Buffy put her hand in his. It felt as warm as a human's, warmer even. She also felt his magic. A raw, powerful, wild magic that was different to that of his horse form. Then it had been subdued and had registered low on her Spidey-senses; now it was strong, ancient and organic, and it confused the hell out of her Slaydar.
"What are you?" she asked, dropping his hand.
He dropped his eyes, looking away almost shyly, although she had a feeling shyness was alien to his nature. "I'm a Phouka".
Buffy laughed. "A Fooker?" She laughed again. "You said it, buster!"
He shot her a glare; dark irises ringed in gold. "I'm a Phouka! Not a Fooker! Some call us Pooks, or maybe Puck. Many names we've had over time, but our home has stayed the same. We were here before the humans came, back when the ice covered the land, retreated, and then covered it once more. We've always been here and always will, although there are less of us than there once were."
"Puck?" Buffy latched on to the one name she'd heard before. "I've heard that name before." Where was the question? Not from her Hogwarts' books. Was it from one of Giles'?
The happy smile was on his face again. "I had an uncle who became famous after befriending a young boy called Will. He put him in one of his plays to commemorate him. You might have heard of him by another name – Robin Goodfellow?"
Buffy shook her head. "Nope. Nada. Unless... Oh!" Her face cleared. "Robin of Sherwood. Robbed from the rich and gave to the poor?"
"He did not! You have the wrong man!" spluttered the Phouka. "A donkey's head is what Puck gave out, not gold from his pocket. Better not to call me a Puck, better to go with Pook."
"Okay, okay, Pook." She had a feeling that he was telling the truth about being a member of the Fae, and since she wasn't getting the slay vibes... "It's late and time for Cinderella to make an exit."
"Wait!" He danced in front of her trying to block her path. "Don't leave me, Cinderella!"
Buffy evaded him and began walking along the beach towards the Forbidden forest.
He bounced along side her. "Marry me!"
"What?!" Her face tightened with annoyance as she marched on.
He stopped in her path again, hands on hips and his head thrown back. "Think what a good husband I'd make ye. We'll build a croft on the side of the mountain," he pointed behind him, "and I'll fish while you spin and clean, and rock the baby's cradle with your bare foot."
Buffy snorted. "Gee, you sure know how to tempt a girl. I think... I preferred it when you were drowning me."
The Pook shrugged. "I thought that was what all the human girls dreamed of? Least they did, when I was growing up. I was always being chased by them."
"Yeah, trying to kill you. I don't care what century you grew up in, a girl has always wanted more than a roof over her head." She continued marching for the trees, her eyes seeking out the path that led to Hogwarts.
He continued alongside her, a bundle of energy tied in a human form. "Secretly, I think you're enamoured. It's my face. The maidens find it irresistible."
"You're getting confused with irritating?" She gave him a hard look and wrinkled her nose when she spotted the twinkle in his eyes. "Is this your idea of a joke?"
He pouted. "I'm a Pook; mischief is what we do. I'm owing you so the offer of marriage is there, if you want it. Despite having a kick like a Clydesdale mare and a grip that would put many a grave digger to shame, your face isn't completely repulsive." He dropped his eyes to her body. "I'm sure there's something else I could work with."
"Wow, thanks." A Clydesdale? That was almost as bad as Tom asking if she was part troll. She decided to ignore the leering; from the little she'd read, the Fae had a warped sense of morality. It was less black and white and more... orange and blue.
He grinned happily at her. "I'm happy to bed and wed yer. Maybe in that order." He wiggled his dark eyebrows at her.
Buffy's walk became a lot faster, forcing him to jog to keep up.
"You're too old for me. You're face might be that of a youth's, but I bet you're as old as dirt." It wasn't fair that she couldn't use magic outside of school. She could cast a Petrificus Totalus and leave him tied to a tree.
The question made him skittish. "Er, I was born... How long has it been since the Romans left?"
Buffy rolled her eyes."Ugh! What is it about me and older guys?"
He shrugged, keeping pace with her. "I don't look me age." He bit his bottom lip. "Do I?"
"It's the baldness. It ages you," Buffy retorted.
That had him feeling his head once more, and she hid a smirk by looking around. Over to the right was a dark spot between the trunks of the trees. Was that the path entrance? If so, it was time to ditch the Pooker. She didn't want him trailing along behind her all the way to the Hogwarts' wards.
"Look, meeting you was..." her voice trailed off – 'nice' was not the word she was looking for. Should she say strange, peculiar, odd, or go for plain weird..?
"Being beholden to ye means an introduction," the Pook said quietly. He stepped in her path, forcing her to either stop or collide into him, and when she halted, quickly stepped away.
With a strange courtly formality, he bowed low and waved his hand with a flourish. "My name is Rory. Rory Dannan of the Shining Ones. I am the Pook of this Forest and all you see and don't see from the Great Wall to the Northern Sea. I'm considered a fine catch, but if marriage does not agree with you, then I'll offer my help in another way."
Buffy eyed him thoughtfully. A guy that old might know something... It was worth asking. "Do you know anything about Dementors, Rory?"
He raised a brow. "Dementors? What do you want to know about them?"
"Uh-huh. The killing of," she added helpfully.
"Hmm, that's not an easy one." Rory frowned, looking up at the night sky as he considered the problem. "Possibly, there is a way. Leave it with me and let me think on it. Anything else I can help you with, O' woman of great mystery? Or will you be wishing for a star next?"
Buffy pulled a face. Did she want him to know her name? If she gave him something easier to deal with, he'd leave her alone. "Do you know any Grindylows?" she asked. "I have a Grindylow problem. Every morning, a pack appears at my bedroom window waking me and my friends. Can you stop them from doing that?"
Rory blinked, surprised. "Grindylows? How do they get up to your bedroom win-. Ah!"" His face became sly. "You're one of those Witches from Hogwarts, aren't you? A Slytherin. And there I was wondering how you knew the bridle trick." He took a step closer. Lowering his voice, he breathed, "I know who you are. And I know what the Merpeople are calling you."
Buffy folded her arms. "Is it rude?" she asked flatly, daring him to repeat it.
He smirked and waggled a finger. "Buffy Summers, I'm too much of a gentleman to say. They do say you tore the Grindylows apart with your bare hands to save the boy. They do say that when provoked your magic becomes as wild and furious as the magic of the Old Ones."
Folding his arms, Rory went on, " I don't feel so bad now, losing to the likes of you. Never fret. You have my word that the Grindylows will not approach your window again." Magic hung in the air, with all the seriousness of a sacred promise.
"Cool." Buffy pushed past him, moving under the trees and following the path.
His laughter followed her. "It'll be me spying there instead."
Buffy stomped even faster.
"As for the Dementors..." Rory called, and his next words stopped her, "I've a mind that a Babylonian Devil Trap is what you'll be needing to sort out those pesky shades."
…...
A/N;
thanks to my beta Deiticlast. Any mistakes are mine as I altered when it came back.
Rory Dannan the Pook/Pooker/Phouka/Puck
inspired by a character in a book written by the Irish author R.A MacAvoy. That led me to research Pookers and led me to information that they were not just Irish but throughout the British Isles and possibly Scandinavia.
Most say they are Fae and mischievous. Sometimes they are helpful and other times not so. The High King Brian of Ireland is the only (Muggle) to ride one. He plucked hairs from its tail, twisted it and created a rudimentary bridle, this he used to tame the Phouka.
Puck in Midsummer Night's dream is thought to have been a Pook. The English tended to call him Robin Goodfellow but legends and tales do get confused.
Newt Scamander also used a magical bridle to tame the water horse he rode in Fantastic Beasts. Most likely that was a Each-Usage.
Babylonian Devil Traps or Mesopotamian Devil Traps are a real thing. Mine is a little older than 200AD, as you will find out.
I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. Several of you guessed correctly, well done!
If you enjoyed it please review. Otherwise I think no one is reading...
Hmm so what's next then...
Oh, yes. Guess who's waiting up for her?
