Chapter 37

It was quiet. The occasional sound of a page turning and the chirping of distant crickets, the only sounds breaking the silence. The only light coming from lamps, warding off the darkness that crept in through the windows and out of the corners. There was a calm feeling. Undisturbed silence that felt strange in the holiday season.

Turning the page, again, Xander rubbed his eyes. Too many words. Too many words! Settling on the next line of gibberish he couldn't understand, he was startled when a loud popping sound was heard. And when he heard Buffy's sudden voice, he did the most natural thing in the world, he fell backwards in his chair and collided with the floor.

"What the bloody hell is going?!"

"Buffy," Willow said, rising from her seat in shock. "How did you –?"

"Buffy," Giles greeted calmly, coming out of his office and not at all surprised.

"How long has he been back?" she demanded.

"Hey, Buffster!" Xander exclaimed after scrambling to his feet. "Long time no see."

"How long?" she demanded again.

The three of them looked at each other. She was not going to take this well.

"Two months," Giles answered.

The air left her in one loud breath. Her thoughts spinning out of control.

"Two months," she whispered to herself, and when her mind wrapped around how long that actually was, and more importantly that they didn't tell her, her anger rose to a whole other level. "Two months! TWO MONTHS!"

Behind her, a jar inexplicably shattered, and Willow, Xander, and Giles jumped in surprise.

"Whoa!" Xander cried. "How did –?"

"Why didn't anybody tell me?!"

"W-well, w-we wanted to, at first," Willow nervously explained. "But see, when Angel came back, he was…sick, sorta, a-and we decided to wait until he got better. And when he did, Angel kind of…sort of…told us not to."

"Sick?" What did that even mean?

"What Willow is trying to say," Giles stepped in, "is that upon his return, Angel was not particularly…himself. He was a bit…o-out of his mind, really."

An out of mind Angel running loose and no one told her? Buffy brushed off the many questions she had, for now, and focused on the matter at hand. "But he's better now, right?"

"In a manner of speaking," Giles replied.

They were shifty and suspicious. That did not bode well for her patience. "Giles, what is going on?"

Giles glanced at the others and noticed Xander and Willow were avoiding eye contact. They were as uncomfortable at telling Buffy as he was. But he was the adult; he needed to take the lead.

"When Angel returned, when we found him, he was…feral – wild, like a-a vicious animal," he said gently. "In time he was able to heal, both physically – m-mentally, and he was doing well. But lately, it seems that he is being plagued from past incidents, past victims he had slain as Angelus. And we fear that might cause him to slip back. It seems that, uh, that the apparitions of the dead have been following him. Taunting him of what he had done and –"

"We think he's being Christmas Caroled, but in an evil way," Xander simply stated, which earned him a reproachful look from Giles. "What?"

So much for being uncomfortable.

"He's being haunted?" Buffy asked, trying to make sense from all the rush of shiny, new information.

"In a manner of speaking," answered Giles. "The ghosts, I guess you could say, are driving him out of his mind. And according to him, he feels like he's…slipping. Toward Angelus."

He's…No, he can't, he – No!

"How do I stop it?"

"You can't. Not until we know what's causing it."

"Then do the research. Point the way."

"Buffy…"

"No, Giles," she interrupted. "You-you wait two months to tell me that he's alive, something I should've known the second you did. And then you send me a letter that tells me to get here as soon as I can without an explanation. And now you tell me that he might become Angelus again, and expect me to just sit by and watch it happen?" Her voice wavered with the rawness of her frustration, pain, and anger, and with the sudden realization of Giles's true intentions of his reasons for asking her to come here. "I killed him once, Giles. Shoved a sword through him to save the world, and…I know what you want me to do, why you asked me here, but I don't know if I have the strength to do it again. I…I need you to tell me how to stop this."

She was right, and it was unfair, he knew that. He asked her to come here to confront a potential danger they refused to face themselves. Even Faith couldn't stand against Angelus. She didn't know him like Buffy did. She was the only one with the knowledge of how to get close enough to kill him, if it came down to it. And now, hearing Buffy admitting the reason of why Giles had asked her to come to Sunnydale, he felt an enormous guilt settle within him.

"There are…theories, of how he may have returned," Giles began, hoping to make up for the fault. "We were hoping that might give us some answers."

"Okay, what are they?" she asked, switching over to Slayer mode.

"Well, there are the, er, the basic revival methods: magic, vortexes, breaks in time, but I have been working on others, some from your world even," he said. "There's, um, there's something called the Veil of Death. It's a gateway between this life and the next, the afterlife I guess you could say. There have been records of people hearing the dead when close to it. And although there have been instances of people going through the Veil, there's been no record of them coming back."

"So, it's a one-way deal," she deduced.

"I'm not sure," he said. "Like I said, there hasn't been a case where a person coming back has been known to happen. However, I have been working on another theory." He walked over to the table and picked up a book from the litter, before coming to stand beside her again. "It involves something called the First. A being of absolute, undiluted evil. It predates demons, the beginning of time. From what I have learned, it does have the power to bring someone back. But it can't be called on its own, i-it's an incorporeal being. The First has high priests, they are the only ones who can call it forward."

He flipped through the pages and passed the book over to her. Her eyes widening in recognition at the picture.

"I've seen these guys," she said. "I saw them in my dream the other night."

A dream she originally thought meant nothing. A dream in where Angel had made his presence again. She awoke within the dream to find him in her old bedroom. Then to feel his lips as he kissed her slowly, softly. He felt so perfect and beautiful, and when he pulled away, he wasn't Angel anymore. His demon had shown its face and she knew what he wanted. To kill her. And just as he sunk his fangs into her neck, she saw a man with the scarred eyes standing in the corner of the room, right before she snapped awake.

"They're known as Bringers, o-or Harbingers."

"So, we're thinking they could be the guys casting the mojo on Angel."

"It's a possibility."

Taking the book from her hands, Giles looked over the passages.

"Let's see," he muttered, then began to read. "'…for they are the Harbingers of Death. Nothing shall grow above or below them. No seed shall flower, neither in man nor…' and it goes on and on about how they're rebels and they'll never be any good. Nothing specific about their haunts."

'Nothing shall grow above or below them'. Why did that…

"Oh, oh, I'm remembering something," Xander said, gaining the room's attention. "The whole, nothing'll grow above them thing is ringing a bell. In the, uh, the Christmas Tree lot, the guy who works there said something about a group of trees just up and dying for no reason."

"You think that's where they might be hiding?" Buffy asked, turning to Giles.

"Could be worth looking into."

"Then I'll check out the lot," Buffy stated, swiftly walking toward the doors. "Come find me if anything changes."

And with the swing of a door, and without another word, she was gone.

There were so many questions to ask. So many things that were left a mystery. For example: How did Buffy get here so fast? What was the deal with the whole teleportation or whatever thing she did? And what was up with the exploding jar? But only one important question came to Xander Harris's mind.

"And Buffy's been British…how long?"


"…she never told me."

"How long has she been able to do that?"

"You don't think it has anything to do with –?"

The whispered conversation stopped immediately when they re-entered the kitchen and noticed the group of expectant faces.

"Is everything all right?" Ginny asked worriedly.

"Everything's fine," Joyce replied smoothly, calmly resuming her seat.

"What happened?" asked George.

"With what?" Sirius replied, trying to brush it off.

"With Buffy," he said, knowing exactly what they were trying to do.

"Oh, that," he nonchalantly said as he sat down. "It's nothing serious, just some news from one of her friends."

"Bad news?" Fred asked.

"Surprising news," Remus said, mimicking Sirius.

"It seemed like it was more than that," Hermione interjected.

"It was nothing."

"Are you sure? She seemed really upset," said Fred.

"She's fine," Sirius stated.

"You're not going to tell us, are you?" Harry asked.

"There's nothing to tell," Joyce responded.

Yeah, right, because Buffy's near hysterical reaction to the letter she had received, and the definite brush off from the three people who knew exactly what was going on, definitely screamed nothing.

"Will you at least tell us where she went?" Ginny asked, hoping that would help to ease her worry.

"To visit some friends," Sirius stated simply. "She'll be back soon."

Nope, that didn't help. Why were they being so secretive? Since arriving in this house, the Hogwarts students, with the exception of Fred and George, seemed to be filled with the unexpected. Buffy knowing Sirius, Remus, Tonks, and more surprisingly, in the case of Ginny and Ron, their own mother, so well. For some it was a pleasant surprise, for others utter shock. And the more they learned the more they questioned. Their whole Buffy standard had been shaken up. And they got the sneaky suspicion that more surprises would be coming their way.

Lunch continued on, and no more questions about Buffy arose. The adults kept behaving as if absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary and the teenagers kept their ears perked just in case. The last spoon settled on the table, and the last stomach was full. Leaning against his chair, Sirius looked over the mess that littered the table, which lead to thoughts of cleaning, which lead to thoughts of Kreacher, which lead to a very important question.

"Has anybody seen Kreacher lately?"

"I haven't seen him since the night we came back here," said Harry. "You were ordering him out of the kitchen."

"Yeah…" said Sirius, frowning. "You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too…he must be hiding upstairs somewhere."

"He couldn't have left, could he?" Harry said urgently. "I mean, when you said 'out', maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?"

"No, no, house-elves can't leave unless they're given clothes. They're tied to their family's house," said Sirius as he shook his head.

"They can leave the house if they really want to," Harry contradicted him. "Dobby did, he left the Malfoys to give me warnings. He had to punish himself afterwards, but he still managed it."

Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, and then said, "I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something. Of course, he might have crawled into the airing cupboard and died, but I mustn't get my hopes up."

Fred, George, and Ron laughed; Hermione, however, looked reproachful.

A half-hour later, Mad-Eye, Mundungus, and Bill arrived. The Weasleys, plus Harry and Hermione, were planning on visiting Mr. Weasley at St. Mungo's. But of course, they couldn't go unescorted, especially with Harry in the mix, hence the presence of all three Order members and Remus's addition. And since Sirius couldn't leave the house, Ms. Summers volunteered to stay behind to keep him 'company'.

They all soon piled into a car Mundungus had 'borrowed' for the occasion, much to Mrs. Weasley's disapproval, and headed off.

Boughs of holly and the tra-la-la-la-la of it were all over St. Mungo's Hospital. Gold and red baubles, white Christmas trees and the like were everywhere. It was pleasantly festive for a place where sick people came to stay.

They found Mr. Weasley propped up in his bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray on his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face.

"Everything all right, Arthur?" asked Mrs. Weasley, after they had all greeted Mr. Weasley and handed over their presents.

"Fine, fine," replied Mr. Weasley, a little too heartily. "You – er – haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

"No," said Mrs. Weasley suspiciously, "why?"

"Nothing, nothing," he said airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. "Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas?"

His face lit up at the very first present he opened. A gift from Buffy and Ms. Summers.

"What is it, dad?" Ginny asked.

"How wonderful. It's a book called: How Things Work," he beamed. "It explains everything, absolutely everything that Muggles use. Toasters, microwaves, oh look, even yo-yos!"

Mrs. Weasley did not seem entirely satisfied with Mr. Weasley's answer. And when her husband leaned over to hand the book to Bill, she peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt.

"Arthur," she said, with a snap in her voice like a mousetrap, "you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."

"What?" said Mr. Weasley, looking rather frightened and pulling the bed covers higher up his chest. "No, no – it's nothing – it's – I –"

He seemed to deflate under Mrs. Weasley's piercing gaze.

"Well – now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea…he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in…um…complementary medicine…I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies…well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on – on Muggle wounds –"

Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Remus strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf who resided next to Mr. Weasley, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd. Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea, and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, both of them grinning.

"Do you mean to tell me," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice growing louder with every word, "that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"

"Not messing about, Molly, dear," said Mr. Weasley imploringly, "it was just – just something Pye and I thought we'd try – only, most unfortunately – well, with these particular kinds of wounds – it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped –"

"Meaning?"

"Well…well, I don't know whether you know what – what stitches are?"

"It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together," said Mrs. Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, "but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid –"

"I fancy a cup of tea, too," said Harry, jumping to his feet.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny almost sprinted to the door with him. As it swung closed behind them, they heard Mrs. Weasley shriek, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?"

"Typical Dad," said Ginny, shaking her head as they set off up the corridor. "Stitches…I ask you."

"Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds," said Hermione fairly. "I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something. I wonder where the tearoom is."

"Fifth floor," said Harry, remembering the sign over the welcome witch's desk.

They walked along the corridor, through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking Healers.

"What floor's this?" asked Ron.

"I think it's the fifth," said Hermione.

"Nah, it's the fourth," said Harry, "one more to go."

But as he stepped on to the landing he came to an abrupt halt, staring at the small window set into the double doors that marked the start of a corridor signposted SPELL DAMAGE. A man was peering out at them all with his nose pressed against the glass. It was Professor Lockhart. And when their old professor noticed them, although he had absolutely no idea who they were due to his still present memory loss, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were roped into a small conversation from their very addled ex-professor. Soon a lovely Healer with tinsel in her hair came by, and mistakenly took the quartet as visitors for Lockheart and escorted them all to the Janus Thickey Ward for a proper visit, which as it turned out, was known as the long-term resident's ward.

"Here you are, Agnes," said a Healer brightly to a furry-faced woman, as she handed her a small pile of Christmas presents. "See, not forgotten, are you? And your son's sent an owl to say he's visiting tonight, so that's nice, isn't it?"

And Agnes gave several loud barks in response.

"And look, Broderick, you've been sent a potted plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy Hippogriff for each month; they'll brighten things up, won't they?" said the Healer, bustling along to the mumbling man, setting a rather ugly plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and fixing the calendar to the wall with her wand. "And – oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?"

Harry's head spun round. The curtains had been drawn back from the two beds at the end of the ward, and two visitors were walking back down the aisle between the beds – a formidable – looking old witch wearing a long, green dress and, trailing, behind her, looking thoroughly depressed, was Neville.

With a sudden rush of understanding, Harry realized who the people in the end beds must be. He cast around wildly for some means of distracting the others so that Neville could leave the ward unnoticed and unquestioned, but Ron had also looked up at the sound of the name Longbottom, and before Harry could stop him, he called out.

"Neville!"

Neville jumped and cowered as though a spell had narrowly missed him.

"It's us, Neville!" said Ron brightly. "Have you seen –? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?"

"Friends of yours, Neville, dear?" said Neville's grandmother graciously, bearing down upon them all.

Neville looked as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. A dull purple flush was creeping up his plump face and he was not making eye contact with any of them.

"Ah, yes," said his grandmother, looking closely at Harry and sticking out a shriveled, claw-like hand for him to shake. "Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you."

"Er – thanks," said Harry, shaking hands. Neville did not look at him, but surveyed his own feet, the color deepening in his face all the while.

"And you two are clearly Weasleys," Mrs. Longbottom continued, proffering her hand regally to Ron and Ginny in turn. "Yes, I know your parents – not well, of course – but fine people, fine people…and you must be Hermione Granger?"

Hermione looked rather startled that Mrs. Longbottom knew her name but shook hands all the same.

"Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy," she said, casting a sternly appraising look down her rather bony nose at Neville, "but he hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say." Then she jerked her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, so that the stuffed vulture on her hat trembled alarmingly.

"What?" said Ron, looking amazed. "Is that your dad down the end, Neville?"

"What's this?" said Mrs. Longbottom sharply. "Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?"

Neville took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. Harry could not remember ever feeling sorrier for anyone, but he could not think of any way of helping Neville out of the situation.

"Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" said Mrs. Longbottom angrily. "You should be proud, Neville, proud! They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!"

"I'm not ashamed," said Neville, very faintly, still looking anywhere but at Harry and the others. Ron was now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants of the two beds.

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!" said Mrs. Longbottom. "My son and his wife," she said, turning haughtily to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, "were tortured into insanity by You- Know-Who's followers."

Hermione and Ginny both clapped their hands over their mouths. Ron stopped craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Neville's parents and looked mortified.

"They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the Wizarding community," Mrs. Longbottom went on. "Highly gifted, the pair of them. I – yes, Alice dear, what is it?"

Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Harry had seen in Moody's old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix he had shown him. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions towards Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand.

"Again?" said Mrs. Longbottom, sounding slightly weary. "Very well, Alice dear, very well – Neville, take it, whatever it is."

But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper.

"Very nice, dear," said Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder.

But Neville said quietly, "Thanks, Mum."

His mother tottered away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defiant, as though daring them to laugh, but Harry did not think he'd ever found anything less funny in his life.

"Well, we'd better get back," sighed Mrs. Longbottom, drawing on long green gloves. "Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now."

But as they left, Harry was sure he saw Neville slip the candy wrapper into his pocket before the door closed behind them.

"I never knew," said Hermione, who looked tearful.

"Nor did I," said Ron rather hoarsely.

"Nor me," whispered Ginny.

And then, they all looked at Harry.

"I did," he said glumly. "Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't tell anyone…that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds."

"Bellatrix Lestrange did that?" whispered Hermione, horrified. "That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, and as they left the ward, Harry suddenly wondered if Buffy knew about Neville's parents. Because, as recent experience began to teach him, Buffy knew a whole lot more than she led on.


Xander was right. A circle of dead Christmas trees in the middle of perfectly healthy green ones. Who would've guessed? Wasting no time, Buffy took hold of her wand and blasted the ground until a makeshift hole was big enough for her to slip through.

Landing cleanly on her feet, she found candles against the stonewalls. Definitely no vacancies here. Walking deeper into the cave, the sounds of chanting reached her ears, and grew louder and louder with each step until she came upon robed figures sitting around a candle-lit table.

"All right, ten more minutes of chanting and then you guys have to go to bed."

The priests jumped up in immediate attack, rushing toward her. Of course, they didn't count on the fact that she was a witch with a nifty wand and so much pent-up tension from lack of muscle use that they ended up dead faster than anticipated. So much for that.

"Hmm, I'm impressed."

She had popped out of nowhere, and Buffy shifted in surprise. How did…she didn't, that's how. This wasn't Ms. Calendar. She could feel it. It was powerful and evil, and so strong it almost frightened her…almost.

"You won't get Angel," Buffy stated defiantly.

"Hmm. You think you can fight me?" 'Jenny' scoffed. "I'm not a demon, little girl. I am something that you can't even conceive. The First Evil. Beyond sin, beyond death. I am the thing the darkness fears. You'll never see me, but I am everywhere. Every being, every thought, every drop of hate."

"All right, I get it, you're evil," she interrupted impatiently. "Do we have to chat about it all day?"

"Angel will be dead by sunrise," 'Jenny' smirked. "Your Christmas…will be his wake."

"No."

"You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"Lemme guess. Is it…evil?" she sarcastically retorted.

With a smile on her face, the apparition of Jenny Calendar turned itself into a ghostly image of a large beast with horns and claws. Its eyes glowing red as it jumped toward her, heeding one last warning.

"DEAD BY SUNRISE!" It growled, and then it was gone.

Buffy tried Apparating out of the cave, but something pushed back. As if an invisible barrier had been placed down here. Whatever the Harbingers had been chanting, it must've included some sort of protection charm. Damn it. She rushed out of the cavern as fast as she could and ran towards the one place Angel might be, terrified she would be too late.

Reaching the mansion, she frantically looked everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found.

"Angel!" she called out, but there was no answer.

Walking towards the atrium, she noticed a few steps leading out, and without hesitation, she rushed to them. Letting them take her to wherever it is they led.

And past the bushes, on the edge of a cliff, there he stood. As beautiful as he ever was, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Her emotions running on edge on the very proof that he really was alive.

"Angel," she said – her voice raw and breathless.

If his heart could skip a beat, it would have. Turning around, his eyes widened in surprise and longing ran through him.

"Buffy."

He wanted to run to her, to hold her, to let her make it all better, but then he realized that what he wanted from her was the very reason of why he had to stay away. So, he forced himself to turn back, using any strength he had left to finish what he had come up here to do.

Her admiration of him snapped out of focus when he turned his back to her, to look out over the sleepy little town. Reminding her of why she was here, and what he planned to do.

"Angel –" she started to say as she walked over to him, hoping to convince him to change his mind.

"I bet half the kids down there are already awake. Lying in their beds…sneaking downstairs…waiting for day," he said wistfully.

"Angel, please. I need for you to get inside," she pleaded. "There's only a few minutes left."

"I know. I can smell the sunrise long before it comes."

He looked so calm, and it frightened her.

"I don't have time to explain this. You just have to trust me. That thing that was haunting you –"

"It wasn't haunting me. It was showing me."

"Showing you?"

"What I am."

"Were," she insisted.

"And ever shall be," he countered. "I wanted to know why I was back. Now I do."

"You don't know," she said firmly. "Some great evil takes credit for bringing you back and you buy it? You just give up?"

"I can't do it again, Buffy. I can't become a killer," he said harshly.

"Then fight it."

"It's too hard."

"Angel, please," she pleaded desperately. "You have to get inside."

"It told me to kill you," he snapped, hoping she would understand and let him be. "You were in the dream. You know. It told me to lose my soul in you and become a monster again."

"I know what it told you. What does it matter?"

"Because I wanted to!" he shouted in despair. "Because I missed you. Because I want you so badly! I want to take comfort in you, and I know it'll cost me my soul, and a part of me doesn't care." His voice wavered, and stray tears rolled down his cheeks. "Look, I'm weak. I've never been anything else. It's not the demon in me that needs killing, Buffy. It's the man."

She didn't know what to say. She had never seen Angel fall apart, had never seen him so broken, but she couldn't give up on him now. She couldn't give up on him ever. She had just gotten him back, and she was damned if she was going to lose him again.

"You're weak. Everybody is. Everybody fails. Maybe this evil did bring you back, but if it did, it's because it needs you. And that means that you can hurt it," she said, but Angel didn't seem convinced. "Angel, you have the power to do real good, to make amends. But if you die now, then all that you ever were was a monster."

Looking up in haste, she noticed that the sky had begun to lighten, and panic set in a lot harder than before.

"Angel, please, the sun is coming up!" she begged frantically.

"Just go," he dismissed.

"I won't!"

"What? Do you think this is simple? You think there's an easy answer? You can never understand what I've done! Now go!"

She wanted to say he was wrong, she did understand, but right now, all that mattered was getting him inside.

"You are not staying here," she told him as she grabbed his arm. "I won't let you!"

"I said LEAVE!" he shouted, jerking his arm back.

In her anger and desperation at his stubbornness, she punched him, hoping it would snap him out of this suicide mission. But in his own desperation, Angel shoved her harshly away from him, causing her to fall face forward, roughly to the ground.

"Oh, my God," he whispered.

Crouching down to her, he grabbed hold of her shoulders, forcing her to face him.

"Am I a thing worth saving, huh? Am I a righteous man?" he demanded, shaking her. "The world wants me gone!"

Buffy felt as if her insides had shattered. To hell with the world…

"What about me?" she asked quietly, her voice thick with tears. "I love you so much…and I tried to make you go away…I killed you and it didn't help. I left this place…" Shoving him away roughly, she rose to her feet in anger at his blindness. "And I hate it! I hate that it's so hard…and that you can hurt me so much. I know everything that you did, because you did it to me." Her tears were clogging her throat, making her voice sound harsher. "Oh, God! I wish that I wished you dead. I don't. I can't."

He hated what he was doing to her, that he could cause her so much pain. Why couldn't she see that she was better off without him? That everybody was.

"Buffy, please," he begged, rising to his feet. "Just this once…let me be strong."

"Strong is fighting! It's hard and it's painful, and it's every day. It's what we have to do. And we can do it together," she told him, but she was tired of being passive. "But if you're too much of a coward for that, then burn. If I can't convince you that you belong in this world, then I don't know what can. But do not expect me to watch. And don't expect me to mourn for you, because…"

Her words died mid-sentence as soon as she noticed cold flakes drop before her eyes. Looking up, Buffy saw the snow falling slowly from the sky. Falling over them and over Sunnydale. It fell harder with every second, blanketing the town in white. She turned to Angel and could see the same expression of amazement on his face. And when he faced her again, she could also see the realization of what it meant.

The world didn't want him gone. And that gave him something he had lost for quite some time. It gave him hope.

'Weatherman: Sunnydale residents shouldn't expect to see the sun at all today. That cold front isn't going anywhere. With temperatures in the high 30s, means you better bundle up if you're planning to go outside and enjoy the change in the weather'

The fire crackled as they sat beside it. Warming them up from the Christmas miracle they had just experienced moments ago. After reentering the mansion, they had settled on the floor. Angel wanting to know about Buffy's life after leaving Sunnydale, hoping that would help to ease his mind.

"So, you're a witch," he said flatly.

She nodded. "Yep, I'm a witch. With witchy powers and witchy friends…sorta." She glanced up from fiddling with her wand when she picked up on his tone. "You don't sound surprised."

"I always knew there was something different about you, Buffy," he replied honestly. "Aside from you being the Slayer, there was something else I felt. Something strong and powerful."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I wasn't sure what it was."

"Oh."

Looking back down, Buffy fiddled with her wand again.

"Do you mind?" he asked, reaching out.

"What? Oh, no, go ahead," she said, handing it over to him.

The moment his fingers touched it, he felt it pulse. There was definitely some magic in there.

"What kind is it?" he asked, and then noticed Buffy's confused look. "The combination."

She scrunched her eyebrows together. "Ten-inch yew with unicorn hair," she said, suspicious of how he knew what to ask for.

"And very pointy," he added when he noticed the end. The wand resembled a very thin stake.

"Ollivander called it 'curious'," she informed him. "He said he hadn't seen a combination like that in centuries. The yew wood is supposed to represent death and rebirth, and the unicorn hair means innocence. Apparently, it was 'curiouser and curiouser'," she mimicked his words, but then came upon a realization, "How do you know about wands?"

"I've been around a long time, Buffy," he smiled. "I've known a few wizards in my time…besides…my sister was one."

That was some new information right there.

"She was?"

"She got accepted into Hogwarts the year before I became Angelus. I was there when she got her wand. A nine-and-a-half-inch rosewood with a dragon heartstring core," he answered – a pained note in his voice. "I was happy for her when I found out. My parents of course were extremely proud of her, and then became extremely disappointed with me after that. They saw her magic as a gift from God, and my father blamed my lay about ways for not receiving the same gift as well." He lifted the wand and eyed it as he spoke. "That's why I went after her first, the reason I went back after I had been turned. She had power in her blood. And when I drank her…"

Disgust filled his eyes as he remembered, and Buffy felt a pang of sympathy.

"You can't blame yourself for what happened," she said consolingly. "It wasn't really you."

"I know, but the memory still haunts me," he said in a low voice.

"I know," she replied.

There was something in her voice that made Angel wonder. It was more than comfort. It sounded deep in experience as if she really understood the duality of his nature.

"That gang told me you were…I think sick, is the way they put it – when you came back," she said, causing a distraction in Angel she wasn't aware of.

"Is what they said?" he responded, remembering his previous state.

"Well, the words feral, wild and animalistic, were also thrown around."

"That seems about right," he smirked, and then cleared his throat as he became serious again. "I was trapped in a hell dimension for a hundred years before I returned, and my mindset took a while to adjust."

She flinched at his words. Pain and guilt filling her.

"It wasn't your fault," he said softly, noticing the look in her eyes, the change in her demeanor.

"It is my fault," she countered. "I was the one who…if we had never…"

"Hey. We didn't do anything wrong," he reasoned. "We loved each other, Buffy. It wasn't planned. We couldn't have known what would've happened."

She couldn't help the tears gathering in her eyes. "But if I hadn't –"

"Listen to me," he said, taking a hold of her hand. "Nothing about this is your fault. We couldn't have known what Drusilla had planned. That she had wanted to take my soul, or that she was even aware of the happiness clause."

"But it was me," she pushed on. "She made you dream of us, created the illusion in your mind of us…of you and me…together…of a happily ever after future and…"

"Neither of us could've known that was the key," he said. "It wasn't your fault, just like it wasn't mine."

She nodded but was still unconvinced and Angel knew nothing would change her mind. No matter what he told her, Angel felt guilt for what he had done, for what Drusilla had done to him, to her, to them. It was a burden they both had to bear and one that would ache for a lifetime.

They settled into heavy silence. Memories filling their minds. Buffy going over everything, all the what if's that still plagued her.

"How did you get better?" she asked suddenly. "After you came back."

"Your friends helped me," he said, surprising her. "When they found me, they weren't alone. There was a demon named Whistler there. He explained things to them. Told them I had my soul and convinced them to help me. Although I am grateful, I don't understand exactly why they agreed. Especially Giles. But they did."

She nodded again. Thankful, for the first time, for Whistler. If it weren't for him, she was pretty sure Angel would've been long gone. And she couldn't really blame her friends, they didn't know about him regaining his soul right before she…they didn't know. Of course, there were lots of things they didn't know. And there were lots of things she wondered about herself. Angel was back, and her heart hadn't changed. So that left her with one question…

"So, what happens now?" she asked. "Between us."

"What do you want to happen?"

He still loved her, missed her, but she had a different life now. One in which he wasn't a part of.

"I don't know," she honestly replied. "Everything's changed. What we know. What would happen if –"

"If we got too close," he finished grimly.

"Yeah."

Her love for him had never faded, not once. It was permanent in her heart, but everything was different now.

"I missed you, every day," he confessed. "And now you're here. And I can actually reach out and…but you don't live here anymore. You have another life. Somewhere else. And that means that…"

"It means that…" She didn't want to say it. It burned against her throat. "It's not going to work out with us, is it?"

He would be lying if he said he never dreamed of them being together again. Even if she was somewhere else for the time being. It was all he could think about in his spare time. The nights he slayed with Faith, he wished he would look over and see Buffy standing there. He loved her more than life itself. Was willing to kill himself to keep her safe. Wanted nothing more than to touch her, to kiss her, without hesitation or worry, but that's not how it worked with them. They had limits, and it was unfair to ask her to adjust. And he felt the lump in his throat when he came to the same realizations she had. The words sticking before pushing them out.

"No. I don't think it is."

She felt the tears welling up in her eyes again, the coldness settling in her stomach. Bile creeping up her throat.

"But it'll be easier," he said, forcing his voice to remain even. "When you go back, and I'm not around…it'll be easier. For you."

"What about you?"

"I'll bear," he said, trying to smile reassuringly. "As long as I know you're okay."

That was the flaw in the plan. When she went back, she wasn't going to be okay. She was on the brink of a war with a psychotic wizard who wanted her and everyone else dead. But she wasn't about to bring Angel into that. He needed to bear, right?

"When will you be heading back?" he asked.

"Today," she answered. "I'll need to tell Giles that you're okay, but after that."

"Will you be coming back soon?" he inquired, hope in his voice.

"I'll try to stop by before heading back to Hogwarts. I'm sure Willow and Xander have some questions," she said. "They don't know about the whole witch thing, but popping into the library today might've given some stuff away."

"And then there's the accent," he pointed out.

"Right, and that," she said with a dry smile, unaware she had been using it all this time.

"Why did you stop using it when you came here?"

"To blend, mostly," she replied. "When we came to California my mom enrolled me in Hemery straight away. She hired someone to tutor me over the summer so I could get caught up on Muggle studies and we could blend easier. You know History, Math, English, Science, a pretty packed schedule," she added. "The tutor would meet me every day at school, and that's when I noticed all the lack of British people, and I didn't want to be seen as an outsider, so I adopted an American accent. Wasn't so hard. Even brain washed myself with pop culture. And by the time fall came around I was no longer a Farmer Ted, I was a Heather."

"A what?"

"I became popular," she replied. "Like I was at Hogwarts before I left. It came natural to me. Leading the pack made switching worlds easier. I knew my place, knew what to say, how to behave. It helped…and then I become the Slayer. And everything went topsy-turvy again."

"At least it's easier at Hogwarts, isn't it? Being a slayer. They know all about the demonic world."

"Yeah," she lied. "It's easier."

She didn't know how long she had stayed with Angel. Going over the missing pieces in their history since they've been apart, and promising to return at least once before leaving, but by the time she walked outside it was lighter. Not sunny bright, but enough to let you know it was daylight. Slushing through the snow, Buffy took her time to Giles's home. Her conversation with Angel repeating itself like a movie that wouldn't end.

Knocking on the door, she waited in the cold before it was answered.

"Buffy," Giles greeted in relief.

"Everything's okay," she replied flatly.

"He's cured?"

"He's better. It may take a little time for him to get past this, but he won't be turning over to the dark side anytime soon."

Her eyes were sad, and her voice was without emotion.

"Is everything all right?"

"I'm going home," she said, avoiding his question. "I'll try to stop by soon, so tell Willow and Xander that I'll be back, okay?"

"Of course," he nodded.

"Thanks."

She turned around and was ready to leave when Giles's voice reached her ears. "Buffy. Happy Christmas."

She looked back and gave him a watery smile. "Happy Christmas."

Then a pop later, she was gone.

He closed the door worriedly after that. Wondering what had occurred.

"Who was that?"

"Buffy."

"Everything okay with the Big Guy?"

"Yeah, everything's fine."

Giles headed back into the kitchen to finish preparing his tea, as Faith shrugged off her curious feeling and went back to watching her Christmas cartoons.

Buffy wandered around for a while when she arrived back in London. Her thoughts replaying as she walked aimlessly through the streets. She just needed a bit of quiet time. And there were too many people in Sirius's home for that to happen.

She could feel water traveling up to her eyes, and her throat ached with the suppression of them. Sniffling every few seconds, she finally made her way back to Grimmauld Place. It was quiet. It must be later than she thought. Closing the door gently behind her, she made her way down to the kitchen. Grabbing a glass and filling it with water, she took a seat at the table.

Her hands were shaking, her lips quivering. He was alive, and he almost died. They couldn't be together no matter how much they loved each other. It was over. The First. The pressure on her chest to save him. The rush of information. The pressure and worry if she would be there in time. Every piece of today rushed into her like a freight train, and she couldn't hold the wall up anymore.

A tear rolled down her cheek, and then another, and another. Her shoulders began to shake and the dam burst. Propping her elbows onto the table and burying her head in her hands, she cried harder than she could remember. For everything she had been holding back.

Arms suddenly wrapped around her, a smell she recognized filled her nose and she sank tiredly into him – hugged him tightly as she sobbed onto his worn-out sweater. Taking in every comfort he offered, hoping the pain would stop soon.

His stomach was rumbling, and Ron wondered if it would ever stop rumbling. Creeping down to the kitchen, he stopped when he heard the sounds of – crying? Slowly prying the door open, he peeked through the slot and watched in surprise as Buffy sobbed onto Remus's shoulder. But it was more than just sobbing. She looked…broken…vulnerable. And a tiny, small part of him flickered at the sight of it. It was strange and unfamiliar, and for some reason, he felt sympathy.

"I'm okay," she sniffled, pulling back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's just…" she sniffled again. "It's been a really hectic day."

He nodded and smoothed her hair comfortingly. "How did things go in Sunnydale?"

"Okay, Angel's…still alive," she said. "He's good."

"And you?" he asked.

"Still alive."

She seemed sad. Like she had just lost something that meant a great deal to her.

"Buffy, is there –?"

"I'm fine, Remus. Really," she assured him. "Just really tired."

He patted her back without another word, and they rose from their chairs slowly. Ron watched as they headed towards him, and in a rush of panic, he rushed up the stairs and back to his room before they realized he was there.

"Everything all right?" Harry asked, when he noticed the pensive look on Ron's face, and the lack of food in his hands.

"What?" he asked automatically when he realized Harry had spoken.

"Everything all right?"

"I don't…" He wasn't exactly sure why he couldn't. Something prevented him from it. It almost felt like he would be betraying her. Which was not a feeling he was used to. This was different, he didn't overhear her say she was plotting against them. This time, what he heard was something deeply private and personal. Which he guessed involved the letter she had received earlier that day. And all these new emotions of sympathy for Buffy caused a great deal of confusion. And he didn't know what to think anymore. "Everything's fine."


a/n: I tried to cut down the hospital scene as much I could, but I had to include all of the Neville interaction in it, personal preference. I've always liked his backstory as it shows how much quiet strength he really has and the part with his mother gifting him a wrapper was so sweet.

Same with the Buffy/Angel scene, it's one of my favorites from the series and I had to leave it in. Also, I tried not to make their romance too icky, considering Buffy's younger in this story than the series (due to trying to line up the timelines between the show and books which is a real pain in the ass), so I greatly, severely apologize for the major age difference ick between Buffy and Angel; my intention is not to glamorize it, nor do I condone that kind of age difference at all, but for the story's sake I tried to keep them as rated 'G' as I could while keeping their original plot romance storyline.