Chapter 42

Every move was planned. Strategically placed for a specific reason. Once a decision was made, it couldn't be taken back. There was only one shot. If you lose. There wasn't a second chance.

"What's everyone doing?" Hermione asked.

"Watching Buffy and Sirius play checkers," Ginny replied.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked in to find everyone sitting around the dining room table. Except for Mrs. Weasley who was off visiting Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Summers who was apparently somewhere else in the house.

"What's checkers?" Ron asked.

They each settled around the room as they looked at Buffy and Sirius, who were intently hunched over a black and red checkerboard. Which included little round pieces in the exact same colors, placed individually over their own squares.

"It's a Muggle game, kinda like Wizards Chess," Buffy answered without moving her eyes. Buffy played Muggle games? Since when? "Except for you know, the pieces don't move and it's not exactly chess."

"So, it's nothing like Wizard's Chess?"

"No," Sirius replied.

Buffy placed her finger on a red circle-piece and moved it diagonally to the right. Away from surrounding black ones.

"We tried playing another Muggle game called Battleship, but Sirius blew it up."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"He kept losing," Remus said.

"Stupid Muggle game," Sirius grumbled, moving his black piece to the left.

"And then there was Monopoly," said Buffy.

"Don't tell me he blew that up, too?" Hermione asked.

"He set it on fire," Ginny replied.

"It was mocking me!" Sirius loudly defended.

"He kept landing in jail," Buffy stated.

Harry and Hermione laughed, as did everyone else in the know. Ron, however, was the only one who had no idea what that meant. What did she mean Sirius kept landing in jail?

"Buffy!"

Everyone turned to the doorway at the loud call, and fifteen seconds later watched as Ms. Summers made her entrance. Buttoning up her coat and quickly glancing around the room.

"Oh, I didn't realize everyone would be in here," she said, before focusing on her daughter. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, just…give…me…" Buffy lifted up a red disk and hoped it over, one, two, three, four black ones. "Okay, I'm set."

"Hey!" Sirius exclaimed at his rapidly lost pieces.

"George, you wanna take over?" she asked, rising from her chair.

"It'll be my pleasure," he grinned, taking Buffy's spot.

"I wouldn't get too cocky," Sirius told him. "You've only played once and lost."

"That was then, and I think I've got a good chance now," George said assuredly.

"Why do you think that?"

"I've been watching you play."

Sirius glared as everyone else laughed. This game was going to be an entertaining one that was for sure. And Buffy was sadly going to miss it. Well maybe not so sadly…

"We'll see you guys later," Buffy bade as she walked to the door.

"Where are you two going?" Remus asked.

She grinned ecstatically. "Shopping."

And as Buffy and her mother walked out of the dining room, the last thing they heard was Sirius's arrogant voice.

"Ha! Crown me!"

Yep, one definitely entertaining game


"What about this one?"

"Mmm too fluffy."

"Ookaaay, how aboooout…this?"

"That's nice."

Draping the coat over her arm, Buffy moved to the next rack.

"Oh, how about this?" Joyce asked, lifting up a charcoal-grey, pleated skirt. A short charcoal-grey, pleated skirt.

"Aren't mothers supposed to prevent their daughters from wearing things like that?"

"What? It's cute," she said, innocently.

Reaching over, Buffy took the garment and placed it on her rapidly heavy arm.

"You've been picking out a lot of inappropriate skirts and dresses for me today," Buffy pointed out.

"Well, it's just been a while since I've you seen you wear them."

"I wear them every day at school."

"I know, but not since you've been on vacation and I – oh, how about this?" Joyce lifted up a knee-length, black wool skirt. "Very cute and very conservative."

"Don't change the subject," Buffy told her, taking the item.

"Humor your mother and take the inappropriate skirts and dresses," she said. "I am paying for them."

"Oh sure, play that card."

After Buffy filled her arms, and her mother's arms, with more clothes than she had planned, the two moved over to an empty dressing area. Where Joyce seated herself on the proffered red couch.

Zip. Buckle. Button. Walk out. Twirl. Nod/Head shake. Repeat. And so went the fashion show.

Stupid zipper. Ugh! Come on. Just…a little…aaahh! There. Stepping out, Buffy modeled her camel-colored trousers and white jumper. Which earned her an immediate skeptical look.

"What?"

"Nothing, they look…nice."

"You don't like the trousers?"

"No, I like them it's just…don't you think you've tried on enough of them already?"

Buffy rested her hands on her hips and gave her mother a slightly annoyed look.

"You really are pushing this leg thing, aren't you?"

"Is it a crime for wanting my daughter to look nice?"

"Yes," she said, and gave into her mother's raised eyebrow. "All right, fine, I guess it wouldn't kill me to feel the breeze."

Joyce smiled triumphantly. "Thank you."

Walking back into the dressing room, Buffy closed the door behind her and looked at the pile of clothes she had tried on, rumpled in the corner: slacks, jeans, long-sleeved shirts, and jumpers. And then looked up to all the skirts, dresses, and flirty, pretty tops that were still on their hangers, untouched. Rolling her eyes and not thinking much of it, Buffy reached for the hem of her jumper, ready to pull it off when she caught her reflection in the mirror, really saw it for the very first time since entering the dressing room and she froze. With her hands right where they were, she moved closer to the glass. Was that really her? Buffy studied every inch of her figure. Her thinner, nearly hidden figure. Maybe that's why she never noticed it. She always kept herself hidden underneath layers of coats, sweaters, cloaks, and clothes that were almost a size too big. Not to mention she had been neglecting mirrors.

And then her face. Completely bare of any makeup. Now that she thought about it, the last time she picked up a lipstick was over six months ago. She had been cosmetic free since then. And then there was her hair. Her shoulder length and limp hair. No curl. No flip. Nothing. And not that she thought she looked horrible, but it just wasn't like her. None of this was. Not even when she was a kid did Buffy neglect her appearance. She had always liked fashion and makeup, whether it was just for dress-up or experimenting with styles. Fashion was her entertainment. What happened? Was this all because of her recent Cry Baby Buffy status? Had she really changed so much?

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey?" Joyce asked, flipping through one of the offered magazines that used to be on a nearby table.

"Do you…do you think I've changed?"

So much for the magazine. Putting the glossy pages aside, Joyce stood up and walked closer to the white doors. She saw this coming in a way. After all it was pretty hard not to notice. Hence the leg bearing items she kept trying push onto her daughter.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know…I just, I don't feel like me. Or think that I look like me – the old me, I mean," she dejectedly confessed. "It's like everything that's been going on has changed me somehow."

"Buffy," she said tentatively. "After everything you've been through, did you really expect to stay the same?"

"No, not the same," she sighed. "But I didn't really expect to change as much as I have either."

Buffy looked at herself in the mirror. Critically eyeing her reflection from head to foot. It just didn't look right. Her double looked all wrong. This wasn't Buffy Summers. This was someone else. Someone she didn't like.

"Things have happened to you, Buffy. Things that, no matter how much I wish, can't be erased. You've been through so much and…as rough as this may sound, you can't go back to the exact way you were. You're different now – but that's not a bad thing. In a lot of ways, parts of the old you have changed for the better. But that doesn't mean you have to completely lose the old you either," she said, in that comforting voice of hers. Was she explaining this right? Merlin, she really hoped she was. Because if she did, then hopefully that would bring her brave and sunny little girl back. A part of Buffy that Joyce hadn't seen in some time. "Buffy, you can still be you no matter what you've been through or how much you think you've changed. It's all about finding that middle ground. The one where you can keep the old Buffy while embracing the new one. You've always been a strong girl. You've never let anything or anyone get the best of you. You just…I guess you just have to find that part of yourself again."

Your friends are always going on about you being all brave and not taking anybody's crap.

That was it, wasn't it? They did this to her. Somewhat. Honestly, she was the one that allowed it. After Angel died, she was in mourning, and in no mood to care about anything. Which was acceptable. But when she returned to school, with the spitefulness and the bitterness of her classmates, it only made her feel worse. She hid from the world when she could, in libraries and corners. She stopped caring. And she let everyone make her believe she didn't matter. And all of it seeped in until her outsides reflected her insides.

Well, screw that!

You've always been a strong girl. You've never let anything or anyone get the best of you.

Forget about all those brats that can't deal with their childhood trauma. Life moves on and so should they. Hell, so should you!

Hell, yeah she should!

"Buffy?" Joyce asked, knocking on the door. Her daughter hadn't said anything in a while. Why was she so quiet? And what was all that noise?

Buffy, rapidly and noisily, changed into the clothes she had come in with. And rifling through the mess in the corner, she only picked up the trousers, jeans, blouses, and jumpers she wanted.

"Buffy? Is everything okay?"

You can't go back to the exact way you were…but that doesn't mean you have to completely lose the old you either…you can still be you no matter what you've been through or how much you think you've changed.

Standing straight up, Buffy breezed through the untouched tops, skirts, and dresses and chose the ones she liked best. The ones original Buffy would've worn. The confident Buffy. Well, guess who's back?

"Buf –"

First Faith and now her mother. All she needed was a little push. A wake-up call, and the one-eighty was inevitable. Three long months of submission, of penance, was long enough.

The door suddenly swung open and there stood Buffy Summers. Arms loaded with clothes in every shape, length, and color in existence. Her face glowing and her posture stick straight.

"Come on," she said, and moved ahead with determination.

"Where are we going?" Joyce asked, confused, and somewhat delighted at this turn of events.

It's all about finding that middle ground. The one where you can keep the old Buffy while embracing the new one.

"Makeup counter."

Hours and hours and many, many, many bags later, the Summers women entered Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. One a giddy of smiles and the other a frown of exhaustion.

"What did you two do? Buy the entire store?" asked Remus.

"No, not the whole store," Buffy replied. "We ignored the men's department."

"Thank goodness," Joyce mumbled, resting her back against a nearby wall.

"I think you broke her," he said to Buffy.

"Or at least her bank account," she grinned cheerily.

Taking the bags from her mother, Buffy added them to her many and rushed up the stairs. Thank goodness for Slayer strength. This had to be exactly what it was used for or else why were slayers always girls.

"She seems happy," he commented after Buffy was out of sight.

"And I'm glad for it," Joyce said, straightening herself up. "Couldn't be happier."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"No, it's exhaustion."

Remus chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Leading her out of the entry way and down to the kitchen.

"How about a very still chair and a hot cup of tea?"

"At this point I'd rather have a sedative."

Buffy unbagged, unwrapped, unfolded every clothing item she had purchased. Leaving on her bed a small mountain of smushed fabric. Quickly moving to her trunk, she unpacked the different pieces that made up her uniforms and placed them on top of the lid, those definitely had to be taken in, and soon after went to her wardrobe. Going through every drawer and hanging item, leaving what she wanted and pulling out all the unwanted. And that's when time went in a flash of cotton, satin, silk, and denim. And if it weren't for Ginny bringing her dinner up to her, Buffy probably would've missed the entire meal. Not like she would've noticed.

"Can I have this, too?" Ginny asked, placing the emerald-green top against her.

Buffy turned. "Sure," she said, and went back to the mountain on her bed that was thankfully lowering into a molehill. "It'll look great with your hair."

Smiling, Ginny added the garment to her own small growing pile of clothes.

"Are you sure you don't mind me taking these?"

"Nah. I was gonna give 'em away anyway. At least now I know they're going to a good home."

As Buffy dove into her newfound wardrobe again, Ginny moved over to the small vanity by the window and began to fiddle with the brand-new objects sitting there. The ones she had seen Buffy put down when she first came in. The cases and tubes of color and shine. The non-magical items that seemed to work wonders.

"Do you know how to use all of these?" she asked, curiously. Playing with the bristles of a powder brush.

"Course I do. Took some practice but I got all the painting down to a science."

"Is it difficult?"

"Not really."

"How come you're not wearing any now?"

A secretive smile appeared on Buffy's lips. "I've got my reasons."

"Are those the same reasons why your clothes have suddenly taken a different sense of direction?"

"Maybe."

Putting the brush down, Ginny leaned against the table and crossed her arms across her chest. A thoughtful look on her face as she studied the seemingly, light-hearted girl by the bed, who wasn't so seemingly light-hearted before.

"You seem…different."

"Maybe I am different," Buffy said, still tidying her mess of garments and not adding anything else to her mysterious statement.

Ginny couldn't help the knowing frown that pulled at her lips. "You're not going to tell me anything else, are you?"

"Nothing to tell."

"Mean," she grumbled, and even if she was facing her back, Ginny could tell Buffy was smiling. "Well, will you at least teach me how to use this stuff?"

"Ginny." Turning around with something pink and silky in her hands, Buffy gave her an honest look. "You don't need makeup."

"You don't either, but that hasn't stopped you, has it?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because…because I've come to realize that despite being born in the magical world of the United Kingdom, I'm really a California girl at heart," she said proudly. "The land of color, labels, and airbrushed magazine covers."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

A flash clip of Buffy's life in Los Angeles and Sunnydale played in her mind, and it didn't take a genius to know that those two places were very different from the one she had grown up in. Hemery High changed her. It wasn't enough just being popular. You had to be beautiful, fashionable, and popular. And it took a very nice sales lady and the makeup counter at Neiman's to show her the LA way of doing things. Buffy was a born fashionista. And if it weren't for her move to a Muggle city, and a school where trendy was a way of life, she might've never discovered her full potential. Thank goodness, she found her priorities in time.

"Honestly, it has to do with a lot."


Nothing really changed. Buffy still didn't wear makeup and her comfy clothes, the ones she had kept, were the ones she wore. She was on vacation here. Completely entitled to be maintenance free. But apparently people had noticed some kind of so-called change in her. She seemed…different, was all they could say. And it was kind of fun to keep them guessing on why.

Then there was the Harry situation, which was moving at turtle speed. He smiled, she smiled, they said hello and exchanged a few words once in a while but didn't share more than that. How could they? Harry was off with either Ron or Hermione or both, whose behavior towards her wasn't as cold as before but still pretty chilly, or he was with Sirius and Remus. Meanwhile, Buffy was with Ginny and the Twins, or her mother, Sirius, and Remus, and she even helped Mrs. Weasley with the cooking sometimes. Dicing counts as cooking, right? Not to mention there was the business of cleaning the whole house, which kept everybody busy. Considering all that, Buffy was surprised she and Harry had managed a simple hello in the first place.

And speaking of cleaning, there was one little thing that was nagging everybody at Grimmauld Place. Actually, it was the absence of that thing that got them wondering. A little house-elf who had a habit of taking items they kept trying to throw out during their scrubbing but had not done so lately. As a matter of fact, that little house-elf had yet to be seen in quite some time. Which caused them all to worry.

And one girl to grumble.

Kreacher likes Buffy. Kreacher listens to Buffy. Buffy was going to choke Sirius.

Dusting off yet another cobweb, Buffy moved through the attic. The dusty, spider infected, moldy attic that was grating on her nerves. And she had woken up in such a good mood today, too. Well, that was pot now, wasn't it? Stupid Sirius.

"Kreacher!"

Ugh! Stupid cobwebs! Did they really have to be so sticky?

"Kreach –!"

"Mistress Buffy."

The delighted house-elf, well as delighted as Kreacher could be, suddenly appeared before a startled Buffy. Did they really have to pop in like that?

"Kreacher," she said, acknowledging him, which delighted him even more.

"Did Mistress Buffy need Kreacher to do something for her?"

"Actually I do," she said in a friendly tone. "I need you to tell me where you've been. No one's seen you in a while and we were just wondering where you'd run off to."

Kreacher suddenly began to fiddle with the edge of his dirty cloth. Don't tell anyone where you've been, Kreacher. To honor the Black Family, you must keep your mouth shut. No one must know. That's an order!

"Kreacher has been up in the attic," his rough voice evenly drawled out. "Kreacher does not speak to mudbloods and half breeds. Filthy, vile traitors. Scum and ingrates of –"

"Okay," she stopped him. "I get it. People downstairs, not for you. So, what? You've just been here this whole time?"

"Kreacher has."

He was covered in dust. And dirtier than usual. Guess he must be telling the truth then. And it's not like he could go anywhere anyway. Sirius had to verbally release him and as far as she knew that wasn't a possibility. Seeing as Kreacher knew too much about the Order to be set free. And even Sirius wasn't stupid enough to order him out.

"Listen, Kreacher, I need you to do something for me."

"Kreacher will do anything for Mistress Buffy," he happily said.

"If you ever decide to go downstairs, which you should by the way, so they won't send me up here again, I need you to treat me like everyone else, okay?" she requested. "Be mean and rude. Say bad things about me when I'm around. You know, be yourself."

"Kreacher will never treat Mistress Buffy that way," he said, appalled at the idea. "Mistress Buffy has been very good to Kreacher."

"I know," she smiled. "But can you just do this for me, please? At least while everyone's here. For the rest of the holiday break, I need you to behave like you hate me. It's very, very important."

During the summer, we overheard Sirius and Remus say that Kreacher was only nice to Goldilocks. If Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny see him being nice to you they're going to figure out your part of the Order. And George and I like being the only ones who know that. She bet they did. It was their fault to begin with. The Twins and their little Extendable Ears, but at least they warned her before Kreacher might've innocently given her away.

"Kreacher will not treat Mistress that way. Kreacher will treat Mistress the way she deserves."

He was a stubborn little thing, wasn't he?

"Kreacher," she spoke gently, sweetly even. "I really need you to do this favor for me. It would really mean a lot. Please?"

Kreacher likes Buffy. Kreacher listens to Buffy. Kreacher was a sucker for Buffy.

"Kreacher will do as Mistress has asked," he said, both delighted and upset by the request.

"Thank you," she said with a grateful smile. "And I'll tell you what, if it makes it easier on you, you can just ignore me. Pretend I'm not even there."

He would have to, seeing as batty-old-grumpy Kreacher could not find one bad thing to say about the person who's treated him the nicest since he could remember. But thankfully, and unknowingly to the Young Mistress, it would make his job of keeping his secret a lot easier.

Out! Out! Out! That's all Buffy could think about, and after thanking Kreacher for agreeing to her request, she rushed out of the attic. She was not going to stay there any longer than she needed to. Walking all the way downstairs, Buffy dusted her clothes and shook her head, but she still felt unclean. Like the cobwebs were now permanently attached to her.

"Did you find him?" Sirius asked once she entered the kitchen.

"Yeah I found him," she said, dusting herself.

"Where was he?"

"In the attic, like you said."

Out damn'd spot! Out I say! Or dirt and cobwebs in this case. Geez, was this stuff glued on?

They tried not to laugh, hard as it was, as they watched Buffy shake, brush, and jump around as she tried to remove whatever she thought was on her. And unknowingly giving those sitting around the table an amusing show with their lunch.

"Ugh!" she cried. "Forget it! I'm just gonna take another shower." And she snapped right around, to head back up the basement stairs.

"Don't forget to wash behind your ears!" Sirius shouted, amidst his grin.

"Shut up!"

This time, the laughter didn't get held back.

Freshly washed. Freshly clothed. Freshly grime free, Buffy walked back into the kitchen to ease her rumbling stomach.

"Explain to me again why I had to be the one to visit the Land of the Spiders?"

"Because I love tormenting you," Sirius teased.

"You're nothing but a bitter, old man, aren't you?" she taunted through narrowed her eyes and sat in her usual seat beside Remus.

"Hey!" Sirius protested firmly. "I am not old."

Buffy rolled her eyes as she reached over and grabbed whatever food was left on the table.

"Did Kreacher tell you where he was?" Remus asked.

"No, 'cause that would actually entail him talking to me," she replied, filling her plate. "He was up there, in a corner, ranting to himself. Don't know about what and don't really care."

"He was probably sulking because my mother hasn't yelled at him in the past few days."

"Well, whatever it was," said Buffy, piling even more food. "At least now we know he hasn't left the house. 'Cause if he did find a way, I very much doubt he would've come back."

The food on Buffy's plate looked very much like the clothes she had piled onto her bed when she had come back from her shopping trip, a small mountain. And everyone around her was staring at it with wide eyes.

"What?" she asked, noticing their looks.

"You're not really going to eat all that are you?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah, even Ron doesn't eat that much," Fred commented.

"Hey!"

"I just spent five minutes in a dusty, moldy, sticky attic with a house-elf who makes Oscar the Grouch look like Mickey Mouse and I've all I had to show for it was another jump in the shower," she said, plunging her fork toward her plate. "Stress does not combine well with dehydration and starvation."

"Yeah," Sirius said, nodding to himself. "I am never sending you into that attic again."