A/N;
thank you to all those who left a comment on the last chapter...
Gendaris, Spirit of the Night Owl, Nerdalertwarning, Loricfool and all the guests .
…...
A Pouka's Plan
"She's too young for you, old scaley-tail," Tom hissed softly in parseltongue. "Find a mate your own age."
Rory laughed. Leaning over Buffy, he stared directly at Tom. His face changed, cheekbones angling and becoming more prominent, his chin sharpening, and the whites of his eyes turning jet black. "There isn't a witch alive who isn't younger than me, hatchling," he hissed in perfect parseltongue.
Tom was leaning forward, watching the rapidly changing angles on Rory's face, his brain stuttering at what he saw. Parselmouth! A parselmouth! Never before had he met another parselmouth and yet this man could not only speak it, but he could change his face at will. How? Then his mouth dropped open – Rory wasn't human!
"What are you?" Tom whispered in parseltongue. His mind was telling him to tread carefully, his body twitching with the urge to drive off the stranger in his territory. How dare this... whatever he was, speak parseltongue and change his face like that! What was he? "Are you a Naga? Or a Veela?"
Annoyingly, Rory found it funny. He threw back his head and let out a howl of laughter. "A Veela, you think?! I'll need to watch out with you, snake child. You'll be wooing me with gifts of flowers and honeyed cakes next!"
Tom stiffened and glared, hating being ridiculed.
Rory's grin grew wider. "An' there I was, thinking it was our Summer Lady you lusted after."
"Don't bring her into this!"
Rory's face grew sly. "Why not? Bring her into it if I want. I was thinking of taking her as my own... for a summer or two."
"Shut up," hissed Tom, his face dark with anger. Mocked over Buffy and in parseltongue no less! "Shut up. Shut up or I swear I'll –"
"What?" Rory's hiss reverberated in warning. "What'll yer do? Take out yer little magic stick and wave it at me, eh, hatching?"
Someone at the next table laughed loudly. Startled, they both looked over, but the laughter was about a boy who'd eaten a brown Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Bean and had regretted it – to his friends' amusement.
When Rory turned back, Tom snarled. "Don't call me a hatchling! I might be young, but I don't lack –"
"You lack a brain," interrupted Rory happily. "That's what you lack."
The wand was already in Tom's hand, but Buffy, sick of being stuck between the two hissing males, was already on her feet – effectively blocking them. She scanned the pub anxiously. "Is there a gas leak? I hear pipes hissing."
The two males blinked up in confusion. Rory's face growing less snake-like and more human as he stared up at her. Unperturbed at what she saw, Buffy watched his face transform, silently thinking it was nowhere near as radical a change as the first time she'd met him.
"Buffy, me sweetheart, sit yerself back down with us." The Pouka crooned softly, as if she was a nervous horse about to bolt. "Don't upset yerself. Your friend here has been a trifle neglectful."
"I haven't!" hissed Tom, unable to help himself.
Rory ignored him. "He's a boy with a big secret an' he neglected to tell you."
Buffy shot Tom a puzzled look, but Tom kept his gaze firmly on the Pouka.
Rory tugged her arm to get her attention. "Come now, sit back down and I'll fill you in with the details."
She let out a long-suffering sigh and sat down between the two males. Tom didn't speak, but he'd let go of his wand.
Rory nodded towards him. "Me and him were having a friendly talk about this and the that. It sounded like hissing because yer friend is a parselmouth."
Buffy regarded him steadily, she knew an argument when she heard it, and those two had been about to fight. Since Tom didn't elaborate, she'd need to fall back on her old favourite technique to squeeze out information. She widened her eyes. "That's so rude calling Tom... a...a parcel mouth! Are you trying to say his mouth is the size of a public mailbox? It's not!"
Tom had plump, curved lips, and when he pouted – like now – she had the urge to kiss the pout right off of it. Lowering her lashes, she bit her lip, suddenly frustrated at not being able to kiss him. It was 1942; nice girls didn't suddenly launch themselves onto unsuspecting boys and commit lip rape – especially not in public places.
Despite Tom's determination not to stop watching Rory, Buffy distracted him. His eyes moved to her. What did she make of it all? She was taking it remarkably calmly. Was it because she was a Lovegood? The family were known for being eccentric. When most people found out what he was they became nervous. The only one who hadn't was Professor Dumbledore. Rory raised an eyebrow. Oh yeah, and Rory. Mustn't forget Rory, Tom thought sourly.
"It isn't an insult. He's right, I am a parselmouth," he explained. He hadn't planned on telling her yet, and was annoyed with himself for holding a conversation in front of her. "It means I can speak in parseltongue – that's the language of snakes." He proudly added, "The Founder of our House, Salazar Slytherin, was a parselmouth."
Was he?" Buffy's smile was gratifyingly wide. "That's so cool! I should have guessed about ole Salazar! He had the appropriate name-age!"
"Name-age? What... what do you mean by that?" Tom asked, puzzled.
Buffy nudged him. "Because it's all 'S's'. You know, in his name. Ssssalasssar Sssslytherin. They're dead giveaways to snakeyness."
Tom rolled his eyes.
"What about that Gryffindor guy?" Buffy suddenly asked. "Was he a Doolittle type? Could he talk to the animals? His name is all the 'G's' so... jaguar. Oh no, that's a 'J'. Um, Grizzly bear?"
Tom groaned softly.
Rory laughed. "Godric Gryffindor? Oh no, not him." He tossed a beer mat into the air and caught it on the tip of his finger; blowing on it, he sent it spinning.
Lifting his eyes from the spinning beer mat, he said, "It was the Glumbumbles he could charm. Every evening you'd see him out and about, wandering along the treeline carrying a jar of Glumbumbles." Seeing he had their attention, he went on. "Prone to mad fits of hysteria all his life, he was. An' he found the cure in Glumbumble treacle. Old Godric, he was fluent in... um, Glumbumbling."
"A true Glummermouth, huh?" From the corner of her eye, Buffy could see Tom's attention going from her to the Pouka and back again. He didn't look as angry, now he looked confused or perhaps constipated. Buffy took that as a good sign – at least the atmosphere wasn't as hostile now.
Her saying Glummermouth appeared to excite the Pouka. He tossed the mat into the air and clapped his hands delightedly. "Sure, you remembered the very name fer it! A smart lassie you are. Maybe I should have gone to Hogwarts, then I'd have been as smart – 'cept I never got a letter. Maybe, I ate the owl." He chuckled.
"What they might not have told yer, was that Rowena Ravenclaw spoke fluent Re'em. Out on the hills she'd be in the evening, mooing to the wild Re'em cattle roaming the hills."
Buffy nodded sagely. "Yep, mooing the cows to come home. I guess that means Helga Hufflepuff spoke..."
"Horklump," Rory said. He bent down to pick the beer mat off the floor. Buffy kept her eyes fixed firmly on him as he scuffled under the table – she wouldn't put it past a Pouka to tie her laces together as a 'joke'.
He emerged and gave her a rueful look. "What was it I was saying? Oh! Helga. Helga was a special case, just like your boy Tom here. Always in the Hogwarts gardens she was, down on her hands and knees, a big bonnet on her head, whispering to the mushrooms in – ."
"Horkmouth?" Buffy asked. She knew that Horklumps were creatures that looked like mushrooms.
Rory grinned. "Lumptongue."
"Pftt!" Tom had had enough. Slumping back in his seat with a huff, he snapped, "Lumptongue, Re'em, grizzly –"
"Glumbumble," corrected Buffy and Rory at the same time, and then laughed.
Tom scowled. "I'm beginning to think you're both bloody barking!"
"Huh?" Buffy frowned. "Barking?"
"Mad! Crazy!" He made a circling motion beside his temple with a finger. "You're fruitcakes. Mad as hatters, loco?"
"Hey!" She nudged him so hard that it almost sent him sprawling along the bench. "Not fair, Tom! Rory's the crazy fooker, not me."
A startled Tom laughed, face clearing. "Ha! Yeah a complete fooker!" Still chuckling, he picked up his drink and took a gulp from it. Immediately, his face changed. He spat the liquid back into the glass. "That's.." He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to wipe away the taste. "...sour." His eyes snapped to Rory who was smirking. "That was you, wasn't it?"
Rory folded his arms over his leathers and cocked his head. "Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't..."
"Rory," Buffy warned.
The Pouka said sourly, "You shouldn't call me a fooker... Neither of you. An insult that is."
"Okay, me bad... poor little Pooky." When Rory pointed at her butterbeer, Buffy hurriedly grabbed at it. "No more hexing of the drinks, fairy boy."
"Call me a fooker or a fairy boy again, and I'll have yer hair in knots for the rest of the day."
"Hey!" She stopped nursing her drink, her hands going to her hair. It felt okay, but he'd tied knots into her hair the first time they'd met. "Leave my hair alone or … um, face the wrath of The Scalper."
Rory let out a mock shriek of alarm. "Not the hair, a man needs his hair."
"What's wrong with you being called a fairy? I thought that's what the-what you were, a fairy guy?"
Tom sniggered, and Rory scowled again.
"Well, you are a fairy," Buffy insisted. "Just not the sparkly, winged kind."
Rory snorted. "Maybe, but he..." he pointed at Tom. "...thinks being called a fairy is an insult. You should both be thanking whatever gods ye worship that I'm no High Court Fae. Egos the size of Beinn Nibheis they have, and as prickly as a hedgehog. Kidnap or kill yer soon as look at yer, they will."
"Fae?" Tom said slowly, trying to remember what he knew about them. "You're really a fairy?"
The Pouka scowled. "A Pouka. Sometimes known as a Puck or a Robin Goodfellow, although he is not me. A southern lad he is."
"I thought..." Tom began slowly. "... I thought the Fae, real Fae, were just a myth."
"Then you'd be mythtaken," Buffy quipped. "You'd be surprised how many times that happens." She chuckled to herself – as if enjoying a private joke – and after a moment, unable to resist laughter, Rory joined in.
Tom didn't think it was that funny. If Rory was a Fae that explained his wandless magic. I told you he was dangerous, warned his inner voice. Keep Buffy away from him.
"What would a member of the Fae want with a schoolgirl?" he asked, using a much politer tone than previously.
Although the question had been for Rory, it was Buffy who replied, "Rory has promised to help me. He said that he'd find me a Babylonian Devil Trap." Her face was set and determined. "I've checked all known sources and seen a picture – "
"All known sources? Where?" Tom wondered if she'd sneaked into the Restricted Section.
"Um, in a book." The book had belonged to Travers and he hadn't liked letting her see it which annoyed her. Giles had always 'encouraged' her to read his books and as far as she was concerned he was the gold standard in Watchers. Stupid Travers guarded his books like a dragon guarded its gold. "Um, they're this thing, like a soup bowl but with squiggly writing inside of them. The book says they can be used in all kinds of ritual stuff. I'm gonna use it to catch creepies."
"Creepies?" Tom had never heard of a Babylonian Devil Trap. He had the urge to go straight to the library, find the book and research straight away, although he'd no idea how he'd do that without Buffy knowing.
Buffy watched him, wondering how he was going to react. "Creatures of the Dark Side, aka the guys in hoods and tattered robes. Dementors. I'm gonna kick the butt of every Dementor I find and send them to demon jail. Only... don't say anything to anyone about it. They'll say it's too dangerous and try stopping me."
Try to stop her? Of course, they'd try to stop her! Except... Dumbledore might not. He could see Dumbledore cheering her on and commending her for having 'Gryffindor spirit'. He'd probably tell her to take on Grindelwald next.
"Buffy," he shook his head, "your plan IS too dangerous!" He slid a look at Rory and back again. "And you've asked him, one of the Fae – a Pouka – to help you?!"
He couldn't believe the craziness of her scheme. When she'd told him she was planning to change the world, he'd thought she was ambitious, fantasising or trying to impress him. It hadn't crossed his mind that she planned to change it by hunting Dementors. It wasn't that he didn't understand her need for revenge after what they'd done to her, but to launch a slaying campaign against them? It was beyond crazy! She was completely insane for thinking of it. And the sad thing was, he didn't like her any less for it.
"A contract between the two of us was made," the Pouka suddenly added, with such a sly expression that it made Tom want to groan aloud. "A way to hunt the Dementors she asked for and the Fae have the very thing. Always been big on hunting and helping in quests, we are. So I upped and found her one. She'll just need a stout heart, a sight that sees and a little bit of hero's luck if she wants it. What's it to be, Buffy?" he asked. "Do you want this bad enough? Will you go after the trap if I tell you where it's hid?"
To both Buffy and Tom, the noise of the pub seemed to fade and only the Pouka's face and words hung in the air. The universe held its breath, waiting to hear what she'd say. Buffy could see Tom thought it was a bad idea. Was his magic vibrating a warning too? Hers was; her palms were hot and her fingers itched as if her magic was building ready to use. The Slayer part of her was ominously quiet, watching and waiting in the hope she'd come across something to fight. Seriously though, how bad could this be? It was just grabbing a pot. Neither Tom or Rory knew she was a Slayer or that she'd spent a lifetime fighting vampires and demons in her last life. It wasn't as if this was her first rodeo.
"Sure." Buffy smiled grimly at the Pouka. "Just call me, um, Braveheart. You do the what-where on the pot and I'll do the go-get."
The Pouka slid Buffy's butterbeer towards him and took a drink from it. Licking the froth from his lips, he replied, "It's in the other place."
"Other place?" Suspicion laced Tom's voice. "You mean, it's somewhere... Muggle?" He said the word Muggle in the same way that other people said 'open sewer'.
The silence dragged.
"Are we talking interdimensional travel, then?" Buffy asked. Her uneasiness grew. Where was it? Was it in a Hell dimension? Rory was being evasive, he wouldn't look either of them in the eye.
Rory scanned the room, taking in the other students, the barmaid and his eyes finally coming to rest on Minister Lestrange who was watching them. Realising he'd been spotted, the Minister dropped his gaze and made a point of reading the Daily Prophet that he'd left lying on the table. Rory continued to watch him, refusing to speak until he was satisfied Lestrange wouldn't look over again – at least, not for a while.
"Muggles? Yer all Muggles to me," he replied dismissively. "As for this Inter-di-men-sional travel? What would I know about that? I'm just a simple Pook from the Highlands who minds his own business. No, all I know about is the Here and the There, that's enough for me. But what I will tell yer is, the There isn't a place you'll find so easily. You'll need to follow – "
"The yellow brick road?" said Buffy, unable to help herself. "I can be Dorothy, you can be Toto and Tom here can be – "
"Don't you dare say the Scarecrow," Tom gave her a dark look. He'd been forced to sit through The Wizard Of Oz with gritted teeth after a benefactor paid for all the orphans to watch it as a 'treat'.
"I wouldn't dare." She smirked at him. "That's a role made for Abraxas Malfoy. You can be um, the Tinman."
"I suppose that's marginally better than the Lion." Tom sniffed. The Tinman didn't have a heart and although he wanted to complain on principle, he had to admit there were certain similarities. "The Lion is Caradoc," he said firmly.
"Jealous much?" Buffy asked.
"Nothing to be jealous of," Tom replied smoothly.
"If you've finished? I might be able to tell yer what I wanted," Rory snapped. He'd never seen the movie so had no idea what they were talking about. "I could leave, yer know? Doin' yer a favour here and yer too busy yabbering with one another to listen." He scowled and stared over at the side of Minister Lestrange's head. The Minister continued to read his paper.
"Sorry. We're really interested."
Since the Pouka wanted to tell her, he relented and went on, "It's a place no map will take you, not even if yer follow the Wizarding ones. No, the easiest way to get there is for me to show yer the way. On Samhain, be at the side of the greenhouses before midnight. I'll show you the hidden pathways and even take you to the entrance. After that, it'll all be down to you."
"Yes, but where is it?" Tom asked. He disliked vague plans and distrusted those who spoke in riddles. "Is it far?"
"A hop, skip and a jump away," the Pouka replied evasively,
"Where?" pressed Tom.
Rory tossed back the dregs of Buffy's butterbeer. "Fairyland. Her Demon trap is hidden in a vault inside the Summer Palace."
Buffy's face dropped. "I'm stealing... from the Fae?"
Rory shrugged. "It's no use to them that has it. The Court Fae won't care. Prefer their gems and their gold to magical pots. After Samhain, no one will notice yer. No one important, that is." He shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe a warden, or a guard... or two."
"Wardens? Guards?" Buffy blinked, this was getting more and more complicated. This didn't sound good. She'd need to sneak into a palace, get inside the heavily guarded vaults, go find the pot and then get out again. And even if she managed all that without being seen the Fae might find out she'd taken it and come after her.
Tom leaned forward, eyes fixed on the Pouka. "What sort of guards?" he asked, anger in his voice again. "You come here, telling Buffy that you've found an enchanted bowl for her and then say she needs to travel to Fairyland..." He spat the word 'Fairyland'. "... with you, and then tell her she has to fight trained guards?"
He was working himself up again. Buffy put a hand on his forearm, trying to calm him. She could feel how tense he was and she gave his arm a squeeze, hoping to distract him from hexing Rory. "Tom, I'll be fine."
Rory shrugged matter-of-factly. "Oh, I never said this was going to be easy, but the High Fae will have gone, and they're the ones you worry about. And stealing? No one blinks an eye at a bit o' stealing in Fairyland – not if it's done right and proper. I'm sure a resourceful girl like you can be in and out of there before they know it."
"And if they catch me?"
Rory smiled. "It depends on what yer doing when they catch you."
"I don't like this," Tom hissed. Rory's plan was getting worse by the minute. "I have a bad feeling about it."
Buffy gave him a tight smile. "It'll be a piece of cake. Go with Rory to Disney, check. Grab bowl, check, escape again, check. You'll see, easy-peasy." And she really hoped that she hadn't just jinxed herself.