"So it's more a case of you being forced to enjoy one another's company?" Lestrange asked as Buffy stashed her money back in her pocket. "I wonder," he continued, coming over to stand by her. "What Headmaster Dippet will say when he finds that you've sneaked out of Hogwarts?"

Buffy didn't need to see the Minister's face to know he was smirking. Marcus must have told him that she and Tom had been grounded. What should she do? Once, in another lifetime, she would have panicked and gone into babble mode. This time, she wasn't some naïve fifteen-year-old trying to work out who she was in life and how to deal with awkward questions. This time, she not only had twenty years' worth of memories to fall back on, she was the daughter of a notorious Dark Wizard known for his silver tongue. Maybe, it was time to find out if she'd inherited any of his abilities.

Buffy looked up, seeing Tom's pale face. She gave a small shake of her head, trying to convey to him 'I can handle this,' before turning her attention to the Minister.

So... how would Grindelwald deal with this? Cunning. That's how he'd deal with a situation like this. Mimicking the way Grindelwald moved in his photos, she tilted her head and gave the Minister a small conspiratorial smile. "I've an appointment. It had to be kept."

Startled, Minister Lestrange blinked. "An appointment?"

Buffy pressed home her advantage. "Uh-huh, and since it's a private one, I'm sure you'll know better than to pry or discuss it with others. Even the headmaster." She levelled a piercing look at the shopkeepers, letting her Slayer side out to peep through her eyes and intimidate them. "That goes for all of you."

"You can count on Mossley's discretion, Miss."

And with that, the Slayer was gone, leaving behind only a lingering sense of unease. "It's been nice visiting with you, but the time has come for me to be... elsewhere." Buffy flashed a bedazzling smile at them all, confusing them even further, before stepping closer to Tom. "Ready, Tom?"

He nodded, pulling his hood over his head and surprising her by reaching for her hand. She took it, happy that Minister Lestrange hadn't scared him off her with his blood purity taunts. Hopefully, he would put it all that down to Lestrange's... strangeness and not ask her any awkward questions later.

They'd got as far as the pavement when Lestrange called out, "One moment, please!"

Tom and Buffy exchanged looks, then waited.

"Riddle, be a good sort and allow us a moment in private," Lestrange said as he stepped out of the shop. "Yes, I do know about the chains, Marcus told me. There's no need to go far. Well, a bit further than that." He waved Tom on. "Keep going... stop, stay there."

Tom waited by a shop window and politely looked in the opposite direction. He was curious, very curious, but didn't want to be caught looking over and accused of eavesdropping.

Eager to get away from the nosy wizard, Buffy warned Lestrange, "I've really gotta go. Didn't Marcus tell you what happened to me this morning? I was minding my own business when I got dragged into the boy's dorm when the chains unexpectedly rejoined. I had to lie on the floor with my eyes closed. It was too late though, I'd seen all the nakedness in there." She fake-shuddered. "I'm still mentally scarred by some of the things I saw in there."

A tic twitched in Lestrange's cheek and he looked disgusted. "No, he didn't tell me that. Salazar! What in the name of Merlin is Dumbledore thinking?! Would he have chained other students or is this down to... you being who you are?" And he gave her a hard look, as if he knew exactly who her father was.

He had to be guessing. Buffy knew that her mom had never told him everything that happened with Grindelwald. Her mom liked him, but didn't trust him and Buffy didn't either. She shrugged. "Dumbledore's brain works in mysterious ways."

The Minister's mouth twitched. "Indeed. So who is this person that you're meeting with? Is it someone... important?"

Did he think it was Grindelwald? What would he do if she told him it was? Send for the Aurors or turn a blind eye? Buffy was almost tempted to say it was and see what happened.

Instead, she answered more evasively, "He could turn out to be an important... ally." Her wrist had started to itch and she thought it might be a sign of the chains returning. She took a couple of steps away from Lestrange, inching towards Tom. "I asked you not to ask. The... he likes his privacy. Look, I've really gotta go. The chains are imminent," and she turned, and began walking to Tom.

Lestrange wasn't so easily dismissed. He strode alongside her, asking, "Is it... is it someone Professor Dumbledore approves of?"

Buffy snorted. She couldn't imagine a Pouka being on the Deputy Head's list of Approved Persons.

"What about Joyce?" Lestrange pressed, keeping pace with her. "Would she approve?"

Buffy quickened her pace, not wanting to answer. Tom had moved off further down the alley, inching towards the main street. He was probably hoping she could ditch the Minister before she reached him.

"Buffy?" Lestrange asked again, determined to get an answer from her.

"Jeez, what is this? Twenty questions?" Would her mom approve of Rory? "Um, maybe. Mom's been a whole bundle of surprises lately." Like confessing that her father was a notorious Dark Wizard and she'd bound her magic as a baby to stop her from being kidnapped.

"Isn't she just," breathed Lestrange, looking genuinely pained. "I saw her having an intimate late-night supper with a man who happens to be a well-known vampire."

Buffy stopped so fast that Lestrange almost collided into her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, catching her arm to steady himself.

"You saw mom... with a vampire?!" The air between her and Tom shimmered as the chains began to reform. If she didn't move, someone would take a nose-dive, but right now, she didn't care. Her mind raced as one scenario after another tumbled through it.

What if the vampires had discovered her identity and sent someone to kidnap her mom? As a young Slayer, that thought has always scared her back in Sunnydale. What if... her mom was being tortured, right now? What if... what if she was already dead? The world tilted, and she saw again her mom lying dead on the couch, eyes staring blankly. Cold dread grew inside her.

"You didn't let her go off with him?" The chain had encircled her wrist, and the rest of the links hovered in the air, she thought only her panic and magic were holding them off.

Lestrange stayed silent.

"You did, didn't you?" She felt like hitting him – hard. Thrusting her hands into her pockets to stop herself from hurting him, she pushed past to where Tom waited, the chains changing to solid as she drew level with him. Tom would help if she asked, she knew it. "Where's the nearest floo? Mom's in danger."

"The Three Broomsticks," Tom replied. "Follow me." Sensing her urgency, he set off at a quick pace, shooting the Minister a dark look for having upset her.

Lestrange had to jog to keep up. "Buffy, slow down! Joyce is perfectly fine. We had lunch the day after and there wasn't a mark on her. She said she'd only met up with Sanguini to collect a packet of negatives off him."

"Oh." Buffy slowed down. Feeling stupid, she shot Tom a slightly embarrassed look. She should have remembered about Sanguini and his dodgy photos.

The Minister panted, more out of shape than he cared to admit. "I understand your distrust, I really do. Vampires have a poor reputation and there are too many who think the rules don't apply to them. However, there's never been a single complaint made about Sanguini – I checked. He feeds from Muggles and always takes care to Obliviate them afterwards."

"How nice of him," Buffy muttered darkly. "Gaslighting after suck-age."

Lestrange didn't appreciate her sarcasm. "Muggles do occasionally fight back. We believe the Muggles attacked and killed a well-known vampire recently. They still haven't found any evidence of where he went. You might have read about it in the papers."

"I remember it, sir," Tom exclaimed, and he shot Buffy a side look. "The Prophet ran the story a number of times, didn't they? They were calling it a tragedy for the musical community."

Buffy bit her lip and stared down at the stone cobbles in the street. "Um, yeah, the singing guy." She'd slain The Vampire of The Opera.

"That's the one. You'll be pleased to know, Buffy" Lestrange went on, "That I advised Joyce not to meet with Sanguini again." His lip curled with snobbish contempt. "He's riff raff. Whether she'll heed me, I don't know. However, she hasn't mentioned him since and, rest assured, he won't bother you again with his silly camera. The same goes for that Peter Skeeter. I believe the Editor has had several powerful people write to him complaining about the article."

That was interesting, but her mom loomed too much on her mind to think of it. "So you're sure mom's okay?" Every time she got a letter from home, Buffy hoped it would say her mom was cured.

"She seemed well." Lestrange didn't sound confident. "A little downhearted at the pace of the treatment. If it doesn't work out, she does have the details of a private Healer who comes highly recommended." Lestrange eyed the silver chains holding Tom and Buffy together. "Speaking of help, I think you could use a little of mine." He nodded to the chains. "If I cast a Disillusionment Charm – a temporary one – it will hide those chains for an hour or so."

"Of course, Minister, a Disillusionment Charm! It's just the thing!" Tom exclaimed. "Why didn't I think of it myself!" He gave the wizard his most perfect prefect smile. "Excellent thinking, sir!"

"Let's see if it works, first." Taking out his wand, Lestrange pointed to the chains. With a swirl and tilt of his wrist, the silver chains grew brighter and brighter. Then they slowly faded from sight.

"Wow!" Buffy lifted her hand. Although she could feel the weight of the chains and a glimmer of outline, she was impressed. Minister Lestrange had succeeded in making them invisible. "That's a nifty piece of non-verbal spellwork there, Min."

"Nifty? It's fantastic! Brilliant work, sir! You're very clever!" enthused Tom, hoping that Minister Lestrange was susceptible to flattery as Slughorn was. Internally he'd been panicking ever since Lestrange had mentioned speaking to the headmaster. It was alright for Buffy, she had a nice home and family to help if she was suspended. All he had was the cold orphanage, the sour face of Mrs Cole and weeks of magic-less life until he could return to Hogwarts. How he hated the Muggle world! He couldn't wait until he was seventeen so he could leave it forever!

He noticed Buffy giving him the stink eye. Silently telling him he was overdoing the flattery and to cut back on it. Tom ignored her – she wasn't as desperate as he was.

"Thank you so much, sir!" he added, just to be obstinate.

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. Now she'd need to thank Lestrange; otherwise, she'd seem rude. "Um, thanks," she chirpily added. "Less chain-age is always of the good. It beats wandering the streets like a homeless Bloody Baron. Not that I look anything like the Bloody Baron. I'm younger, prettier and... very much alive."

"Indeed you are," Lestrange gave her a little smile. "But don't tell your mother how I helped you, she'd make my life uncomfortable if she found out I was your accomplice."

When they turned the corner into the busy main street, Buffy let out a huff of relief. Tom hadn't lied when he said no one would look twice at them having their hoods up. There was an icy wind blowing down from the mountains and most of the students in the street were either hooded or wearing House scarves and hats against the cold. She shivered, buttoning her robe up and wishing she could cast another Warming Charm. Why did the Scottish Highlands have to be so cold?

Tom led the way down the street, Buffy just behind him and Lestrange tagging along behind. She'd been told the village had a lot of interesting shops and although she didn't see the shop selling amazing candy, she spotted several others, like Scrivenshaft's. Their window was filled with pots and pots of flamboyantly coloured quills and tall bottles of master inks. But it was Glad Rags where she slowed, whimpering when she saw an amazing silver and whiter voile ball gown in the window – dying to try it on. Her adoration and drooling were interrupted by a sudden jerk on the chain.

"Keep moving," Tom ordered grumpily. She could only see the tip of his nose and the straight line of his mouth under the hem of his hood.

"Quit yanking my chain and cut me some slack," she complained, rubbing her wrist. He hadn't hurt her, but she had to keep up the normal girl pretence.

"Don't you want to get to your appointment?" Tom hissed, tugging on the chain again.

Buffy caught up with him, pouting mutinously. Tom glanced at her mouth, then turned away. "The pub is only just there. At the end of the street. See? You can see the sign from here."

Buffy stared off down the busy street, trying to figure out which of the pointy-roofed, sagging buildings he was talking about. And then she saw it, three broomsticks hanging from the wall of a building. Tom was right, they weren't far away and they still hadn't found a way to ditch the Minister. How was she going to get rid of him? It would be down to her – Tom was too busy playing the polite prefect to him.

"I'm coming into the pub with you," Lestrange said, almost as if he'd heard her thoughts.

Buffy stared straight ahead. He'd better not have snuck into her head while she'd gotten distracted by the pretty dress! "There's no need," she said coolly. "We've got it covered."

"There's every need," Lestrange insisted. "I'm going in with you."

"My contact might not show if there's too many people around." She thought it might be true. She'd done her research and found the Fae preferred isolated places, shied away from large crowds and were especially distrustful around wizards.

Lestrange looked fully at her and laughed, his green eyes sparkling with genuine amusement. "Buffy, it's a pub. It's the busiest place in Hogsmeade at any time of the week and at lunchtime on a Hogsmeade weekend it will be packed. I won't notice me."

Buffy pouted. "But you... stand out. You're like old, and you wear old people's clothes."

Tom winced. Buffy badly needed lessons in diplomacy and delicacy.

Thankfully, the Minister seemed to find it funny. "Yes, I suppose I do. When you're Minister for International Magical Law they tend to prefer you to dress for the part, even on your days off. You don't need to worry, I shan't cramp your style. I'll sit elsewhere and watch at a distance." She opened her mouth to complain, and he held up a finger to quiet her. "Ah-ah. You know full well that I'd never be able to face... your parent, if something happened to you."

Which parent was he thinking of? Her mom could be a momma bear when roused, but what about her father? Did Grindelwald care?

They reached the pub and resigned to his presence, Buffy climbed the worn stone steps leading up to The Three Broomsticks door and pushed the brightly polished brass fingerplate. The door opened and the noise hit her; laughter and chatter, the fires in the hearths popping and crackling, the sound of cutlery rattling as food was eaten. There was also the smell of the place. Most pubs smelt of alcohol, smoke, food, furniture polish and cheap perfume; Wizarding ones were the same, but with more exotic whiffs of strange potions left brewing at home and lingering on the patrons' hair and clothing. She stopped by the door, taking in the atmosphere, while searching for Rory.

"I don't see him."

"You find a table, and I'll buy the drinks," Lestrange suggested. "Butterbeer for both of you?" They thanked him, and he walked away, soon passing from sight as he squeezed through the groups of students.

Tom took Buffy's hand and led her through the crowd until they were roughly halfway across the room. Stairs led upwards, and Buffy could see balconies above them and doors leading off.

"They're mainly private rooms and bedrooms," Tom explained seeing her gazing up. "If this Rory told you to meet him here, he won't expect you to be upstairs." He glanced over at the large timepiece hanging from an iron hook and said, "We're early. Don't worry, you won't have missed him." Spotting two older Slytherins leaving a table under the wooden stair, he hurried towards it. "Quick, before someone else gets it."

"Do you think he'll be able to find us?" Buffy asked, settling on the padded bench. Being under the stairs like this made the table feel a little out of the way.

"I'm sure he will." Tom sat beside her, his thigh touching hers. Neither said anything, but they both noticed how close they were. Tom stared off, unwilling to move, and Buffy did the same.

"What about Lestrange?" she asked after a short silence. This was silly. His leg was touching hers. It wasn't as if he'd dragged her onto his lap and started fondling her. She really needed to get out more, start dating again and get over this awkwardness.

Suddenly, she noticed two sixth-year girls glaring over. Was it because she was with Tom? Buffy couldn't resist pulling her tongue out at them.

"Just ignore them," said Tom quietly. "They wanted this table. Do you want Lestrange to find us? I'd assumed you didn't."

She smiled at him, ignoring his leg pressing against hers. "Um, let me see... That would be a big nope. Don't care if I never see him again." The Ravenclaw girls were whispering. Buffy heard the words 'fighting in class' and 'she's a Lovegood and a Slytherin. What can you expect from that combination?' That was it! Furious, she half-rose and was stopped by Tom grabbing her forearm.

"I said, ignore them. We don't want to lose our seats or be thrown out." Despite his words, he made eye contact with the Ravenclaw who'd insulted Buffy and sat staring at her, using his raw magic to silently intimidate her. When she turned away and began edging off, he smirked and turned to Buffy.

Emerald green eyes met and held his own. The Three Broomsticks faded, his breathing slowed and times seemed to stand still. "Buffy," he began, searching for the words yet not knowing what to say. That he liked her company and wanted more of it..? He opened his mouth and shut it again. He couldn't. Words were not enough and admitting it was stupid.

"Tom?" she asked uncertainly, and he replied coldly, "Lestrange is on his way over."

The Minister dropped into the empty chair opposite them. "I've placed our order. They're bringing it over." He looked around, noting that those in this part of the pub were all students. Placing his elbows on the table, he leaned across the table to the two teenagers and whispered, "Have you spotted him yet?"

"No, it's early," Buffy replied, her voice sounding calmer than she felt. "If he sees there's too many people with me, he might not come over."

"Oh, I shan't stay. Marcus is meeting me here for lunch together. Parents rarely see their children during term-time so I'm looking forward to catching up with him. When I see Joyce, shall I tell her we met?" Lestrange watched her carefully.

"Um." Buffy shifted on the seat – the leather padding wasn't that comfortable. "I'd prefer it if you don't. I don't want her worrying about me."

The table fell silent as a buxom barmaid sidled up to their table with a tray. After putting a glass of firewhiskey in front of the Minister – and giving him a saucy wink – she placed the butterbeers in front of Buffy and Tom before whirling off to serve at another table.

Lestrange picked up his glass and swirled the amber liquid around thoughtfully. "Hmm. So now you're admitting she won't approve –."

"I said worry," Buffy interrupted. "Better she doesn't know and then she won't worry."

"I take it that he set up this meeting?"

Grindelwald! He really thought this was set up by Grindelwald! She needed to warn her mom that he knew. Although that might be better done face to face and not in writing. Buffy nodded. It was true, Rory had set this up. It wasn't her fault Lestrange had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"Then I shall be right over there, should you need me," Lestrange pointed to an empty stool a short distance off. He looked back at Tom who'd stayed quiet. "Tom, Marcus has spoken of you a number of times and thinks highly of you. He says that you are a true Slytherin. Is he right?"

Tom sat up straighter. "Yes, sir!"

"I do hope so." The Minister gave him a hard look. "I also hope you'll behave like one at all times. Be a perfect gentleman towards Miss Summers and have discretion. Don't give me a reason to dislike you."

"Certainly not, sir!" Although his voice was free of emotion, Tom was annoyed. How dare the Minister suggest he wasn't a true Slytherin just because he was a Half-blood! How dare he think that he'd behave badly towards Buffy! "You don't need to worry, sir," he went on. "Buffy is safe with me."

Although Buffy recognised the obliging expression as one Tom wore around people in authority, she knew his brain must be churning with everything he'd heard today. All those hints Lestrange had dropped... Would Tom do the maths, adding two and two and coming up with four? The thought of everyone knowing who her father was both set her teeth on edge and scared her. Being an undercover, illegal slayer was difficult enough to handle; being the illegitimate daughter of a dark wizard was a whole new ballgame.

Had she or Lestrange said anything Tom might pick up on? After a moment, Buffy decided that Tom didn't have enough clues to make that leap – hell, she wouldn't have guessed if her mom hadn't told her.

When Lestrange finally left, Buffy took a drink of butterbeer to calm down. She'd been served with them in the past while at the Leaky, and this tasted just as good, if not better. "I'm glad he's gone," she said quietly. Tom watched the room over the top of his glass, looking for any sign of Buffy's mysterious Rory.

"Oi!" someone yelled from near the front door. "Who's hexed me drink? If I find out, I'll..."

"Eww, mine's been done too!" cried one of the boy's friends. Buffy caught sight of him through the crowd, fishing a fat slug out of his glass with a forefinger. Immediately, others began finding slugs in their drinks, calling out and glaring around, trying to work out who'd done the hexing.

Tom held his glass up, checking for slugs, and Buffy did the same. Theirs were slug free, but a girl eating pumpkin toast at a nearby table with her friends wasn't so lucky. She suddenly choked, gagged, and wretched up something green. Her friends leaped away, screaming. "Toad! It's... a toad!"

The girl was furious. She was on her feet, her short, red curly hair crackling with magic and standing on end around her head. Shakily she drew her wand and pointed it at a group standing nearby. "Who hexed my food? Amelia? You have a nasty sense of humour. You've always disliked me!"

The tall, dark girl shook her head. "It wasn't me! Was it?" she asked her friends. They all shook their heads.

Buffy saw that, all around her, students had their wands drawn and were shouting accusations at others. There were at least two hexes thrown, and a number of people cried out in pain.

The barmaid used the Sonorus Charm, and her voice, amplified by the spell, blasted through the entire length of the pub. "OI! OI! CALM DOWN!" she bellowed, instantly quietening the customers. Rolling up her sleeves, she revealed plump, freckled arms, pudgy fists and a small, black wand. "Put your wands away! If I find out who's been hexing in my pub... they gets themselves banned – for life!"

"Miss Bunty," called a tall wizard wearing a Victorian top hat and a long, dark overcoat. He pointed at the door marked 'gents' behind him. "Something's happened to the toilets... the drains..."

He lifted one foot and then the other, each making an audible squelching sound as they hit the floor. "I'm off home to change. I feel... contaminated." With that, he squelched to the fireplace, flung in a pinch of floo powder and vanished with a green flash.

"Righto!" The barmaid pointed to the boys who'd found the slugs in their drinks. "You lot can leave! And you too." She pointed at the girl who'd puked up a toad. "Your friends best take you back before anything else happens. As for the rest..." she glared around, her eyes blazing with anger. "One more hex in here today and everyone from Hogwarts gets barred!"

There was a lot of groaning, but no one dared complain. In fact, a good few put their drinks down and made their way to the door. Once they'd gone, the barmaid called, "Oh, and the toilets are out of use until I can get them fixed. Find alternative facilities." With a wave of her wand, the toilet doors shook in their frames – a Locking Charm securing them.

"Is it always like this in here?" Buffy asked. "Or is this a bad day?" She lifted her glass, checked again for slugs, and took a cautious sip.

"I've never seen anything like this before." Tom frowned, scanning the room. He had no idea who the prankster was, and that bothered him. There was a small table near the door with four Gryffindors seated around it. The boys were laughing quietly. Was it them?

A deep belly laugh from close range startled them. Tom jumped and Buffy's wand slid from her holster and into her hand. When she realised who it was, she discreetly slipped it back again. Rory had sneaked up on them while they'd been distracted by the pub's shenanigans.

'I'm getting better at this,' she thought. 'This time I went for my wand and not my stake.'

"Good afternoon, my lovely." Dressed in a dark jacket made from patchwork leather over a soft green linen shirt, Rory grinned roguishly at Buffy before sliding onto the bench beside her. He bent his head towards her, saying, "That t'wasn't my finest entrance, but, you have to admit it, it was fun watching them with all the arguing." He leaned back, stretching out his limbs and looking very much at home. "None here saw me come in, including yourself. You were all too busy looking for the slugs in yer drinks. If I'd a mind, I could have sneaked over, braided knots into your hair and tied you to a beam. You'd never have noticed 'til it was time to leave."

"Don't count on it," replied Buffy. "You just might suffer from a mysterious case of premature baldness. She wriggled her fingers in front of his face "I've been told I have the knack."

"Argh, don't be so down on a poor man who's doing his best to woo yer. I'm out of practice, you need to remember." He waggled his eyebrows. "You might enjoy the tying up and the struggling, for all I know."

"No." She gave him a hard look. One that had sent lesser demons fleeing in her past life.

Rory beamed at her. "There's not many pretty girls who can draw my attention like you do. It's the way you look at me, as though I'm special to you."

"You're the epitome of the word special, Rory."

He chuckled, and seeing Tom's disapproving expression, took Buffy's hand. "What is such a fair maiden doing in such a wretched place? A garden, you should be in. One filled with the scent of flowers and fed wild strawberries by your devoted swain." He shot Tom a sly look. "That'ad be swain and not swine. It's as well to know the difference."

Buffy gasped, opened her mouth and shut it before jerking her hand from the Pook's grasp.

Rory was not put off. "Aye, even the drowning fish impression looks better on you than it does on most." Mischief danced in his eyes. "There's not many human girls who can pull faces like that and still look quite fetching."

"Quit comparing me to a dead fish!" spluttered Buffy. "And fish don't drown."

Tom had had enough of listening to the leather-clad man. "Ignore him," he growled. "No doubt he's the village idiot. I bet his minder is out looking for him."

Rory took no notice of Tom, instead, he spoke directly to Buffy. "Oh, indeed fish do drown, my sweetest breath of mountain air. Don't they lie on the bank, gasping for water trying to breathe? Isn't that their way of drowning?"

Tom gave an exasperated sigh and Rory stared at him as if it was the first time he'd seen him. "Who's the moody appendage?" he asked Buffy. "Tell him, he needs to keep his nose out my business or one day he'll lose it."

Tom tensed, his magic swirling around as anger built up in him. Worried a fight was about to break out, Buffy angled her body, hiding Tom from the Pouka's view. "Stop! Just..." Buffy took a deep breath. "I know you wanted to meet me alone and I'm sorry I brought someone, but this isn't Tom's fault so don't go taking it out on him."

"Why? Ask yourself, why didn't he want anyone with you?" Tom whispered, his voice so low and... hissy that even Buffy had trouble understanding his words. "Don't trust him. There's something off about him."

Had he sensed Rory wasn't human? The Pouka looked completely normal to Buffy. Okay, his fashion sense raised a blip on her Slaydar – he looked like a cross between Robin of Sherwood and a young Hells Angel – but to her, he fitted right in with the eclectic fashion of the magical world.

"Rory, I brought Tom here because I...um, was, sort of, forced to."

Rory lifted his chin and regarded Tom haughtily.

Buffy quickly lifted her wrist to show him the chains, forgetting about Lestrange's Disillusionment Charm. "Oh. Um, you can't see them. We had them made invisible. Professor Dumbledore chained us as a punishment for fighting in class and we're... stuck with one another until Dums decides we've learnt our lesson."

"It's true," added Tom, peering around her. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

Rory gave him a doubtful look. "Hope to die, eh? Is that right?"

"Tom's a friend. You can trust him." Buffy hoped she was right. Fiona and Uma might think Tom was wonderful, but they also thought he was behind a lot of the mischief that went on in Slytherin. Lovell had told her to be careful when she was alone with him. He said the same thing about all the boys, though, so she hadn't taken much notice.

"Is she right, Tom?" Rory asked, leaning further forward to stare around Buffy at the dark-haired boy's face. "Prove it to me. Buy me a firewhiskey, an' I'll call you friend as well."

"I don't want to buy you a drink!" snapped Tom, rising to his feet, his shoulders back, spine stiff, his dark eyes cold and flashing with anger. Was this Rory a Legilimens? Had he looked into his mind and seen his dreams of immortality? "I'm choosy who I call friend."

Buffy's eyes widened. Tom was skating on thin ice here. The Fae liked gifts of food and alcohol, helping those who gave freely and taking revenge on those they saw as slighting them. If she didn't act fast, those two would start hexing each other, and Rory had more than a thousand years under his belt.

"Tom, sit down, please."

Tom glowered, so wrapped up in bitterness, anger and hurt that he barely heard her.

"Tom," she said again. "Please sit down."

Eventually, with one last parting look at Rory, he nodded and sat down again. Buffy let out a sigh of relief – one down, one to go.

"Rory, let me pay for that drink." She took out a coin and slid a golden galleon along the table towards him. "You'll need to go to the bar yourself. They won't serve us until we're seventeen. Neither Tom or I are old enough."

"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.

..

A/N;

Thanks to the guests who reviewed, Spirit Of the Night Owl, Nerdalertwarning, LoricFool, bigwoof, Kayleerenea, Gendaris and anyone else I might have missed from the list. ;-)

So Tommy got more than he expected. Buffy got stressed trying to deal with everyone (I really think she's more silver stake than silver tongued), Lestrange is prying and not getting very far and Rory is have fun tormenting humans. That pooka has plans. Buffy will like them, Tom not so much. He's going to think they are far, far worse plans than splitting your soul and murdering people, but that's just Tom.