Chapter 2: Forever

July 27, 2001 – Friday

Brown Brothers Mortuary

Buffy entered the dimly lit hall, her heart heavy with grief, and her footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. The caskets surrounded her like a haunting reminder of the tragedy that had brought them here. She paused before one particular casket, her fingers trembling as she reached out to touch it, feeling the cold, smooth surface beneath her fingertips.

Turning around to face her companions, Giles, Dawn, Hermione, and the funeral director, Buffy's eyes were clouded with sorrow. Giles, the fatherly figure, stretched his arm around Dawn, a gesture of both support and protection, and with a flick of his hand, he illuminated the room. "There you are… Are you alright?" he asked, concern etched deeply into his voice.

Hermione, her face a mix of empathy and sadness, walked past Giles and Dawn to embrace Buffy tightly. "It's okay," she whispered softly, her words a soothing balm to Buffy's wounded soul. "I didn't even know her, and it's difficult for me as well."

"Thanks, 'Mione," Buffy replied, her voice cracking with emotion as she returned the embrace. Hermione's warmth and understanding were like a lifeline in this dark moment. Tears welled up in Buffy's eyes, and she blinked them away, trying to find strength in Hermione's presence.

Hermione gave Buffy a small, understanding smile and hugged her again, their shared grief forging a bond of sisterhood in that somber hall. "Anytime, that's what sisters are for," she murmured, her words a testament to the deep connection they had forged through their trials and tribulations.

Meanwhile, the funeral director, a somber figure in the background, broke the emotional reverie with a practical question. "Did you find something?" he inquired, his tone gentle but businesslike.

Buffy nodded, her gaze fixed on an ivory-white coffin, her voice trembling with a mixture of determination and heartache. "That one," she pointed out.

Dawn gazed at the casket Buffy had chosen, her heart heavy with uncertainty about whether it was the one her mother would have preferred. The room's dim light cast a shadow of doubt over her features.

"That model is beautiful," the funeral director declared, his attempt to reassure them filled with professional warmth. "In fact, all of the caskets in this room are top of the line. However, given your budget, it might not be the—" Giles, ever the supportive guardian, raised his hand and cut him off, signifying that he would handle the financial aspect. "It's a fine choice. It speaks to your deepest feelings for the deceased."

As Buffy made her way towards the exit, she noticed Dawn still closely scrutinizing the casket. Concern etched into her features, she turned to her younger sister. "You don't like it?"

Dawn, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, struggled to find her voice. "It's not that," she replied, her words quivering with emotion as she brushed a tear from her face. "It's just what if mom … What if she'd like something else better?"

Buffy sighed deeply, her own grief mirrored in her eyes as she tried to offer solace to her sister. "Dawn—"

"It's all right, Dawn," Hermione whispered softly as she moved closer to her twin. She drew Dawn into her arms, providing the comforting embrace that only a sister could offer. With a gentle touch, she wiped away a tear from Dawn's cheek and murmured words of reassurance. Then, she motioned for Buffy, Giles, and the funeral director to go ahead while she remained by Dawn's side, a steadfast presence in her moment of vulnerability. "Are you okay, Dawnie?" she inquired, her voice filled with genuine concern and a sorrowful expression on her face.

Dawn summoned a brave attempt at a grin, even as she wiped a solitary tear from her cheek. "I am now because of you. It's just difficult, you know."

Hermione's eyes brimmed with understanding and empathy. She gently placed a reassuring hand on Dawn's shoulder. "I know, Dawn," she said softly. "I didn't know her as well as you and Buffy did. But it's difficult for me too."

Dawn nodded, her expression filled with sympathy for her newfound sister. "I'm terribly sorry. Here I am being a brat, and you have it much worse than we do. You learn about Mom after she has passed away. You'll never be able to get to know her."

Hermione nodded, her gaze filled with a melancholy acknowledgment of the truth. "That is true," she replied gently. "But at the very least, I can get to know you and Buffy."

The shared understanding and support between the two sisters eased their burdens, and as they walked out of the showroom together, arm in arm, they felt significantly more at ease. The bond they were forging, born out of their shared loss and the discovery of family, was a source of solace in the midst of their grief.

Summers Home

That evening, the weight of their grief hung in the air as Dawn observed everyone in the room going about their business. Buffy and Giles were engrossed in a solemn discussion about Joyce's funeral plans, their faces etched with a mixture of sadness and determination. Willow and Xander sat together, quietly sharing a casserole, their presence a comforting reminder of the bonds that had carried them through countless trials. And Hermione, still coming to terms with the newfound family and the loss of a mother she had never known, sat by the window, lost in her thoughts.

Hermione's gaze eventually shifted from the window to the gathering, and she noticed Dawn's eyes fixed on her. Concern etched into her features, she approached her twin sister and whispered softly in her ear. "Are you okay?"

Dawn shook her head, her emotions still raw and turbulent, making it hard to find words without breaking down.

Hermione sighed, her understanding of Dawn's pain evident in her eyes, and she nodded in silent solidarity.

Giles, who had been absorbed in reviewing documents on the table, looked up at Buffy. "I checked prices with a few different florists. The funeral home is competitive."

Buffy, her voice carrying a weariness born of grief, responded with a simple yet decisive answer. "Let's just go with them. It's simpler."

"What colors for the flowers?" Dawn inquired, her voice soft with the weight of their choices.

"White. They're nice," Buffy commented absently, her mind still consumed by the many details of the funeral arrangements.

But Hermione, ever thoughtful, chimed in, drawing Buffy's attention with her suggestion. "May I make a suggestion?" she asked gently. "Perhaps Dawn and I could choose our own colors. Make it personal for each of us."

Buffy considered it for a moment, a flicker of warmth in her eyes at the thought of adding a personal touch to the funeral. "I think Mom would have liked that. So, what colors do you prefer?"

Dawn looked at Hermione with gratitude and a kind grin. "Pink."

Hermione returned the smile, her eyes reflecting a sense of connection and shared purpose. "Blue."

"Nice choices," Buffy murmured with a heartfelt tone as she hastily scribbled down Dawn and Hermione's preferences. The colors they had chosen held significance beyond mere aesthetics, and Buffy understood that.

Turning to face Giles, she shifted her attention to the next matter at hand. "What about an announcement? People are going to be expecting a wake after the burial if we don't say something."

"We could put a line in the program. Expressing your mother's preference not to have one," Giles explained, his voice steady and reassuring.

Willow, who had been quietly eating her casserole, looked up with a puzzled expression. "There's no wake?" she inquired, seeking clarification from Buffy.

Buffy nodded, her eyes tinged with sadness as she shared a memory of her mother. "Mom didn't like them," she explained with a sad smile. "She said potlucks are depressing enough as it is."

This revelation prompted Dawn to inquire further, her curiosity laced with a touch of sorrow. "She said that? When?"

Buffy sighed deeply, the weight of the past bearing down on her. She turned to face her younger sister, though she wasn't entirely certain who was the younger of the two, Dawn or Hermione. "Right before she went in for her operation. We had a talk about what she wanted. In case …" Her voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air, a testament to the courage it had taken for her mother to discuss such matters in the face of her own mortality.

Dawn lowered her head, her emotions too complex to face Buffy's gaze at that moment. It was Hermione who tenderly wrapped her arms around her, offering silent support and comfort. "She never said anything to me," Dawn murmured, her voice filled with a sense of loss.

"I'm sure she just didn't want to upset you, Dawnster," Xander reassured her. "Now you better get working on that dinner. You've barely touched it," he pointed out, trying to infuse a bit of light-heartedness into the somber atmosphere.

"I'm not feeling very casserole-y," Dawn admitted with a faint smile, appreciating the effort to lighten the mood.

Xander chuckled, his humor a small respite in their heavy hearts. "It's a shame because you have about 9000 of them in the kitchen. You could start your own Casserole Hut."

Willow nodded in agreement. "Mrs. Kaplan brought some enchiladas. There are also chicken things. I saw some chicken stuff."

"That's okay," Dawn responded softly, her appetite subdued by grief, as the ringing phone interrupted their conversation. "I'm not hungry."

Buffy, her emotions still raw, turned to Giles with a hopeful expression, silently urging him to answer the phone. "I'm phoned out. Can you? I mean, unless it's Dad."

"Of course," Giles responded, his calm demeanor contrasting with the whirlwind of emotions in the room as he picked up the cordless phone. "Hello? Yes, they did. Thank you …The service is tomorrow at three," he relayed the information before turning and walking into the living room. "Do you know Brown Brothers Mortuary?"

Hermione, still processing the situation, made a connection and voiced her realization. "That's why he answered yesterday the second time I called wasn't it?"

Buffy nodded sadly, her frustration evident. "Yeah. All the people offering their condolences have wanted me to take time to myself. Anyways, I can't believe Dad hasn't called yet," she said, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Especially after I left a message with his friends informing him that you were here, 'Mione. You would think he might want to see the daughter he gave up."

Hermione shrugged, a hint of disappointment in her expression. "You would think."

Xander, always ready to offer his support, chimed in. "Your dad's still AWOL, huh?"

"The number he left for us in Spain is no good. And I've left messages all over the place," Buffy stated, her frustration growing as she faced the absence of her father during this difficult time.

"We should try his girlfriend's place," Dawn suggested, her determination evident despite Buffy's earlier statement that they didn't have the woman's phone number.

"I don't have that number," responded Buffy, her frustration mounting. "I told you."

Dawn, refusing to give up, continued to offer suggestions. "But we could ask one of his friends at work or something."

"Dawn," Buffy exclaimed angrily, the weight of her emotions spilling over. "I tried that. Okay?" Her patience, already stretched thin, was wearing even thinner. She turned to Xander for his input, seeking guidance in a difficult decision. "What do you think? Just a line that said 'Following the burial, there will be no wake'—or gathering? 'There will be no gathering at the request of Joyce.' That's lame."

Dawn watched as Willow cleared the dishes and carried them into the kitchen, her thoughts consumed by the upcoming events and the uncertainty that loomed over their family. She turned first to Hermione, her newfound sister, and then to Buffy, the anchor of their family in this trying time. "What are we going to do—after? I mean, we're not just coming back here, are we?"

Buffy shrugged, the weight of the future pressing heavily on her shoulders. "I guess. I don't know," she admitted, the uncertainty mirrored in her eyes. "How about … 'At the request of the family, there will be no wake following the burial?'"

"Good. It's got flow," Xander murmured, offering a brief moment of validation for Buffy's suggestion as Hermione returned to her contemplation by the window.

Dawn's voice, quiet and filled with uncertainty, broke the silence as she shared her feelings. "I don't want to come back here." The weight of their shared grief had already begun to cast a shadow over their family home.

Xander, now seated in Giles' abandoned seat, looked thoughtful. He understood the sentiment behind Dawn's words but didn't immediately offer a response.

Buffy, in the midst of arranging the program, sought guidance from Xander. "Where do I put it? On top here? Or at the bottom?" Her voice held a note of uncertainty, a reflection of the many decisions that had suddenly fallen upon her shoulders.

Willow, having returned from the kitchen after clearing more dishes, listened to Dawn's tentative request. "Maybe I could go to your place tomorrow?" Dawn asked, seeking solace in the familiarity of a friend's home.

"Tomorrow?" Willow inquired, her concern evident.

Dawn nodded, her eyes pleading. "Yeah. After everything? I don't want to come back to the house and stuff. I don't want to be here." The prospect of returning to a home now marked by loss was a burden too heavy to bear, and she sought refuge in the company of a friend who had become like family.

"But maybe you, Hermione, and Buffy should …" Willow suggested, her words tinged with concern. "It's sort of a question for your sister. It's fine with you coming."

"Can I?" Dawn asked Buffy, seeking her sister's approval and guidance as she navigated the complex emotions of the moment.

"Hmm?" Buffy paused, her attention scattered as she grappled with the many responsibilities that had suddenly fallen upon her.

"Dawn," Hermione whispered quietly, her words an unseen and unheard source of support.

"Can I go to Willow's tomorrow after the service?" Dawn inquired, her voice hopeful as she turned to Buffy for a response.

Buffy's gaze shifted from Hermione to Dawn as she considered the request. "If you want. I guess so …" she replied distractedly.

Not waiting for Buffy to reconsider, Dawn rose from her seat and made her way towards the stairs, determined to prepare for the night ahead. "I'll get my sleeping bag out of the attic," she announced as she entered the foyer, her steps heavy with the weight of her emotions.

It was in that moment, as she picked up the mail the postman had left on the floor by the mail slot, that Dawn's world seemed to come crashing down around her. The envelope bore her mother's name, and she read it with a heavy heart, her eyes brimming with tears as Willow and Hermione approached.

"Dawn?" Willow inquired, her voice filled with concern as she saw the distress in Dawn's expression.

Dawn looked at them, the letter clutched tightly in her hand. "It's for Mom," she responded, her voice trembling as she tried to keep her emotions in check. But the tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as Buffy and Giles approached from opposing directions. Dawn couldn't escape the overwhelming silence that had descended on the house, a silence that seemed to echo the void left by their mother's absence, and it was a harsh reminder of the pain that now permeated their lives.

"Do we call the post office about this?" Buffy inquired, her concern shifting towards the practical matters that needed attention. "Maybe we need to fill out a form or something."

Giles, always the reliable figure, offered a solution. "I'll call tomorrow. First thing," he stated with a reassuring tone. "Find out what you need to do."

Buffy nodded, the weight of responsibility pressing down on her as she contemplated the daunting task of managing her mother's affairs while at Hogwarts. "I haven't even started to think about the bills and everything … How am I going to take care of all that at Hogwarts?"

Giles, with unwavering support, assured her, "I will do it. You might want to add my name to your mother's bank account for the time being so I can pay the bills as they come in."

"We'll do that before Dawn, Hermione, and I leave," Buffy promised, acknowledging the practical steps that needed to be taken.

Meanwhile, Dawn, still holding the envelope bearing her mother's name, was lost in her thoughts until she felt the comforting embrace of Hermione's arms wrapping around her.

"It's okay, Dawnie," Hermione said softly into Dawn's ear, her voice a soothing presence in the midst of turmoil. "Come on, let's go to your room. We can talk just the two of us if you like?"

Dawn nodded, her emotions still raw, and she gently placed the mail on the table near the door. Together, they walked up the stairs, seeking solace in each other's company and the privacy to navigate the complex emotions that this unexpected letter had stirred.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Dawn awoke later that evening to find Hermione missing from her side. Gently, she got out of bed and made her way out of her room, guided by the soft glow of a lamp in the hallway. The house was filled with a sense of quiet melancholy, a stark contrast to the lively and often chaotic atmosphere it had once known.

As Dawn moved through the dimly lit corridor, she found Hermione in Buffy's room, standing by the window and gazing out into the night. Dawn could hear the muffled voices of Xander and Willow through the open window, their hushed conversation carrying on the night breeze.

"Yeah. I thought maybe I'd stop by your mom's too," Xander's voice drifted in, carrying a sense of concern. "Well, I'm not going to my house. Those people are scary… Speaking of. You've got to be kidding."

Dawn stood there, just behind Hermione, listening to the conversation outside while observing her twin's contemplative expression.

"I'm not going in," Spike's voice added to the mix.

"And you're not leaving those," Xander's tone grew more serious. "This isn't the time for your crap, Spike. Do you actually think you're going to score points with Buffy this way?"

"This isn't about Buffy…" Spike's response was softer, carrying a weight of its own.

"Bull. We're all hip to your doomed obsession. You're rising to new lows, man. Or, lowering … towards them," Xander confronted Spike, his words filled with a mixture of frustration and disbelief.

"They're for Joyce," Spike explained, a note of sincerity in his voice.

"Like you care about her," Xander retorted, skepticism evident in his tone.

"Guys—not here," Willow interjected, her voice a plea for restraint in the midst of their charged conversation.

"Care?" Spike's response held a touch of sadness. "Joyce was the only one of the lot of you that I could stand."

Xander, ever quick with a sharp retort, couldn't resist the opportunity to provoke. "And the only one with a daughter you wanted to shag. I'm touched," he stated, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Dawn, ever the peacemaker, approached Hermione, placed her hand on her twin's shoulder, and shook her head slightly. She wasn't entirely certain, but she had a feeling that Hermione was on the verge of yelling at Xander, and she hoped to prevent further confrontation.

"I liked the lady. Understand, monkey boy?" Spike said, his voice filled with a rare sincerity. "She was decent. Didn't put on airs. Always had a nice cuppa for me… And she never treated me like a freak."

"Her mistake," Xander remarked, his tone unyielding.

"Think what you want," Spike grumbled as he turned and strolled along the sidewalk, disappearing down the dimly lit street.

"Unbelievable. Guy thinks he can put on a big show and con Buffy into being his sex monkey …" Xander snarled, his anger still simmering.

"He didn't leave a card," Willow pointed out, attempting to temper the tension in the room with a touch of reason.

Hermione, taking Dawn's presence as a cue to de-escalate the situation, gently helped her twin back to bed. She then whirled around and dashed down the stairs, her determination to confront the situation evident.

Dawn returned to Buffy's window, the night outside mirroring the turmoil within. She listened, her heart heavy with the weight of their shared grief and the complexities of the emotions that now filled their lives.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

"You think you can treat someone like that?" Hermione exclaimed with fiery determination as she raced out the front door. Her voice was filled with a righteous indignation that had been building up.

"I have no idea who he was," she continued, her anger palpable. "But I could see from Buffy's bedroom window that he cared. What's your deal? Only you and your friends can mourn for Mum?"

Xander, realizing the gravity of the situation, responded with a tone of apology, "I'm sorry, Hermione. I realize this is difficult for you, but he's no good. He has been stalking your sister for quite some time."

"I get that," Hermione practically yelled, her voice fierce. "But even I could tell he genuinely wanted to pay his respects."

In Buffy's room, Dawn heard the front door open and raced to the stairs, her concern growing for her sister.

"Who are those from?" Buffy inquired, her voice filled with curiosity as she eyed the flowers in Hermione's hand, a mix of surprise and confusion etched across her face.

"Don't know," Hermione said, her voice slightly shaken by the unexpected encounter. "There was this guy with short blond hair and a large coat. Your friend Xander called him Spike. This Spike guy said they were for Mum. Xander tried to get him to leave. But I could tell from your bedroom window that he was serious in his desire to pay his respects."

July 28, 2001 – Saturday

Summers Home

The following morning, Dawn sat beside Hermione on her bed. They hadn't discussed anything about the events of the previous night, the confrontation with Spike, or Hermione's passionate reaction upon her return to the room. The weight of their shared experiences and the emotional turmoil still hung heavily between them.

In the quiet of the morning, they sat in somber silence, the unspoken understanding that the wounds were too fresh to be verbalized. To acknowledge each other's presence felt like it might unleash a torrent of grief neither of them was prepared to face.

They waited in silence, both lost in their thoughts, as they prepared for the upcoming funeral. The act of getting dressed and ready to leave the house was a momentary distraction from the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume them both, providing a brief respite before they would have to confront the pain and loss once more.

Restfield Cemetery

Buffy, Hermione, and Dawn, their usually strong and confident selves now appearing small and fragile, stood together around the grave. Their friends and a sea of unfamiliar faces surrounded them, all brought together by a shared moment of grief. Buffy instinctively wrapped her arms around Dawn and Hermione, providing whatever comfort she could in this moment of heartache.

"…We commend to almighty God our sister Joyce Summers…" the minister's voice reverberated through the somber atmosphere, the words laden with the weight of loss.

Dawn's gaze drifted towards the casket as the workmen began the solemn task of lowering it into the earth. Each word from the minister felt like a heavy stone on her heart.

"...and we commit her body to the ground..." The minister's voice continued, steady and mournful.

Dawn's eyes welled up with tears as she watched one of the workmen scoop a shovel full of earth and place it atop the casket.

"...earth to earth..." The ritual continued, a reminder of the harsh finality of death.

Dawn was startled as the earth hit the coffin, a sound that resonated deeply within her. Unable to bear it any longer, she turned into Buffy's side, seeking solace and support in her sister's embrace.

"... Ashes to ashes... From dust to dust..." The minister's words continued, echoing the timeless cycle of life and death. "The Lord bless and keep her, the Lord shines his face upon her and is gracious to her, the Lord lifts up his countenance upon her and gives her peace. Amen," he concluded, offering a final blessing and a glimmer of hope amid the sorrow.

As the service concluded, Giles, Xander, Willow, Anya, and Tara made their way over to Buffy, Hermione, and Dawn. They were among the first to offer embraces and words of consolation, their presence a source of comfort in this difficult moment. Joyce's friends and coworkers followed suit, extending their condolences to the grieving sisters.

Dawn nodded absently in response to a man's condolences while her gaze remained fixed on the worker filling Joyce's grave. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a woman handing Buffy a rosary. Another woman with a toddler clinging to her hip engaged Hermione in conversation, and Dawn observed her twin extending her hand to the baby, their small fingers interlocking in a brief but touching connection.

A sea of faces surrounded the sisters, offering their sympathy and support until, gradually, they found themselves alone.

Dawn glanced around and saw Willow and Tara waiting for her. Tara stepped over to Buffy and Hermione, communicating with her eyes that they would take care of Dawn.

"Hey. Dawn is more or less ready to go... Is it all right if we take her?" Tara inquired gently, her voice filled with empathy.

Dawn listened to Willow as the redhead held her in her arms and spoke softly to her. She could feel the watchful eyes of Buffy and Hermione on her, but she didn't meet their gaze.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed with a faint smile. "She should probably get out of here."

Tara's gentle voice conveyed genuine concern as she asked, "What about you two? We can wait if you want."

"I'm okay," Buffy assured her. "Thanks." She turned her gaze toward Hermione, silently acknowledging her choice.

Hermione struggled to find the words to express her emotions, her heart heavy with grief and an overwhelming sense of loss. She simply nodded, her silence speaking volumes.

Tara returned to Willow and Dawn, offering a sympathetic nod. "They're staying here for now."

Willow nodded in understanding as she and Tara walked toward Xander's car. Dawn cast a worried look back at Hermione, Buffy, and the grave, her heart aching for her sisters. Then, with a heavy heart, she turned and followed Willow and Tara, leaving behind the painful but necessary moment of farewell.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Long after sunset, Buffy and Hermione stood in front of the grave, their faces etched with sadness as they grieved the loss of their mother. The quiet solitude of the cemetery enveloped them until they noticed a movement at Buffy's shoulder.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner," Angel murmured, his voice filled with regret, as he joined the sisters. Buffy's face brightened with a small smile as she slid her hand into his, welcoming his presence. The three of them stood there in silence, their thoughts filled with the weight of their shared sorrow, contemplating the existence of the grave that held Joyce.

Angel then turned his gaze to Hermione, concern etched on his face. "How are you holding up, Dawn?"

Hermione gave Angel a sidelong glance, her expression a mix of confusion and correction. "I'm not Dawn."

Angel's puzzled gaze shifted between Buffy and Hermione, and he finally noticed the distinct British accent in Hermione's voice.

"This is Hermione," Buffy clarified, her voice tinged with sadness. "She's Dawn's identical twin. When she and Dawn were infants, Mom put her up for adoption. Hermione just recently learned about us, shortly after Mom..." Buffy's voice trailed off, the pain of her mother's passing still fresh in her heart.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Hermione," Angel said with a nod, extending his condolences. "I am deeply sorry for your loss."

Hermione managed a sorrowful but appreciative grin. "Thank you," she replied, touched by Angel's genuine sympathy and the warmth of his welcome into their shared grief.

UC Sunnydale

Dawn sat in Willow and Tara's dorm room, her eyes red and puffy from sobbing, as they laid out her sleeping bag on the floor.

"There you go," Willow remarked, patting the ground gently. "This is the best mattress in the house. It's good for your back."

Dawn nodded absentmindedly, her thoughts still consumed by grief.

"How about something to eat, Dawn? Are you not hungry at all?" Tara suggested, her voice gentle and caring.

"No. Thank you," Dawn whispered softly as she slipped onto the sleeping bag, her pillow hugged close to her chest.

"Oh... Dawn," Willow whispered, her heart aching for her friend, as she reached out to rub Dawn's back in a soothing manner. "Doesn't this just suck? I wish I could do more," she said, her voice filled with empathy, but Dawn remained eerily quiet. "The only thing is, it will get better. I promise. It will take time, but it will not be as bad after a while."

"You don't know that," Dawn murmured softly as she turned to face Willow and Tara, her eyes still filled with sorrow and doubt.

Tara nodded solemnly. "Of course she does. We're both witches. We know plenty of things."

Dawn's frustration and pain bubbled up, and she almost yelled, "So—what? Life moves on, and I forget about my mom. Is that what you mean?"

Willow and Tara exchanged a knowing glance, understanding the depth of Dawn's anguish. Willow spoke gently, "Never forget. No. You …"

Tara continued her thought, "You make a place in your heart for her. It's as though she becomes a part of you. In what she showed you and taught you... The manner in which you conduct your life. Does that make sense?"

Dawn sat up, her mind racing with thoughts and possibilities, as she turned to face the bookshelves. An idea began to take shape in her head.

"Dawn?" Willow said, concern lacing her voice, but received no response from Dawn. She exchanged a worried look with Tara. "Hey. We don't have to discuss it. We could just go to sleep."

Dawn's determination shone through as she shook her head. "No," she answered firmly, her eyes fixed on the bookshelves. "I don't want to go to sleep."

Tara offered a reassuring smile. "Okay. We can simply sit. Do whatever you want."

Dawn pulled a book from the shelf, her gaze determined. "Good, because I know what I want to do now."

"Great. What are you up for?" Willow inquired, curious about Dawn's sudden resolve.

"Well, we're all witches... And you two do magic and stuff... And I'm going to attend this school to learn magic and other things," Dawn stated with a newfound sense of purpose.

"You want us to teach you something?" Willow inquired, her willingness to help evident in her voice. "A glamour or—or I can make a stuffed animal dance—"

Dawn turned to face Willow and Tara, the book securely clutched in her hands, her determination unwavering. "I want to do a spell. I want to bring Mom back."

The request left Willow and Tara momentarily speechless, the weight of Dawn's desire and the impossibility of her request hanging heavily in the air.

Tara moved closer to Dawn, her voice gentle but firm. "Of course, you want to bring your mother back. And I really wish we could. But it's not possible," she stated unequivocally, understanding the pain behind Dawn's plea.

"Why?" Dawn questioned with a hint of frustration. "You guys do magic for everything."

Willow nodded, her voice softening with empathy. "Yes, but..." She struggled to find the right words to convey the truth of the situation.

"This is different. Magic cannot be used to disrupt the natural order of things," Tara explained gently but firmly, her voice filled with wisdom and concern.

Dawn's frustration and grief were palpable as she shot back, "All you do is disrupt the natural order of things! You make things float and disappear and—"

Tara interrupted, trying to convey the gravity of the situation. "But we don't mess around with life and death. Dawn, I know how much pain you're in—"

"You certainly don't!" Dawn whispered through her tears, her emotions overwhelming her. "They put her in the ground—"

Tara nodded in understanding. "They did, and it's awful and unfair—but this isn't the way."

"I'm not sure it's even possible, Dawn. I mean, I've seen things about resurrection spells. There are books and other items..." Willow began, her voice tinged with uncertainty, as she turned to face Tara. "But I suppose... the spells backfire?"

"That's not the point—" Tara pointed out, trying to convey the complexity of the situation.

Willow, looking back at Tara, sighed as she added, "That isn't the point. The point is that it is horrible. Because..."

Tara continued, her voice gentle but resolute, "Because witches can't be allowed to alter the fabric of life in that way, for selfish reasons. We'd manipulate the world until it fell apart. You cannot understand it right now, and I don't expect you to... Death, as horrible as it is, is a natural occurrence. Wiccans made an oath to honor that a long time ago. And I'm guessing your sort of witches did as well—"

Dawn interjected with a glimmer of hope, "So it is possible. To bring someone back. They wouldn't have made an oath if they didn't know they could do it—"

"Perhaps they could, but we can't. Even if it wasn't wrong, it's the most advanced form of dark arts. Way beyond our grasp," Tara explained, her voice filled with both regret and wisdom.

Willow added, her tone hesitant but firm, "She's right, Dawn. It's too risky. We're not going there."

Dawn absorbed their words, the weight of reality settling in as she tossed the book onto the ground in frustration. "You said you wanted to help me," she said, her voice laced with disappointment and hurt, as she returned to her sleeping bag and lay down.

Willow stretched out her hand to comfort Dawn, but the young girl pushed it away. "Dawn—"

"Don't," Dawn whispered, her heartache evident, as she turned away from Willow's attempt to console her.

July 29, 2001 – Sunday

Restfield Cemetery

Buffy, Hermione, and Angel found a quiet moment to rest against a tree on a ridge overlooking the cemetery as dawn approached. Buffy leaned into Angel, finding comfort in his arms, while Hermione sat next to her, seeking solace from the somber scene.

"...the funeral was... It was brutal... But what truly worries me is tomorrow," Buffy admitted, her voice tinged with exhaustion and uncertainty. She knew Hermione was there, and while she couldn't express her concerns to Dawn, she felt it was safe to share her thoughts with Hermione, as they were still getting to know each other.

"What's tomorrow?" Angel inquired, his concern evident in his eyes. His cool exterior belied the turmoil he felt for Buffy and the weight she carried.

"That's what I'm not sure about. Until now, I've had a plan - things to do, every minute devoted to Mom..." Buffy replied, her gaze shifting to her sister's grave, tears glistening in her eyes.

Angel tightened his embrace around her, feeling her vulnerability in that moment. He pressed a soft kiss on her forehead, a gesture filled with love and understanding.

"And the stuff of everyday life resumes tomorrow," Angel stated, understanding the weight of the transition they were facing. His voice held a soothing quality, an anchor for Buffy in the storm of her emotions.

Buffy nodded, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. She felt a sense of relief in sharing her fears with Angel and Hermione. "Which everybody expects me to know how to do because I'm so strong." Her voice wavered with a hint of insecurity, revealing the inner turmoil she tried so hard to hide.

"Not right now. I'm sure everyone realizes that you need time," Angel reassured Buffy, his voice a comforting presence in the midst of her turmoil. His words carried the warmth of his love and support, like a shield against the overwhelming grief.

Buffy nodded, her thoughts still clouded by uncertainty. "Time isn't an issue. I'm skilled at sticking wood into vampires, but Mom was the strong one in real life. She always knew what was needed to make things better..." Her voice quivered as she spoke, revealing the deep void her mother's absence had left.

Hermione reached out and gently touched Buffy's hand, her eyes filled with empathy and understanding. Her touch was gentle, a gesture of solidarity. "You'll figure it out. But not all at once..." Hermione's words were soothing, an offer of patience and sisterhood.

Buffy looked at her sister, her gratitude evident in her eyes. "I'm not sure..." She couldn't help but dwell on the past, on the moments leading up to her tragic discovery of their mother's lifeless body. The pain of that memory still cut deep, like a wound that refused to heal. "I keep thinking about it. When I discovered her. If I'd arrived 10 minutes earlier—"

"You said they told you it wouldn't have made any difference," Angel reminded her, trying to provide some perspective. His voice was a steady anchor in the sea of her thoughts.

Buffy confessed her deepest, darkest thoughts with a sense of vulnerability, laying bare the guilt that gnawed at her heart. "No. Probably wouldn't have made a difference. Probably was the exact thing they said. I haven't told anyone—" Her voice trembled, laden with the weight of her unspoken pain, and the tears she had yet to shed.

"That doesn't make it your fault, Buffy," Hermione reassured her, her voice filled with compassion. She understood the burden of guilt that Buffy carried and wanted to ease her pain. Her words were a balm to Buffy's wounded soul.

Buffy's voice trembled as she confessed, "I didn't begin CPR until they told me to. I broke down. That's how good I am at being an adult."

"Buffy..." Angel and Hermione murmured, their voices overlapping with shared empathy.

"If I only had myself to think about... But Dawn..." Buffy confessed, her thoughts weighing heavily on her. She couldn't help but think about the responsibilities that now rested on her shoulders, including her newfound relationship with Hermione.

"It's okay. It's okay. Buffy, you may not feel it right now, but you are strong. You'll figure it out. You also have people to help you. You do not have to do it alone," Angel assured her, his words carrying a sense of hope. He held her even closer, offering his unwavering support.

Buffy stared up at the approaching dawn, feeling both scared and small in the face of the challenges ahead. "It's going to be light soon."

"I can stay in town. For as long as you need me," Angel replied, his voice filled with a deep commitment and a hint of longing.

"How about forever? Is forever good for you?" Buffy remarked, a trace of humor cutting through the heavy atmosphere. "That is a bad idea. I'm seriously needy right now."

Angel pushed a strand of Buffy's hair away from her face, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Leave the neediness to me. I can handle this."

Buffy let out a sigh and shook her head. "You can't do it. That is, stay with me. Dawn, Hermione, and I are leaving for England in a few days."

"Why?" Angel inquired, concerned, his brow furrowing as he processed the unexpected news.

"To protect Dawn." Buffy and Hermione both replied simultaneously, their determination evident.

UC Sunnydale

"Hey. We're going down for breakfast..." Willow stated when she and Tara had finished getting dressed for the day. Her voice held a gentle concern, as she was well aware of the pain that Dawn was going through.

"I'm not hungry," Dawn stated flatly, not looking at them, her mind still consumed by her grief. Her words were devoid of emotion, a stark reflection of the heaviness she carried within.

"That's okay," Willow responded, her tone understanding and compassionate. "It's just that we have class right after that. I'm not sure if you want to go home or..."

Dawn looked at Willow, her eyes were puffy and red from the tears she had shed throughout the night. She had spent the entire night sobbing, unable to escape the overwhelming sorrow. "I was going to sleep some more," she said in a small voice. "Giles said he'd pick me up whenever I wanted."

"Oh. Well..." Willow said sadly, her heart aching for Dawn's pain. "Okay. Sure. Hang out. I'll come back when I take a break at lunch." Her words carried a promise of companionship, a reminder that she and Tara were there to support Dawn through this difficult time.

"I might not be here," Dawn stated, her voice distant, lost in her thoughts and grief.

Willow gave a nod, her understanding of Dawn's need for space evident. "I'll give it a go. A Dawn break about noonish would brighten my day." Her attempt at humor was a way to offer some comfort to her friend, even if Dawn didn't respond.

Dawn simply averted her gaze, her emotions still raw and tumultuous.

"Take good care, Dawn," Tara said, her voice gentle and full of empathy.

Dawn remained silent as Tara and Willow walked away. She noticed something moving on the bookshelves. As the door closed, she looked over at the bookshelf and spotted a book that hadn't been like that before. She stood up and took the book, which had the title 'History of Witchcraft' on it.

Dawn opened the book to the chapter headings and scanned down them till she found the one she wanted.

'Resurrection, A Controversy Born.'

Dawn eagerly flipped the pages to the relevant chapter and began reading. And while she read, a plan developed in her head. The words on the pages offered a glimmer of hope in the midst of her despair, a path she was determined to follow.

The Magic Box

Later on that day, Dawn was thoroughly dusting everything with a feather duster. The repetitive task gave her something to focus on, a small sense of control in a world that had been turned upside down.

"You don't have to do that, Dawn," Giles pointed out, his concern for her well-being evident. "You are more than welcome to relax..."

"Yes, sit down," Anya murmured as she followed Dawn, her tone oddly matter-of-fact. "We have some very amusing chicken feet that you can play with."

"That's okay," Dawn replied, her voice soft but resolute.

"Do you not watch television? I—thought all kids despise effort and prefer cartoons," Anya remarked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"I like being useful," Dawn explained, her words revealing a determination to keep herself occupied. "Keeps my mind off of things."

Giles looked at Dawn with a mixture of concern and pride in his eyes, his voice tinged with a fatherly warmth. "Then you will be useful," he remarked. "I can always use a helping hand—"

Anya, with her usual bluntness, chimed in, her tone slightly irritated. "However, you have a hand. A paid hand," she remarked, "A hand that isn't the hand of illegal child labor—"

"Anya," Giles murmured, his gaze shifting to Dawn, his protective instincts kicking in.

Anya, never one to back down easily, moved behind the counter. Her voice softened slightly as she continued, "—but it's great that you find doing my job distracting. I am not threatened. Proceed."

"Yes," Giles said, his voice filled with understanding and support. "Carry on, Dawn."

"Is there anything else that you think I should know?" Dawn asked as she recalled her plan. "Like... off-limits stuff? Willow informed me that some of the books and items are kind of dangerous."

Giles gave a nod, his eyes reflecting the reassurance he wanted to convey. "Quite right," he agreed, his tone filled with a sense of calm. "But those items are all labeled and kept off the floor." He pointed to the balcony above them. "All of our most potent texts and potions are up there. If someone needs anything in that area, simply come and get me."

Dawn, eager to absorb every piece of information, nodded and asked, "Okay. Is there anything else?"

Giles thought for a moment before offering a new opportunity. "If you want, I will teach you how to use the cash register," he remarked. "Then you can start ringing up sales."

Dawn's face lit up with excitement. "Cool."

Anya, never one to miss a chance to make a remark, couldn't resist chiming in as a customer approached the counter. "Ring sales—for money? She gets to play with the money?" Anya said with a hint of playful sarcasm. "Good day, customer!" She turned her attention to the bewildered customer. "I'll assist you-unless you want assistance from a cute young girl who knows nothing."

The customer, clearly taken aback by Anya's comment, stammered, "I—excuse me?" feeling utterly confused by the unexpected banter in the shop.

"It's okay," Dawn told Anya with a small grin. "You can take her."

Giles, a hint of irritation in his expression, grabbed some boxes from the counter. "Yes, go ahead, Anya. Dawn can keep an eye on the counter while I go to the storeroom."

Anya, ever the saleswoman, led the still perplexed customer away by the arm and said, "How may I serve you?"

"Well … I'm seeking for something nice for a Seer's Empowerment Ceremony. Less than ten dollars," the customer replied.

Anya gave a nod, her enthusiasm unwavering. "What an exciting request! I have many suggestions," she remarked as she and the buyer walked away, her professional demeanor taking over.

Dawn returned her attention to Giles. "I'll just be a moment," he informed her.

Dawn gave a nod, her expression composed as Giles went into the back with the boxes.

As soon as Giles disappeared from view, Dawn seized the moment and made her way to the balcony, grabbing her book bag as she passed it. She cast a quick glance to ensure Anya wasn't looking in her direction before silently climbing the ladder to the balcony. Her heart raced as she pulled out a page she had carefully torn from Willow and Tara's book. With swift, practiced movements, she began grabbing the necessary ingredients from the shelves, placing them into her book bag as she searched for the items listed on the page.

Once she had gathered everything she needed, Dawn checked around nervously to ensure no one had noticed her clandestine actions, then descended the ladder with stealth.

Giles reappeared, his voice breaking through Dawn's anxious thoughts as he called to her. "Dawn—"

Startled, Dawn glanced up guiltily, certain she had been discovered. "Uh huh?" she stammered, dropping her book bag at the bottom of the ladder.

"Why don't you come watch the transaction that Anya's doing," Giles suggested, his tone gentle and patient. "Then I'll let you try it."

Relieved that she hadn't been caught in the act, Dawn walked up to the register, nodding in agreement. "You got it."

Restfield Cemetery

Dawn knelt beside her mother's grave just after sundown, the sky painted with hues of orange and pink. Her trembling hands clutched a book she had taken from the Magic Box, its pages filled with ancient incantations and spells. She plunged her fingers into the cool earth, tears glistening in her eyes as she fought to hold them back.

"I hope you're only after dirt."

Startled by the unexpected voice, Dawn turned around, her heart racing, to see Spike, his tall form casting a long shadow over her.

"If the spell requires anything more, you're in Zombie territory, and that's bad news," Spike explained, his blue eyes filled with a mix of concern and understanding.

"Spike … I wasn't—" Dawn began, her voice trembling with anxiety.

Spike nodded, his gaze softening as he motioned to the book in Dawn's hand. "I know exactly what you're up to. That book you're holding is infamous."

Dawn's plea was filled with desperation. "Please. Don't tell either Buffy or Hermione. I just …" Her voice quivered. "I've got to get her back. I have to."

Spike took a moment to absorb the depth of Dawn's pain. "I'm not going to tell, L'il Bit," he said, his tone gentle and reassuring. "I'm going to help."

Streets of Sunnydale

Dawn was brought down a dark and eerie street toward an ancient apartment complex by Spike, the fading light casting eerie shadows around them. "I've never used this bloke's services myself—but there's talk," he said in a low voice, his English accent cutting through the tension. "Word is, he knows everything there is to know about resurrection spells."

Dawn stood back, uncertainty coursing through her.

"Come on, come on. No worries," Spike continued.

Dawn quickened her pace, glancing at Spike, her voice a mixture of gratitude and resignation. "You don't have to be overly nice to me. I understand why you're doing this."

Spike, his face partially hidden in the dim light, raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Do you now? Enlighten me."

"I'm not stupid, Spike," Dawn explained, her words tinged with a touch of sadness. "You're basically stalking my sister. You'd do anything to get in good with Buffy."

Spike came to a halt, his piercing gaze fixed on Dawn. "Do you want my help or not?" he grumbled, his impatience showing.

Dawn hesitated for a moment, her emotions in turmoil. "I... Yeah, I just—" She trailed off, unable to find the right words to express the complex mix of emotions swirling within her.

"Then don't go guessing at stuff you don't understand," Spike said, his tone firm but not unkind. "And Buffy never hears about this, okay? She'd drive a redwood through my chest if she found out what I was doing."

Dawn nodded in agreement, her eyes reflecting her understanding of the gravity of the situation. "Okay, deal."

"So, if you don't want credit, why are you helping?" Dawn inquired, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Spike turned away from Dawn, as though embarrassed to reveal his true feelings. "I just don't like seeing Summers' women take it so hard on the chin. And I'm serious," he added, his voice stern. "You breathe a word of this to Buffy or your new little twin sister, and I'll see to it that you end up in the ground, got it?"

Dawn took in Spike's words, thrown by both his surprising honesty and his harsh follow-up threat. "Yeah," she agreed, her voice steady. "I've got it."

"Fine," Spike said, his tone relenting slightly. "Let's get on with it then."

Spike escorted Dawn to an apartment and opened the door, revealing a dimly lit, musty room with newspapers piled everywhere.

Dawn wrinkled her nose at the smell. "Does this place belong to a magic guy? It smells like Grandpa," she commented, trying to lighten the mood as she glanced around the peculiar space.

"Hey! Is anyone home?" Spike exclaimed, his voice echoing through the musty apartment.

A disheveled man came shuffling out of another room a split second later, his appearance matching the disarray of the place. "Hold your horses..." he replied, squinting at Spike with recognition. "I know you."

Spike made a shaky motion with his head, trying to deny the connection. "Don't think so, mate."

The man's eyes widened with certainty. "No, you're that guy," he said, pointing at Spike. "That guy is usually hanging around at the corner store. Big into Domino's, aren't you?"

Spike, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the situation, tried to redirect the conversation. "I can't say I am," he said impatiently. "Look, we came here because—"

"That's insane, isn't it? I swear you're him. Your hair is a different color, and you're a vampire, but apart from that... In any case, what day is it?" the man interrupted, his tone growing more erratic by the moment.

"Sunday," Dawn answered, her voice steady despite the odd situation.

The man's confusion deepened. "Are you serious? I thought it was Wednesday... see, that's the first thing to go. Rocko is the name of the guy. That's not your name, is it?" he inquired, his focus shifting between Dawn and Spike.

Dawn exchanged a worried glance with Spike. This guy didn't appear to be able to tie his shoes, let alone help her. "Maybe we should just go," she suggested, her impatience growing.

"Now, now—just because the lights are dim doesn't mean the juice is gone. What can I do for you?" inquired the guy, a flicker of clarity crossing his face.

Spike seized the opportunity to explain their purpose. "This one's mother kicked it a few days ago," he said, nodding toward Dawn.

The guy's expression shifted to one of genuine sympathy. "Oh. I'm truly sorry," he stated, his demeanor becoming more composed.

"We're wondering what we can do about it," Spike said, leaning in slightly. "I heard you're the one to ask."

"Oh, no… That's… You don't want to mess with that," the guy remarked, his expression growing serious. "I know a couple of tonics that will make the grieving fly by."

Dawn's voice was resolute as she rejected the notion. "I don't want any tonics," she stated flatly, her determination unwavering.

The guy let out a deep sigh, his confusion and uncertainty evident. "Jeez. I'm not sure..."

Desperation edged into Dawn's voice as she pleaded, "Please. I can pay you. But not all at once..."

Spike, growing impatient and anxious, cut to the chase. "Can you help or not, old man? We need to act quickly."

My apologies for the oversight. Let's continue without the incorrect name substitution.

Dawn was given a lengthy, scrutinizing look by the man. "Either one of you witches?" he asked, causing Dawn to cautiously raise her hand. "Have you worked with spells of this magnitude before?" He then let her hand drop. "Didn't think so."

Before Dawn could react, the man plucked a hair from her head without warning, and she winced. He examined the hair under a bright light, his brow furrowed. "At the very least, your mother is a good candidate. DNA is strong. Magic can really mess things up—you need really strong molecules for the body to make the journey in any condition."

Dawn nodded, her eyes filled with determination. "Right," she said, absorbing the information.

The man seemed to remember something and muttered to himself as he approached a stack of newspapers. He began shuffling through them, searching for something. Dawn cast a puzzled glance at Spike, who was lighting a cigarette nearby. Then, her gaze returned to the man, and her eyes widened as she noticed a scaly tail twisting under his bathrobe.

A sense of unease washed over her as she exchanged another look with Spike. Something was definitely off about this situation. Her apprehension deepened as she saw the man holding an ancient book, his intent still shrouded in mystery.

The man strolled up to his desk and took a seat, motioning for Dawn and Spike to follow suit.

Dawn handed the ripped page from Willow and Tara's book to the man. "I've already gathered some ingredients, but the spell I found - there's a lot of stuff I don't understand."

The man glanced at the page before flipping through his book, his eyes scanning the text. "With cloning, everything will change," he predicted, his words somewhat distant. "Everyone's going to have a double on ice. The first time you conk out? Your loved ones just dial up your replacement. On the other hand, crazed cows may get us first—" he remarked, noticing Dawn's lack of interest in cloning. Cloning was still a long way off, and it wouldn't assist her mother at this moment. "But not just now. You currently have a Ghora demon standing in your way of success. That's the missing translation."

"Ghora… I've heard of those. Are they local?" Spike inquired, leaning forward with interest.

The man nodded. "Yeah, they like to stick close to the Hellmouth," he explained. "The Ghora's egg gives life. It's crucial to the spell. There will be no resurrection if there is no egg. It's as simple as that."

Dawn, her determination undeterred, pressed further. "Can you buy it? This egg, or..."

The man shook his head, his expression grave. "If it were as simple as making an omelet, everyone would try it. You must steal the egg from the demon's nest, no other way around it. And the Ghora will not be pleased."

"Where do we go to find this demon?" Spike inquired, his eagerness to proceed evident.

"Just a moment, Rocko. First and foremost," the man told Spike, his tone patient but firm. "You'll need an image of your mother. A photograph, a painting..."

"No problem," Dawn answered with a nod, relief washing over her. She knew there were several photographs of her mother dispersed around the house. She even had a cherished photo of herself, Joyce, and Buffy on her nightstand.

The man began scribbling notes on a little pad of paper. "Once you've gathered all of your ingredients, including the egg, mix them together, place them in the center of a sacred circle with that picture of your mother, and..." He ripped the page from the pad and handed it to Dawn like a prescription. "...repeat this incantation three times. She's not going to just show up—poof! It takes time. She will, however, come to you. Got it?"

Dawn's eyes sparkled with determination as she took the paper. "Got it," she affirmed.

"Something goes wrong, the only way to break the spell is to destroy your mother's image, understand?" stated the man, his warning carrying a somber tone.

Dawn nodded, her resolve unwavering. "I understand," she said, her voice filled with a mix of hope and trepidation. "I'm not going to change my mind," she stated emphatically, her determination unwavering.

The man took in her determination, his own tone growing solemn. "It's a tricky spell, girl," he warned. "I can't guarantee that your mother will return precisely as she was. Things can go a little... off."

"But she'll always be my mother. Won't she?" Dawn inquired, searching for reassurance in the man's words.

The man gave a comforting grin, his words carrying a sense of wisdom. "More or less," he explained, his gaze warm and understanding.

"Good," Dawn remarked, a sense of relief washing over her. "Good."

As they all stood up, the man prepared to see them off.

"And what about the Ghora?" Spike inquired, his focus shifting to the crucial task at hand.

"Right, sorry... Enter through the sewer opening near Tracy Street. On your left, you'll see an opening. It's impossible to overlook. Simply follow it down—" the man explained as Dawn took out her money, ready to pay for the valuable information. But to her surprise, he waved it away.

"No, no. Keep your cash," the man said, his gesture warm and genuine.

"Oh. Thank you," Dawn murmured, touched by his kindness, as the man extended his hand to her.

"You just keep in touch. Please let me know how it goes," the man said, his expression friendly and supportive, as Dawn shook his hand.

However, Dawn was startled as she felt an unsettling presence wash over her. The man's eyes suddenly turned pitch black, prompting her to immediately draw back her hand. "I—I... will."

Spike and Dawn hastily left the apartment, their hearts racing with anticipation. They knew they had a challenging journey ahead as they made their way toward the Ghora's lair. They stopped at Spike's crypt just long enough for him to retrieve an axe, ready to face whatever obstacles lay in their path.

Sewers

"It's here. Just as he said," Dawn stated with a mix of determination and apprehension as they neared the tunnel connecting the sewers to the Ghora's lair.

"At least we know the old coot isn't completely insane," Spike pointed out, his eyes scanning the ominous tunnel ahead. "Look. You'd best let me get this egg on my own."

Dawn's resolve remained unshaken. "No way," she said firmly. "I'm going."

Spike's expression grew more serious as he firmly objected, "No. You're not. I have no idea what's down there. If I return you to both of your sisters in pieces, it would be the end of me, wouldn't it?"

Dawn, determined to be part of the solution, countered, "You need my help, Spike. Someone has to get the egg while you keep the Ghora distracted."

"I'll manage," Spike insisted, his confidence showing despite his uncertainty about the situation.

Dawn wasn't convinced. "How? You said you have no idea what you're dealing with. Now come on," she urged as she began walking down the tunnel, her determination propelling her forward.

Spike followed reluctantly, his sarcasm a defense mechanism in the face of uncertainty. "Well, take a look at that - bitty Buffy."

They descended deeper into the lair of the Ghora, their footsteps echoing in the damp, eerie darkness. As they reached their destination, they took cover behind a massive boulder, their breaths hushed.

Peering over the boulder at the sleeping creature, they spotted its eggs nestled nearby. Dawn's fear was palpable as she commented, "Doesn't look so bad."

Spike, more experienced in the world of demons, offered a grim warning. "Wait until it awakens. That's usually when the bad stuff starts."

"I can't get to the eggs unless it moves," Dawn said, her gaze locked on the Ghora, her fear mounting with each passing second. "No way."

Spike, determined to buy Dawn the opportunity she needed, replied, "I will get it to move. You just be ready." He slid around the boulder, axe in hand, ready to face the Ghora head-on. "Hey! Ghora! Heads up!"

As soon as the Ghora awoke, it sprang up, revealing its horrific three-headed form instead of just one.

"Right then," Spike answered flatly. "Heads, it is."

Spike fended off the Ghora with his axe, his movements graceful and practiced as he danced around the beast's menacing slithers. Meanwhile, Dawn seized the moment to make her move. She carefully made her way around the Ghora, her heart pounding in her chest. With precision and determination, she grabbed one of the eggs and fled with it, her every step filled with urgency.

Spike continued to bob and dance around the Ghora's heads, expertly dodging their deadly strikes. He noticed Dawn approaching the lair's entrance with the egg in her hand. In a daring move, he flung his axe at the beast, sinking it in the center of the left head. The Ghora screamed in agony, backing away, at least momentarily disoriented by the unexpected attack.

"Spike! Let's go!" Dawn yelled urgently as Spike approached her. Their hearts raced as they struggled up the tunnel, the precious Ghora egg clutched in Dawn's hand. But in the chaos and haste, Dawn stumbled and dropped the egg. It shattered into pieces as it fell down the embankment, their hopes shattering with it.

"Leave it, Dawn," Spike instructed, trying to keep his composure as they faced the devastating loss. "Troika over there knows exactly what we're after—"

But Dawn's determination to save her mother was unwavering. "I can't," she said with tears in her eyes, her voice trembling. "Mom—"

"It's far too dangerous, and I don't have—" Spike muttered, his words trailing off as Dawn crawled back down the tunnel into the Ghora's lair, leaving him without a weapon to defend her.

As Dawn dashed toward the nest to retrieve another egg, the Ghora shrieked in rage, ready to strike her with its two remaining heads. But just before it could reach her, it was pelted with a barrage of large rocks, hurled by Spike. He showered the Ghora with rocks, desperately trying to keep it at bay.

However, the Ghora retaliated with a swift strike of its tail, ripping Spike's legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground in agonizing pain.

Dawn, who had managed to get to the entrance of the tunnel with the second egg intact, stood there in shock and horror as she watched Spike being overpowered by the Ghora. Her heart ached with fear and guilt as she called out desperately, "Spike!"

Spike's agony was palpable as one of the Ghora heads bit into his side. With sheer determination, he managed to grab his axe from the creature's left head and thrust it into the Ghora's torso, causing it to writhe in pain. He then staggered to his feet and sprinted toward Dawn, clutching his wounded side in anguish.

Dawn extended a helping hand to him as he reached her at the top of the embankment, her worry and relief evident. "Sorry," she apologized as she assisted him.

Spike winced but managed a weak smile as he examined the egg in Dawn's hand. "Did you manage to get it?" he inquired, his pain momentarily forgotten in the face of their success. "Don't be sorry, then."

Summers Home

Dawn moved through the quiet home with a sense of purpose, making her way to her mother's room. As she laid a sheet on the floor, she couldn't help but wonder where Buffy and Hermione were at this moment, hoping they were safe. She sat down, her heart heavy with anticipation and fear, and began to combine the Ghora egg with the remaining ingredients in a bowl in front of her.

With deliberate care, she took a vial of blood from her coat and spilled it over the sheet she was sitting on, forming a sacred circle around herself and the bowl. Placing the cherished photograph of her mother next to the bowl, she took the paper the man had given her and began chanting the spell with a trembling voice, her words filled with desperation and hope.

"Osiris, giver of darkness, taker of life, God of Gods—accept my offering … Bone, flesh, breath—yours, eternally. Bone, flesh, breath … I beg of you—return to me."

Dawn's voice echoed through the room as she cast the spell, her heart aching with longing for her mother's presence once more.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

The phone rang just as Buffy and Hermione entered through the front door, returning from a day spent together. Buffy moved quickly into the kitchen and managed to snatch the phone just as the last ring went off.

"Hello? Summers residence, Buffy speaking. Hello, Tara," she greeted, a sense of relief in her voice. "Yes, Hermione and I just arrived—"

As Tara began to speak about the history of magic book and the missing page, Buffy's expression shifted from one of casual conversation to deep worry and concern.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Dawn was lost in her desperate plea, unaware that the spell had thrown her into a momentary trance as she continued to chant with fervor. Her voice echoed with a mixture of longing, hope, and fear. "Osiris, giver of darkness, taker of life, God of Gods—accept my offering … Bone, flesh, breath—yours, eternally. Bone, flesh, breath … I beg of you—return to me," she pleaded. "Osiris, giver of darkness, taker of life, God of Gods—accept my offering … Bone, flesh, breath—yours, eternally. Bone, flesh, breath … I beg of you—return to me," she pleaded once more, her words carrying a weight of desperation.

As the components of the spell flared to life, Buffy and Hermione entered Joyce's room, their expressions filled with shock and alarm.

"Dawn—" Buffy murmured, her voice filled with both disbelief and dread. She picked up her mother's photograph, her hands trembling as she tried to comprehend what Dawn was doing. "What have you done?" she questioned, her voice quivering with a mixture of anger and fear. "What have you done?!"

Dawn, dazed from the spell and the emotions overwhelming her, stood up, her eyes filled with a strange combination of delight and terror. "She's coming," she said, her voice quivering with anticipation. "She's coming home."

But before Dawn could make her escape, Buffy and Hermione raced after her. Buffy reached her sister just as she was about to reach the front door and grabbed her, pulling her back into the living room.

"You have no idea what you're messing with!" Buffy pointed out, her tone a mix of frustration and concern. "Who knows what you've actually raised—what's going to come through that door—"

"I know," Dawn said, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and desperation. "It'll be her."

But Hermione, drawing from her knowledge of magic, disagreed vehemently. "No," she argued, her tone filled with concern. "Resurrection spells never work right, Dawn."

Buffy, her expression haunted by the knowledge she had gained, added to Hermione's warning. "Hermione is right," she said, her voice heavy with the weight of experience. "Tara informed me that these spells always go wrong. People come back wrong—"

Dawn, clutching onto the sliver of hope she had, shook her head in denial. "She won't," she insisted, her voice pleading. "He told me. Her DNA—"

Buffy's frustration and fear boiled over as she shook Dawn violently, causing the photograph of Joyce to slip from her fingers and fall to the floor. "Who told you?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and concern. "Who helped you?!"

Dawn, panic-stricken, lied desperately, "Nobody! Now, let me go—"

"You have to stop it, reverse it—" Buffy urged desperately, her eyes pleading for Dawn to understand the gravity of the situation.

But Dawn, her resolve unwavering, made a shaky motion with her head. "No!"

"Dawn," Buffy implored, her voice tinged with sorrow and desperation. "You know this is wrong. You know you can't let this happen. Not to Mom."

Dawn's eyes filled with tears as she tried to make her sisters understand. "But I need her. I don't care if she's... I'm not like you, Buffy," she pointed out, her voice cracking with emotion, and then she turned to Hermione. "Or you, Hermione. I don't have anybody—"

Buffy and Hermione exchanged astonished glances, clearly taken aback by Dawn's words.

"What? Of course, you do. You've got us—" Buffy stated, her voice softening with genuine concern.

But Dawn's feelings of isolation and alienation spilled out as she poured her heart out. "I don't! You won't even look at me, Buffy! It's so obvious you don't want me around—" She turned to Hermione, her gaze filled with hurt and longing. "And it's clear you don't either, Hermione. You were happy without me until Mom died. Now look at you..."

"That's—that's not true—" Hermione protested, her shock and hurt evident in her voice as she vehemently denied Dawn's accusation.

"It is! And the way you've both been acting! Mom died, and you both act as if you don't care!" Dawn insisted, her words filled with pain and frustration.

"God—of course, Hermione and I care. Of course, we do. How can you believe that?" Buffy responded, her voice filled with disbelief and hurt. She couldn't comprehend how Dawn could think such a thing.

Dawn's accusations cut deep, and the room was heavy with tension as they grappled with their emotions.

"How could I not? Neither of you has even cried!" Dawn exclaimed, her voice quivering with anger and sadness. "You've both been running around like it's some big chore—cleaning up after Mom's mess—"

Hermione's voice was almost choked with emotion as she tried to explain herself. "It's difficult for me, Dawn. Okay? I didn't know Mom. I've mourned for a woman I'll never meet till I can cry no more."

But before the situation could escalate further, Buffy, overwhelmed by a mix of emotions, reacted with an unexpected outburst. She smacked Dawn, a shocking and jarring action that startled her sisters and left them all terrified. Buffy's hand shot up to her mouth as her eyes welled up with tears. "I've been working—busy because I have to... be..." she tried to explain, her voice shaking with guilt and regret.

"No, you don't. You're avoiding me," Dawn declared, her voice filled with pain and frustration.

"I'm not. I have to do these things because... because if I don't, then she's really gone. And I'm trying, really trying, to take care of things... But I have no idea what I'm doing..." Buffy explained, her voice breaking with the weight of her responsibilities. "Mom, she always knew—"

Dawn interrupted, her voice softer, filled with empathy, "Nobody's asking you to be Mom."

But Buffy, overwhelmed by the burden she felt, couldn't hold back her tears any longer. "Well, who will be if I am not?" she questioned, her voice quivering with fear and grief. "Who's going to make things better? Who's going to look after all three of us?" Her tears streamed down her face as she became increasingly vulnerable and childlike.

Dawn, unable to bear witnessing her sister's breakdown, reached out to her. "Buffy—"

Unseen by her sisters, tears streamed down Hermione's cheeks as well. She had been suppressing her feelings for two days, but now they surged to the surface, reminding her that she had lost a mother she would never have the chance to meet or know. Her own grief was now palpable in the room, adding to the overwhelming emotional turmoil that had engulfed the three sisters.

"I didn't mean to push you away... I didn't... I simply didn't want you to see me... I mean… Oh, God… Dawnie, what are we going to do? I'm so scared—" Buffy confessed, her vulnerability laid bare as she spoke to her sister.

The sisters turned to gaze out the window when they heard a loud shuffling movement on the porch outside. A shadow moved by the drawn curtains toward the front door, sending shivers down their spines. As they then heard a knock on the front door, Hermione pushed past Dawn to stand next to Buffy.

Dawn watched as her sisters' emotions deteriorated, and she realized how much pain her sisters had been keeping in as they made their way over to the door.

"Mommy?" Buffy and Hermione said in unison as they heard another knock.

Dawn knew somehow that this wasn't right. That what Hermione and Buffy had stated was true, and that this was a situation in which they shouldn't be treading. She called out desperately to her sisters as another knock sounded on the door.

"Buffy... Hermione..." she called out, but her voice wavered in the face of their longing and fear.

Buffy and Hermione started toward the door almost instinctively, their voices trembling with hope and disbelief. "Mom!" they exclaimed, their hearts racing with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

Dawn, overcome with a sense of duty and understanding, bent down and grabbed Joyce's photograph as Buffy and Hermione approached the front door. She knew what needed to be done. With a determined yet heavy heart, Dawn ripped the photograph in half just as Buffy opened the door. What they found outside was nothing but darkness and howling wind, a cruel reminder of the absence of their mother.

Hermione and Buffy turned away from the door and their eyes fell on the pieces of Joyce's torn photograph scattered on the floor. It was a symbolic gesture, a gesture of letting go, of accepting the truth they had been avoiding.

"Dawn—" Buffy and Hermione began to say, their voices filled with a mix of emotions—grief, regret, and acceptance.

Dawn rushed to her sisters, and they embraced one another tightly, their tears mingling as they held each other close. It was a moment of shared sorrow and understanding, a moment where they all acknowledged the pain they had been carrying and the need for solace in each other's arms.

"It's fine..." Dawn whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. As Hermione and Buffy's sobbing intensified, they clung to one another, finding comfort and support in the bonds of sisterhood, even in the face of their profound loss.