Chapter 6

Glory lounged lazily on her massive golden throne, draped with silken cloth in deep reds and golds. She tapped her manicured fingers on the armrest, her face twisted in annoyance. The throbbing pressure in her skull was relentless today, the echoes of scattered thoughts and fragmented memories clawing at her mind.

"Stupid headache," she muttered under her breath. The few minions nearby exchanged nervous glances but said nothing. They had learned by now that silence was preferable to incurring her wrath during these moments.

The air shifted suddenly. A low, resonant hum vibrated through the walls. It wasn't just noise—it was power. Glory's eyes narrowed. She straightened in her seat, tension rippling through her posture. She knew power when she felt it, and this… this wasn't the usual Hellmouth brand of chaos.

"Well, isn't this interesting," she said, a glimmer of anticipation lighting her expression.

A figure emerged from the shadows at the edge of the chamber, stepping with deliberate calm into the faint light of the flickering sconces. He was tall and lean, his skin glimmering like polished silver streaked with cracks of molten gold. His presence was unnaturally balanced, an eerie fusion of grace and restrained power. Glory's gaze sharpened, her instincts screaming both warning and curiosity.

"Glorificus," the man said, his voice a deep, resonant tone that reverberated through the chamber. "I've been looking for you."

Glory's lips curved into a sardonic smile as she tilted her head. "Oh, wonderful. Another wannabe god here to either grovel or pick a fight. Let me guess—you're the 'I'm going to challenge you to reclaim my lost glory' type. Ugh, so predictable."

The man inclined his head slightly, unaffected by her mockery. "You may call me Helios. I am neither here to grovel nor challenge you."

Glory raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Oh, really? So you're the boring type. What's it going to be, then? You here for chit-chat? You better make it good—I'm not exactly the 'patient listener' kind."

Helios stepped closer, the golden light from the sconces casting an otherworldly glow on his cracked silver skin. His expression remained calm, unreadable.

"I have a proposition," he said simply.

That caught Glory off guard. She leaned back on her throne, crossing her legs with exaggerated nonchalance. "A proposition?" she echoed, her interest piqued despite herself. "Alright, you've got my attention. Spill."

"The Hellmouth," Helios began, his voice steady and measured, "is more than just a portal to chaos. It's a scar—an ancient wound that disrupted the balance of this world and others. A wound that weakened the divine influence of those who once ruled here."

For a brief moment, Glory's mask of indifference cracked. Her eyes darkened, flashes of long-forgotten memories tugging at the edges of her mind. Palaces made of obsidian and gold. A throne room that stretched across dimensions. A gateway that connected her dominion to countless others. The vision faded as quickly as it had come, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Balance," she muttered, her voice softer now. "You sound like one of those holier-than-thou monks who never shut up about cosmic equilibrium."

"I am not a monk," Helios replied coolly. "But I understand what was taken from you. The usurpers who came through the Hellmouth—those who fractured your power and scattered your essence across dimensions—are the reason you're trapped in this weakened state."

Glory clenched her jaw, her nails digging into the armrest of her throne. Memories of her exile, of the betrayal by her so-called peers, surfaced in a chaotic blur. She hated how vulnerable it made her feel, how this stranger seemed to know too much about her past.

"And you think you can help me fix that?" she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

"I can," Helios said. "But first, we need to deal with a mutual problem."

Glory narrowed her eyes. "And that would be?"

"The Morningstar," Helios answered, his golden eyes glowing faintly. "His presence threatens the balance I am sworn to protect. He's an unpredictable force, one that could undo everything you and I both seek to achieve. You want control of the Hellmouth. I want him gone. Our goals align."

For a long moment, Glory studied him in silence. The name Morningstar tugged at something deep in her fractured mind. She had heard it before—whispered in both reverence and fear across dimensions. She had dismissed it as another myth at the time, one of those cosmic figures who never actually appeared when you needed them to. But now, here was Helios, speaking of him like a real threat.

"You're serious," she finally said, her voice low and contemplative. "You really think he's going to screw things up for both of us."

Helios met her gaze without flinching. "If left unchecked, yes."

A slow, predatory grin spread across Glory's face. "Alright, Helios. You help me reclaim what's mine, and I'll help you take out your little problem. But just so we're clear—nobody double-crosses me. Not unless they want to spend eternity in very, very small pieces."

Helios inclined his head again, his expression unreadable. "Understood."

"Good," Glory said, rising gracefully from her throne. She sauntered toward him, her crimson dress trailing behind her like liquid fire. "Let's make some magic, partner."

Scene change

The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of Buffy's punches echoed through the back room of the Magic Box, reverberating off the wooden walls. Sweat trickled down her temple as she worked through a set of fast-paced strikes, her fists connecting with the padded targets Giles held in front of him.

"You need to follow through completely on that last jab," Giles instructed, bracing himself for another round. Buffy's punches packed more than just physical force—there was frustration simmering beneath each strike.

Buffy exhaled sharply, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. She threw another punch, harder this time, as if trying to knock the thoughts out of her mind. Glory, Dawn's constant danger, Harry's mysterious presence, and, of course, Riley's dramatic exit—it all swirled like a storm in her head.

"Is this about Glory?" Giles asked, carefully lowering the pads. His voice was calm, but probing.

"Isn't everything these days?" Buffy muttered, shaking out her hands and rolling her neck. She lunged forward suddenly, her fist landing with a solid thud on the padded target. Giles staggered slightly but steadied himself.

"Or perhaps," he continued, setting the pads aside, "it's also about Riley?"

Buffy's jaw tightened. Her punches faltered for a moment before she pulled back, resting her hands on her hips. "Do we have to go there, Giles? I'd rather not relive the whole 'boyfriend sneaks off to get his kicks from a vampire' trauma."

Giles removed his glasses and gave her a sympathetic look. "Buffy, you've had a lot on your plate lately. It's natural to feel overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed doesn't even cover it," Buffy replied, her voice tinged with exhaustion. She grabbed a towel off a nearby chair and wiped her face. "Glory's still out there, trolling for her 'key.' We barely survived that whole Olaf the Troll thing, and now Riley's gone. Yay for less relationship drama, but it's still… a lot."

She began pacing the room, tension coiling in her muscles. "And then there's Harry."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "Ah, yes. The enigmatic Mr. Potter. I've been meaning to ask about him. Why exactly are we being so cautious with him? From what Dawn has mentioned, he's helped her multiple times. He doesn't seem like an immediate threat."

Buffy hesitated, her mind flashing back to that fateful encounter with Glory. She had hidden in the shadows, watching Harry fight the goddess. And that's when she had heard it—Glory's mocking words. She should've put the clues together. Harry was the thing that was summoned those weeks ago but it wasn't until she heard Glory's words that she managed to make the puzzle pieces fit.

"…And you must be the famous Morningstar. You've got quite the reputation, you know."

Buffy shook her head, trying to push away the memory. "I overheard something during his fight with Glory," she admitted quietly.

Giles straightened, his curiosity piqued. "Go on."

"She called him the Morningstar," Buffy said, her voice low. "At first, I thought maybe she was just messing with him, you know? Like how villains throw around cryptic names to rattle their enemies. But… he didn't act like it was the first time he'd heard it."

Giles's brow furrowed. "Hmmm. The Morningstar… That name carries a great deal of weight in mythology. It predates Christian lore and appears across many ancient cultures. Depending on the interpretation, it could refer to a celestial figure caught between realms—someone associated with both light and darkness. Sometimes a force of balance, other times a harbinger of destruction."

Buffy crossed her arms, the tension in her posture returning. "So either he's here to help or he's here to torch the world. Great. Just what we need."

"From what we've seen so far, he doesn't appear to be working with Glory," Giles pointed out gently. "In fact, he's gone out of his way to protect Dawn."

Buffy nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I know. But what if that's part of the act? What if he's using Dawn to get closer to the Key?"

Giles hesitated for a moment before responding. "It's a possibility, but I'd like to believe it's unlikely. He doesn't strike me as someone who operates with deception. Still, your caution is understandable."

"Cautious is my middle name," Buffy muttered, though her voice lacked conviction. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I just don't want to take any chances. If Harry's as powerful as Glory and he's got some secret agenda, we need to know. Fast."

Giles placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I'll continue my research. I've contacted some old friends at the Council. There may be ancient texts that shed more light on both Harry and Glory. I'm planning a trip soon to verify the information."

"Good," Buffy said. "In the meantime, I'll keep an eye on Harry. If he really is the Morningstar, I'm not letting him out of my sight."

"Just be careful," Giles cautioned. "Power like his is unpredictable, but it doesn't always mean danger."

"We'll see," Buffy replied, her expression hardening.

Giles nodded and turned to leave, his footsteps soft against the wooden floor. Buffy remained in the training room, her thoughts racing. Harry had saved Dawn more than once, but Glory's words haunted her. If she feared Harry—or worse, wanted him on her side—then Sunnydale was facing a much bigger threat than they had imagined.

Buffy exhaled slowly and tightened her grip on the towel. Whatever the truth was, she intended to find out.

Scene change

A week had passed since Giles's conversation with Buffy. Now he found himself back in familiar yet unwelcoming territory—his old stomping grounds in London. The air inside the Council's headquarters was stifling, carrying the faint scent of polished wood and ancient parchment. Everything about the place reminded him of bureaucracy and tradition, two things that had always clashed with his unconventional methods.

Giles adjusted his glasses as he walked through a narrow corridor lined with portraits of past Watchers. Each face seemed to stare down at him with silent judgment. He sighed, shaking off the sensation. He had more important things to worry about than ghostly disapproval.

Entering a small research office, he was greeted by two familiar faces. Lydia Chalmers, a sharp-eyed researcher with a penchant for obscure texts, offered him a polite smile. Beside her, Joseph Witheridge leaned casually against the edge of a table, his expression one of weary exasperation.

"Rupert," Lydia greeted warmly. "You don't look particularly pleased to be here."

"That's because I'm not," Giles replied dryly. He shook their hands before taking a seat.

Joseph chuckled. "Can't say I blame you. The Council's gone even more rigid since you left. Half of them wouldn't know a real threat if it bit them in the—"

"Joseph," Lydia interrupted with a warning glance. "Let's focus."

Giles leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I need information on two fronts—Glory and someone the Council's been whispering about. The one they're calling the Morningstar."

Lydia nodded, flipping open a leather-bound journal filled with intricate diagrams and annotations. "We've been gathering what we can about Glory. According to the texts, she's a deity from a hell dimension, exiled by her own kind. The reasons aren't entirely clear, though power struggles seem likely."

"She's dangerous, that much we know," Joseph added. "Even for a god, she's on another level of brutal."

"Yes, we've seen that firsthand," Giles muttered. "What about vulnerabilities? Anything that might give us an edge?"

Lydia hesitated, exchanging a glance with Joseph. "The texts are fragmented. However, there's a theory that her power is tied to something called the Key. Without it, her connection to this dimension is unstable."

Giles's eyes narrowed. "The Key?"

"An object of immense power," Lydia explained. "Or at least, that's how the texts describe it. It may act as a tether, anchoring her between dimensions. If she were to regain control of it…"

"She'd become whole again," Joseph finished grimly. "And possibly unstoppable."

Giles exhaled slowly, the weight of their words settling over him. "Do we have any idea what this Key actually is?"

Lydia shook her head. "The records are vague. Some describe it as a vessel of celestial energy, while others suggest it was hidden by an ancient order—monks who sought to protect the world from Glory's ambitions."

"The Order of Dagon," Giles murmured, remembering the broken seal they had discovered in Sunnydale. "That lines up with what we found before Glory appeared."

Joseph leaned forward, crossing his arms. "There's something else we found in one of the older texts. It hints that the Key might have been altered somehow."

"Altered?" Giles prompted.

"Not just hidden but… reshaped. It was made into something living—possibly human," Lydia added cautiously. "It's not concrete, but it might explain why it's so hard to locate. Glory could be searching for an object while the Key has taken a form she wouldn't expect."

Giles kept his expression neutral, not wanting to reveal that he already knew the truth. Dawn's secret was a precarious one, and he wouldn't trust the Council—or even these trusted associates—with that knowledge. He gave a measured nod.

"Interesting theory," Giles said carefully. "But as of now, we have little to confirm it."

Joseph frowned but didn't press further. Lydia hesitated for a moment before changing the subject. "What about the Morningstar? There's been a lot of chatter in the Council lately, and it's not exactly flattering."

Giles stiffened, his patience wearing thin. "I'm aware of the Council's interest in him. But Harry has shown no signs of hostility or malicious intent. He's helped us on several occasions."

Lydia leaned back, thoughtful. "Still, Rupert, you have to admit—his power is unusual. Unpredictable. There are rumors he's linked to forces that predate many of our records. That kind of presence naturally makes the Council nervous."

"They're always nervous when something doesn't fit neatly into their worldview," Giles said bitterly.

Before the conversation could continue, the door to the study creaked open. A senior Watcher strode inside, his expression cold and formal. He stood tall and rigid, his posture radiating authority.

"Rupert," the man said curtly. "A word."

Suppressing a sigh, Giles excused himself and followed the Watcher into the corridor. The door clicked shut behind them.

"I trust you've been briefed on the Morningstar," the Watcher began, his voice clipped and businesslike. "The Council wants more oversight on this matter. His presence is a liability."

"A liability?" Giles repeated incredulously. "He's done nothing but aid us. He's saved Dawn's life multiple times. We have far more pressing threats to address—like Glory."

The Watcher's expression remained impassive. "The Morningstar is a destabilizing force. We know little about him, his origins, or his long-term intentions. That level of power, unchecked, is unacceptable."

"You're acting on paranoia," Giles said, his voice hardening. "You have two researchers at most with fragments of information, and now you want to intervene?"

"It's not just about what we know," the Watcher replied coolly. "It's about what we can't control. You've always been too emotionally entangled in these matters, Rupert. It clouds your judgment."

Giles's jaw tightened. "If the Council continues down this path, they risk alienating a potential ally—someone who could help us stop Glory. You've seen the reports. She's already proven her capacity for destruction. We need all the help we can get."

"Perhaps. But if he becomes a danger to the balance, we won't hesitate to take action," the Watcher warned.

"Is that a threat?" Giles asked, his voice icy.

"A precaution," the Watcher replied with a thin smile. "We'll be watching."

Without another word, Giles turned and strode away, his mind racing. The Council's fear of Harry was escalating, but their interference could do more harm than good. He needed to protect his team from both Glory and the Council's paranoia.

Scene change

The early afternoon sun poured through the windows of Sunnydale High, casting long shadows across the hallways. Students bustled between classes, their laughter and conversations blending into a dull hum. Dawn Summers, however, moved through the crowd in a distracted haze, her mind preoccupied with the strange events that had consumed her life lately.

She adjusted her books in her arms and sighed. Glory. Harry. The Key. It all felt too overwhelming, like a nightmare that refused to end. She didn't even have time to think about normal things anymore, like boys or homework.

The hallway gradually grew quieter as students filtered into their next classes. Dawn didn't notice at first, too lost in thought. But a strange sensation prickled at the back of her neck—like she was being watched.

She slowed her pace and glanced around. The corridor was eerily empty now, and the fluorescent lights flickered faintly overhead. A chill crept down her spine.

"You're just being paranoid," she muttered to herself, quickening her steps. But the unease didn't fade.

Turning a corner, she nearly collided with someone.

The man standing before her was tall and unsettling. His skin shimmered faintly, as if coated in a thin layer of silver, and his eyes glowed like cold starlight. His presence felt wrong—too calm, too controlled for the chaotic energy of Sunnydale. He regarded her with an air of detached curiosity.

"You're Dawn Summers," he stated rather than asked, his voice deep and resonant.

Dawn instinctively stepped back. Fear twisted in her gut. "Who the hell are you? And how do you know my name?"

The man tilted his head slightly, his expression impassive. "I am Helios. I've come for you."

Dawn's eyes widened in terror. She turned on her heel to run, but the air around her suddenly shifted, warping like a mirage. Before she could take more than a few steps, an unseen force yanked her backward. She stumbled, her feet leaving the ground as invisible restraints held her in place.

"Let me go!" she shouted, thrashing against the magical grip. "Somebody help—"

Her scream was cut off as Helios raised a hand. Runes of shimmering light appeared in the air around them, forming a glowing circle. Dawn's voice faltered, her eyes darting wildly as she struggled in silence.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," Helios muttered, more to himself than to her. With a flick of his wrist, a portal of swirling silver energy materialized behind him. The air crackled with raw magic.

Dawn thrashed harder, panic overtaking her rational thoughts. "No! Please, don't—"

Helios sighed, clearly impatient. He extended his hand toward the portal, and Dawn was pulled through it with a flash of light.

Scene Change

The portal spat them out into a large, dimly lit chamber. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings, their patterns dulled by age and neglect. The air was thick with the presence of magic—oppressive and suffocating.

Dawn hit the stone floor hard, coughing as she scrambled to her knees. She glanced around in a daze, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

Helios stood calmly beside her, unaffected by the disorienting journey. His gaze shifted to the far end of the room, where a throne of gold loomed in the shadows.

A figure stirred on the throne. Glory.

The hell-goddess stretched luxuriously, her red dress glimmering like molten fire in the low light. She rose to her feet gracefully, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she sauntered toward them.

"Well, well," Glory drawled, her voice dripping with amusement. "What do we have here? I wasn't expecting company."

Dawn shrank back instinctively as Glory approached, her fear renewed. The goddess's presence was overwhelming, a mixture of beauty and menace that left Dawn feeling trapped in a nightmare.

Glory's gaze flicked to Helios, then to Dawn. She tilted her head, feigning interest. "And who's the little snack you brought me?"

Helios remained stoic. "She's not for you. She's leverage."

Glory arched an eyebrow, her amusement fading into mild annoyance. "Leverage? Really? And what makes you think you can just waltz in here and dictate terms to me?"

Helios's eyes glinted coldly. "I'm not here to dictate. I'm here to ensure the Morningstar is eliminated. You want control of the Hellmouth. I want him gone. This girl will help us achieve both."

Glory studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to Dawn's horror, she smiled—a slow, predatory grin.

"Well, aren't you ambitious?" Glory purred. She crouched down to Dawn's level, brushing a strand of hair from the girl's face. "Don't worry, sweetie. You'll be just fine… as long as you behave."

Dawn jerked away from her touch, her heart pounding in her chest. "Buffy… Harry… someone…"

Glory chuckled softly. "Aww, poor thing. Don't worry—they'll come for you. And when they do… well, things are going to get very interesting."

Helios remained silent, watching the exchange with an unreadable expression. Glory straightened and turned back to him, her grin widening.

"Alright, partner," she said with mock enthusiasm. "Let's see what kind of magic we can make together."

Dawn's fear deepened as the two powerful figures loomed over her. She was trapped between a goddess and a force she didn't fully understand. All she could do now was hope that Buffy and Harry would find her in time.

Scene change

The sun was high over Sunnydale, casting a faint glow on Harry's temporary residence. He leaned against the window, lost in thought. The remnants of his confrontation with Glory still lingered in his mind, along with an unsettling sense of magical imbalance. The world around him felt fractured, as if reality itself barely held together in places. He had never encountered anything quite like it.

His gaze shifted as a sudden ripple of magic brushed against his senses. The air thickened, charged with power. Before he could react, Hedwig's spectral form materialized before him. Her feathers shimmered with a soft, moonlit glow, her wings outstretched in a graceful arc. She was ethereal and beautiful, yet undeniably otherworldly.

"Hedwig," Harry breathed, stepping closer. His heart clenched at the sight of her. Despite her familiar presence, he couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't his Hedwig—not exactly. She was something else, a manifestation of his magic's bond with the memory of his original familiar.

Over time, Harry had come to believe that this spectral Hedwig was his magic's interpretation of her—a projection of what she represented to him: loyalty, guidance, and an anchor to his past. But lately, her abilities had been evolving. She no longer acted simply as a messenger or scout; she was something far more attuned to the magic of this world.

Hedwig let out a soft, eerie hoot, and suddenly Harry's vision blurred. Images flashed before his eyes like fragments of a dream.

Dawn's terrified face. A tall figure clad in silver armor with eyes like starlight. A portal of twisting light engulfing her as shadowed figures loomed. Then, a distorted view of Sunnydale High—empty hallways, flickering lights, and a sense of dread hanging in the air.

Harry stumbled back, gasping. The vision faded, but Hedwig's glowing eyes remained locked on his, conveying a sense of urgency and purpose.

"What… what was that?" he whispered, steadying himself. His wand was already in his hand, though he hadn't consciously drawn it.

Hedwig flapped her wings and turned toward the door, urging him to follow.

Harry's mind raced as he processed the vision. He had experienced premonitions and magical warnings before, but this was different—more vivid and emotionally charged than anything he had known. It wasn't like a spell he had cast; it felt instinctual, as though Hedwig had acted through some deeper connection to the world's magic.

"Alright, girl," Harry muttered, regaining his composure. "Let's go. But we're going to have a long talk about this later."

Hedwig hooted again, this time sounding amused—or at least, that's how Harry chose to interpret it. He grabbed his coat and wand, striding out the door with renewed determination. If Dawn was in danger, he wouldn't waste a second.

Scene change

The door to the Summers house swung open, and Buffy stepped inside with a sigh. She let her backpack drop to the floor, its weight finally off her shoulders after a long day of classes at Sunnydale University. Instantly Buffy noticed something… something was off. The house was eerily quiet—too quiet.

"Dawn?" Buffy called out, listening for any response. Silence.

Her Slayer senses tingled as she walked further into the house. Normally, there'd be some sign of life—Dawn's music blaring from her room, Willow or Tara talking softly in the kitchen. But now there was… nothing.

Buffy's heartbeat quickened as she moved toward the living room. She had just started reaching for a weapon from under the couch when a sharp knock echoed from the front door. Buffy's hand hovered near the handle of a hidden blade as she cautiously moved to answer it.

She opened the door to find Harry standing on the porch, his face grim. His usually composed expression was taut with tension, and his emerald eyes held a sense of urgency that put Buffy immediately on edge.

"Harry?" Buffy frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"I think Dawn's in trouble," he said without hesitation. His voice was calm, but the intensity behind his words was unmistakable. "Hedwig… she showed me something. A vision. It was of Dawn being taken."

"Who is Hedwig?" Buffy asked, feeling bewildered by the abrupt statement.

Harry just pointed to the spectral owl that landed in a nearby tree.

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "A vision? You're saying your owl sent you a vision?"

Harry crossed his arms and gave her a serious look. "I'm not exactly sure how it works either. This magic is… new. But it's real, and we don't have time to debate it. Dawn's in danger."

Buffy hesitated, her mind racing. Dawn wasn't answering her calls. Maybe she had stayed after school or gone somewhere without telling anyone—but deep down, Buffy knew better. Trouble always found Dawn. And this wasn't the first time Harry had shown up with critical information at the right moment.

Still, trust didn't come easily, especially after what Glory had said about him.

"How do I know you're not involved?" Buffy demanded, crossing her arms. "You show up every time something crazy happens, and now you've got 'visions' all of a sudden?"

Harry's jaw tightened. "You don't have time to second-guess me. If I wanted to harm Dawn, I wouldn't be here warning you."

Buffy stared at him for a moment longer, her instincts torn between suspicion and the undeniable urgency of his words. Finally, she exhaled sharply and stepped aside to let him in.

"Alright," she said. "But you're on a short leash. We find Dawn first—then we figure out what's really going on with you."

Harry nodded, stepping inside. He didn't take offense; if anything, he respected Buffy's protective instincts. They weren't so different in that regard.

Buffy quickly sent a message to Willow as they moved through the house.

"It's Tuesday again. Might need an emergency plan. Don't fully trust the Morningstar."

The phrase had become an inside joke among the Scoobies. Dawn getting kidnapped—or being the target of supernatural threats—had become so routine that they had dubbed such crises "Tuesday nights." But this wasn't a joke anymore. Buffy's fingers tightened around her phone as she hit send.

Willow responded almost immediately:

"Got it. What kind of Tuesday are we talking? Acathla bad or 'Buffy punches a god' bad?"

Buffy smirked briefly before muttering, "Hopefully neither." She tucked the phone away and turned to Harry.

"You said the vision showed her at school?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, but whoever took her was powerful. We won't be able to track them easily."

"Well, I don't plan on giving them much of a head start," Buffy said. She made her way to the far wall, where the Troll Hammer rested. The massive weapon still bore the scars from her fight with Olaf. Buffy grabbed it, testing its weight.

"Okay," she muttered. "Time to bust some heads."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're really taking that thing?"

"Trust me, it gets the job done," Buffy said with a wry grin. She glanced at him. "You got any tricks up your sleeve?"

Harry reached into his robe and pulled out his wand. "Plenty. Let's hope they're enough."

Buffy adjusted her grip on the hammer and led the way outside. Hedwig swooped down from a nearby rooftop, her spectral wings glowing softly in the fading sunlight.

Buffy gave the owl a wary look. "Still creepy," she muttered. "But useful, I guess."

Harry smirked faintly. "Hedwig's been through worse than Sunnydale. She'll help us track Dawn."

They set off down the street, urgency propelling them forward. Buffy's mind raced with possibilities. Glory, any other enemies they hadn't even met yet… the list of threats to Dawn seemed to grow longer by the day.

"Alright, Hedwig," Buffy muttered as they reached a crossroads. "Lead the way."

The owl gave a soft hoot before taking flight, her glowing form illuminating the darkening sky. Buffy and Harry followed closely behind, both prepared for the battle ahead.

They wouldn't stop until they found Dawn—no matter what stood in their way..

Scene change

Harry and Buffy have spent some time retracing Dawn's steps, heading back toward the school where she was last seen. After combing through key areas and questioning any lingering witnesses, they stop just outside the gates, both frustrated but determined.

Harry reaches into his robe and draws his wand. He mutters a familiar incantation: "Point Me." The wand spins for a few seconds in his hand before settling and pointing firmly in one direction. He frowns in concentration.

Buffy raises an eyebrow. "That looks… weirdly specific. What kind of spell is that?"

"Tracking spell. A bit of a cheat, really," Harry explains, trying not to grin. "An old friend of mine… Hermione created it. Amusingly, it's technically a Divination spell. You can't imagine how much that upset her at the time."

"Divination?" Buffy echoes, amused. "You mean like crystal balls and stuff? I didn't think you were the mystic type."

"I'm not," Harry replies, chuckling softly. "Neither is its creator. She had strong opinions about Divination, most of them very vocal." He looks at the wand, now steady and locked on a direction. "But this spell has come through for us time and time again."

Without further hesitation, they follow the spell's guidance down several blocks until it leads them toward a run-down warehouse district. Harry slows to a stop, eyes narrowing at the large, ominous structure at the end of the street.

"This feels a bit… obvious," Buffy says, her Slayer instincts tingling. She scanned the surrounding area, aware of the quiet. Too quiet.

Harry glances around warily, wand drawn. "Agreed. They'll probably try to stall us here. Keep us distracted."

They share a brief, determined glance before entering through a side door. The dim interior is eerily silent, with rusted metal beams and crumbling concrete creating a maze of shadows. Harry and Buffy advance cautiously, Hedwig keeping watch from the rafters.

Without warning, a group of vampires and monstrous figures emerges from the shadows, their growls reverberating through the cavernous space.

"Here we go," Buffy mutters. She twirls the hammer, smirking. "Any of you want to back off now? No? Alright then."

The first vampire lunges at her, and she swings the Troll Hammer with crushing force, sending him flying into a nearby pillar with a sickening crunch. Another charges from the side, but she ducks and slams the hammer upward, shattering his jaw in one swift motion.

Meanwhile, Harry is surrounded by three demons with glowing eyes and serrated claws. He shouts a spell, sending one demon flying with a blast of magical energy. The second demon tries to close the distance, but Harry conjures a wall of blue fire, forcing the creature to recoil in pain.

The battle intensifies. Buffy fights with relentless precision, her movements swift and brutal as she takes down each attacker. Harry, meanwhile, uses a combination of spells and wandless magic, deflecting blows with shimmering magical shields and hurling hexes that immobilize or incapacitate his foes.

At one point, Buffy notices Harry carving precise arcs of magical fire around a group of monsters, trapping them in a burning circle. "Fancy," she comments between strikes.

"Thanks," Harry replies with a smirk. "You're not bad with that hammer yourself."

Buffy smashes another demon into the ground, then glances at him. "I've had practice."

The fight continues with a series of intense but fluid exchanges. Buffy and Harry move almost in sync, covering each other's blind spots as the number of enemies dwindles. A final vampire lunges at Buffy from behind, but Hedwig screeches a warning, giving her just enough time to pivot and drive the hammer into his chest.

With the last foe vanquished, Buffy exhales sharply and surveys the carnage around them. "That all of them?"

Harry lowers his wand, his gaze scanning the shadows for any lingering threats. "Looks like it."

Buffy wipes some sweat from her brow, resting the hammer against her shoulder. "Not exactly subtle, were they? Definitely meant to slow us down."

"Which means whoever's holding Dawn is expecting us," Harry says grimly. He approaches her and examines the hammer thoughtfully. "Before we move on, let me try something."

Buffy raises an eyebrow as Harry pulls out a small, rune-etched knife from his pocket. "What are you doing?"

"Lightening the load," Harry explains as he begins carving symbols along the hammer's handle. "Troll-made weapons are notoriously heavy. This should help with balance without weakening the strikes. Also, I'll add a charm to shrink it for easier carrying."

Buffy watches skeptically at first but soon notices the hammer emitting a faint, golden glow. When Harry finishes, the weapon feels noticeably lighter in her hands. She tests its weight, swinging it with ease.

"Okay," she admits, clearly impressed. "You might actually be good for something."

Harry chuckles softly. "Glad to be of service."

They share a brief moment of calm before Hedwig lets out a low, urgent hoot. Both of them snap to attention, turning toward the warehouse's interior.

"She's found something," Harry says, his tone sharpening.

Buffy nods, gripping the hammer tightly. "Then let's finish this."

They move deeper into the warehouse, their resolve unwavering. The trap had failed to wear them down—now it was time to confront whoever was behind Dawn's abduction.

A/N: Hey everyone I want to thank everyone for following and favoriting this story. I hope this chapter answers some of the questions that were brought up in the comments.