Title: Back at Square One
Author: Jinni (druscilla@cox.net)
Rated: R
Pairing: W/Snape
Genre: BtVS/HP Crossover
Disclaimer: All things BtVS/AtS belong to Joss Whedon. The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.
Distribution: A Witch’s Love. Aislin. NHA. Willow’s Little Secret. Bite Me Please. All others please ask first.
Summary: I suck at summaries. You know the pairing already. Work with that.
Notes: This will take place after Season 6 of BtVS and after the events of Goblet of Fire in the HP book Series. Voldemort is on the rise, Willow tried to end the world. Tara is dead and Xander saved everyone. This is the aftermath of both timelines.
Feedback: Please?

~*~Part One~*~

She was in her room like always at this time of day; and Giles knew before he opened the door how he would find her. Sitting by the window, looking by the window, hands in her lap. Her eyes would be vacant, dead, just as they had been every day since Xander had brought her down off that mountain. He had saved the world but he hadn’t been able to save Willow. She lived, but was all but dead inside. The spark that had once burned so bright in her heart was gone, faded to nothing but ashes. It tore at the strings of his hear to see her hurt so.

But there was nothing he could do to ease her pain.

He fingered the bit of parchment in his hand, trying to decide if now was the time. If not now, though – when? He had put it off as long as he could. Too long by some people’s standards. Time was running out for him to put the decision before Willow. Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

"Come in."

The whispered acceptance was barely audible through the wood of the door. He turned the knob, pushing it open. Once inside, he shut it again. This conversation was for Willow’s ears only. Xander and Buffy would mean well if they knew, but they really had no say in the matter. This choice was to be Willow’s and Willow’s alone for the simple reason that either way she’d be alone again. Her friends couldn’t come with her. They were to stay here, to fight the good fight and live their lives.

No matter what she decided.

"Willow. How are you today?"

She shrugged, eyes set on the window in front of her.

"That well?"

He thought he saw a ghost of a smile on her lips. But, no, it was more than likely only his imagination. No one had seen Willow smile since before Tara died. He pulled a worn-looking chair from near the wall, noting with sadness that there was a small splotch of red on the edge of it. Blood. Tara’s blood. It had gone all over the place, staining portions of the carpet, the bedspread. It had gotten on Willow, on her clothes, that day. So many weeks ago, yet it might as well have been yesterday for all the pain it caused them inside. They had tried to clean away all the stains, but some remained, like the stain on Willow’s soul, the blood was still there in places. A reminder.

"Willow. I need to talk to you about something. Something important."

She sighed, pulling her eyes from the window and whatever she had been staring at.

"If you must."

"I must." He agreed. "Or else I would leave you be until you feel like being with us again."

A frown flashed across her face, bitter and sad. "That might never happen again, Giles."

"I know it seems that way now." He whispered. "But you must believe it will get better. When I lost Jenny I felt like my world had ended. But I made it through."

Willow nodded. He spoke the truth. Hadn’t he lost someone he loved just as much as she had loved Tara? But that didn’t make it easier. Shared pain was still pain. And the anguish of the heart hurt just as much as a knife in the throat.

"When I came back from England to help the others I did so with the backing of some very important people." He began, choosing his words carefully. He hadn’t come back to ‘stop her’, he had come back to ‘help’ the others. All means to the same end, but one oh so much easier to hear and say than the other was. "They sent me, with their magics."

The read head nodded slowly, her eyes lacking any sparkle of life, of energy. It was as though the light was on, but no one was home in the space that had once held her spirit. "I remember. You dosed me with the good magic. It was strong."

Giles nodded. It had been strong, the combined powers of some of the most powerful witches and wizards in the known world. And it hadn’t been enough to stop her, she had still wiped the floor with him and then taken the power for herself. It had been that ‘dosing’ that had set her on a one-way course to destroy the world. If it hadn’t been for Xander –

"Giles?"

He shook himself from the memories of that day, flashing her a reassuring smile.

"Got lost in my thoughts. Sorry."

"S’ok. You were saying?" The pain in her eyes made it clear that she wanted nothing more than for him to finish what he had to say and then leave. The conversation was nothing but a reminder of things she lived with everyday anyway. It felt like salt rubbed against open wounds, painful and biting.

"In exchange for their assistance I had to agree to something. Namely – I had to agree to bring you to them for schooling when it was all over. So that they could teach you control."

"Control?" She laughed softly, bitterly. "Giles. I don’t plan on ever touching magic again. It all ends so badly for me."

"Unfortunately, my dear," He sighed. "That is no longer an option for you. You must learn to control your powers so that nothing like this ever happens again. The risk cannot be taken any longer. This is as much my fault as yours. I should have gotten you training back when you first started showing the signs. It’s also the fault of the American academy. They should have had you in their books from day one. So many people to blame, Willow. But that’s beside the point."

Willow stared at Giles as though he had grown a second head. For one thing he was talking about her and magic as though the two went hand in hand. Didn’t he understand that she couldn’t stand the thought of magic any longer? That the word itself tasted bitter in her mouth?

And then there was his language. American Academy? What was that and what did it have to do with her magic abuse?

"The point is," He continued. "The choice has been taken from us. The human world has no way to cope with what you did. They wouldn’t begin to know how to handle you if they ever knew what had been done. But the wizarding world does know, Willow. And they are insisting that you take the schooling and learn control."

"And if I don’t want to?" She whispered.

His face was a mask of sadness.

"As I said – there is no choice any longer. I put this off as long as I could, trying to give you a chance to recover emotionally. But they have become quite insistent. I can’t say as how I blame them. Normally someone in your position would not be given a choice. But you were."

"Again," She repeated, more firmly, the emotions in his eyes scaring her. "What happens if I don’t agree to go?"

"Then they will take you to Azkaban, a prison for witches, and you will live out what will undoubtedly be a much shorter life as the dementors slowly drive you quite insane. You will die there."

He stood, leaving the piece of parchment on the window sill for her to look at when she had a moment.

"Please choose wisely."

Willow heard the door shut, her eyes filled with saddened horror. She deserved to die for what she’d done and, indeed, on many days she felt like that was the only path left for her in life. But, faced with the choice of learning to harness her powers or going to a prison such as Giles spoke of, she no longer found the idea of death to be too terribly pleasing. Surely death at the hands of things called ‘dementors’ would be no walk in the park. Certainly not painless.

She reached for the letter, blinking back tears.

~*~Rupert,

We have waited as long as we can. The new school year will be starting in less than two weeks and she must be in with the first years. I have done all I can to keep her out of Azkaban, but if she does not attend Hogwarts starting with the fall semester I cannot prevent them from taking her away. I know that is the last thing you would like to see happen. Considering her age is much past that which normal students enter, we will be placing her on an accelerated course. I have been assured that, with the proper studiousness on her part, she should be able to complete the seven years in less than four. If this is accomplished she need not fear the horrors of Azkaban so long as she keep her nose clean for the rest of her life. Please respond as soon as possible.

                                                            Your Friend,

                                                                        Albus Dumbledore~*~


She dropped the letter to the floor, sobbing for what she was about to lose. Four years? If life had been better to her she would have been graduating from college in only another year or two. But now she was starting all over again. It wasn’t fair. But she didn’t deserve fair. Not after what she had done. Tara’s death was no excuse for the death of another human being. She was lucky, in fact, that they were even giving her this choice.

Easing out of her chair she stooped, picking up the piece of parchment, the gold-tinted writing winking on it like glitter. Giles would be waiting for her answer. He had waited long enough, it seemed. Almost too long, in fact.

She didn’t want to keep him waiting any longer.

~*~Part Two~*~

She had slept; mercifully sedated by pills Giles had produced as if by magic of his own, throughout the entire transatlantic flight. She knew he hadn’t used magic to get them. They were probably from a prescription he had for himself, or had gotten a doctor to write for her. Giles used common means to get to the ends he needed. Unlike herself. She had been a magic junkie, using it for the simplest little things. If she hadn’t already fallen that far would she still have lost control when Tara died? She would never know, though the possibility would weigh on her for the rest of her life.

Her goodbyes with her friends had been hard, made ever more difficult by the fact that she waited until the day she was leaving to tell them. It was better that way. Just tell them and then go. They understood, at least, that she needed to get help, and weren’t too critical of her for the leaving part. Giles would return as soon as he had placed her in the hands of her new warders.

Warders.

It made it all seem like she was off to jail. And wasn’t that what it was? A jail that just so happened to have winter and summer breaks? She was being forced to attend a school with people half her age. Her first classes would be, as she understood, with children that were only eleven or twelve in age! And they would all, undoubtedly, know why she was there. It was impossible for them not to, unless someone had created some sort of very interesting fiction for why she would be starting schooling so late in her witchy career. If that was the case, she was very interested to hear what the excuse may be.

As it stood, though, with her assumptions that everyone would know about her and her problems, coupled with the fact that she was to be the, admittedly, oldest student in all of this school’s history, she was mortified.

Perhaps jumping off of a building would have been easier.

Certainly less humiliating.

The night of their arrival they had gone almost immediately to sleep in a very comfortable local inn. It was rather quaint, somewhere she would have liked to have had a chance to explore further. But that was not to be. Classes would be starting in a week and a half, and the headmaster wanted her there earlier than everyone else to get her settled in. Acclimated, he had said in his most recent letter to her, delivered by a beautiful snowy owl.

So, first thing the next morning, which her body protested was much too early considering the heavy sedation she had been under only the day before, she had found herself awoken by a much-too-chipper Giles. His eyes were practically twinkling with alertness and she could have smacked him.

"Come on, get up." He encouraged. "We have much to do today before I put you on the train."

"Train?" She mumbled, blinking at him tiredly.

"Yes, the train to the school. It will be leaving at two sharp. We must hurry if we are to get you all of the necessary supplies."

She heard him pull something from his pocket as she pushed herself out of the bed. Grabbing a chance of clothes, she wandered into the bathroom. Through the wood she could hear him muttering to himself.

"All of year one in a semester. Hope they know what they’re doing."

"I’m doing an entire year in one semester?" She called through the door, pulling on her jeans. Her hairbrush and toothbrush were already on the sink from the night before and she quickly set about to using them.

"Yes. Year one during your first semester. Year two during your second. Next year will be year three during first semester, year four during the second. Years five and six in that manner during your third year and then they’re allowing you an entire year for your seventh."

Willow sighed and shook her head. Four years. How in the Goddess’ name was she going to survive this? With the pain she felt, and the dark cloud of her misdeeds hanging over her head, did anyone truly believe she was going to make it to her second semester?

"Maybe I should just give up now." She whispered to herself, looking in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes, due mostly to a lack of sleep, but also, in part, to the anguish she felt on the inside. It was as though the darkness in her soul had to find a way to manifest itself in her outward life, and that was it. Dark, haunted eyes. Great. Not only would everyone hear how evil she was, they’d get to see her looking her worst.

‘No. Not my worst.’ The last bit of reason in her head argued. ‘They haven’t seen me all veiny and black-haired. That was not a good look. Or so Buffy tells me. Didn’t really look in a mirror while it was all happening.’

"Are you about done?" Giles called, sounding much closer. He had to be standing right on the other side of the door, she reasoned.

She opened the door. Yep. He was right there. Waiting.

"Yep. Done." She mumbled, pushing past him to shove her nightclothes and personal items into her suitcase. Giles had insisted that she not bring too much, that everything she would need would be purchased before she started school. All she had to do was bring an ample supply of the money her parents had put in her trust fund. The same trust fund that they continued to put money in month after month, as though they were paying her to keep quiet about what awful parents they had been. She didn’t mind. It was money and she needed money. Even if they stopped tomorrow she’d have enough money to keep her for the better part of a decade as long as she didn’t become too spend-happy.

"Good. Good." He nodded approvingly, watching her tug on her sneakers and lace them up tight.

"Okay." She sighed. Her suitcase was closed and she was fully dressed. The inevitable had been delayed by as much as it could possibly be.

Giles smiled at her gently. "This won’t be quite as bad as you fear, Willow. You have always been good at school. This is just a different type of school."

Her nod was half-hearted, disbelieving. Easy for him to say that everything would be okay. He wasn’t the one that was being sentenced to this four year hell. He wasn’t the one who’s lover had only recently been killed. And he certainly wasn’t the one who had taken a life and then tried to end the world.

"I’ve been where you are right now, Willow." He murmured, as if reading her thoughts. "My younger days were not the brightest spot in my life and I did quite a few things that I regret every single day. And when Jenny died…"

The sentence trailed off, becoming silence between them so that Willow could digest his words. She knew he had been in the bad crowd when he was young, but was he actually hinting that he had killed someone. The thought was too much, too complex, and she decided all at once that she didn’t want to know if that’s what he meant. She didn’t want Giles to be tarnished like that in her eyes.

So she simply nodded.

"Good, then. Let’s be off."

~*~Part Three~*~

Diagon Alley.

The old Willow, the one that was still innocent on some levels, would have been fascinated by the place, by the little scary goblins that ran the bank where she exchanged her ‘muggle’ money for ‘wizard’ money and opened an account to hold what she didn’t need. The old Willow would have turned the key to her ‘vault’ over and over in her hand, marveling at its size, color, markings. She would have been enthralled by the nuances of each and every little sight and sound. From the wizards and witches on the streets, to the odd little shops and businesses.

But the new Willow, the one that held her guilt like a burden on her back, was far from enthralled by this secret Alley. It was too loud and crowded for someone that only really wanted to be left alone to wallow in her misery. She wasn’t enraptured by the sight of children playing with toy brooms that actually did fly, even if it was only a foot off of the ground. And she didn’t care about the excitingly frightening shops that were full of potions and powders for all ailments known to men and wizards.

Giles said they had to be here, however, and so they were there.

"Are we almost done?" She whined softly, tugging on Giles’ sleeve to get his attention away from the window display he had been staring at.

"Done?" He asked incredulously. "My girl, we’ve only been to the bank." He pulled a bit of parchment from his pocket, the length of which Willow took to be a bad omen in and of itself. "We still need to get everything on this list for your first semester at school. Unless, of course, you want to do both first and second semester all at once? I have that list, as well."

Willow shook her head, holding up her hands in a defeated gesture of protest. "No, no. Semester one is fine for now. I’ll get the rest after the winter break."

The former school librarian nodded. "Then let’s get started, shall we?"

The next two hours were spent on a whirlwind tour of the Alley as she collected her school books, school supplies and various sundries that she would need during the course of her first semester of studies.

"Will I be actually sitting in with them during their classes?" She asked while being fitted for her school robes. The shopkeeper seemed mightily curious about who the new girl was and why she was attending Hogwarts at such a late age, but wisely kept her mouth shut.

"As a matter of formality, yes." Giles explained. "While in class you will learn everything a first year student would learn during their first semester of studies, after classes, mostly at night, you will be studying one on one with the various professors to get caught up on everything that would normally come during the second semester." He sighed. "I’ll admit that it will cause a bit of confusion for you. But it was the best that anyone could come up with. This is a rather unorthodox situation, you see."

Willow nodded, turning her attention back to the seamstress. The woman’s thread and needle were moving of their own volition, magically controlled by what Willow could only assume was a wand.

"They use wands?" The question prompted a startled look from the seamstress and a chuckle from Giles.

"I told you that part of what happened was my fault, my dear, and I meant it. There are many things I should have told you, many safeguards I should have helped with. The wand would be one of those things I should have mentioned. Wands help keep a wizard or witch balanced. The energies go through the wand and not directly through the witch. It’s a focus, of sorts. The magic you were doing ran rampant through your body, causing your addiction, or so we believe."

She was quiet after that, thinking on what Giles had said. Was it possible that what had happened wasn’t truly her fault? If, like Giles said, she should have had a wand to channel the magic, how could she be blamed for it all?

‘No!’ Again, the voice of logic prevailed. ‘I am not going to blame this on anyone but myself. I should have known when to stop. I should never have done what I did to Warren. Never. Never. Never.’

Their next stop was for her wand. Giles waved her into the shop, promising to return in a few moments once he had fetched some more of the items on her school list.

"Hello?" She called out, shutting the door to the dusty, dim shop behind her. "Hello?"

"Coming! Coming!"

She looked around as she waited for the owner of the strange, tinney voice to make his way to the front of the shop. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of boxes were lined up on shelves around the walls of the store, with even more in the center on bookcases.

"Ah. You must be Willow."

The red head turned, blinking at the strange little man in front of her.

"That would be me. How – "

"You’re on the list of new students I’m to be keeping an eye out for." He explained gently. He reached out and took her hand, leading her further into the store and closer to the small desk he worked off of. "Now – let me see. You have small hands so we won’t want anything too large. Fairly delicate construct, I should think."

She hid a smile despite herself as he scurried away. His personality seemed to be such that staying upset while in the room with him would be nearly impossible. He was back in a flash, holding out a box to her.

"Try this one."

The wand was a dark brown in color and laid on a bed of soft velvet. She pulled it out with a sense of trepidation, holding it loosely in her right hand.

"Mahogany, seven and three-quarters, with a unicorn hair in the center. Go on, give it a go."

She arched an eyebrow, waving the wand in front of her. Immediately some boxes on the nearest shelf shot out, sending their contents flying.

"Oh my!" She exclaimed, dropping the wand back into its box. Her face was abashed, ashamed. "I’m so sorry!"

"Don’t be." He blew it off, rushing off to grab another box. "The wand chooses you. Not the other way around. Things like this happen all the time. Try this one."

Ten wands later Willow was feeling quite dejected. She wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen when she found the ‘right one’, but was sure it hadn’t happened yet. Even the shopkeeper, who had finally introduced himself as Mr. Ollivander, seemed perplexed.

"I’m usually a much better judge than this." He sighed, tapping his fingers on his desk in vexation.

"I’m really sorry." She repeated for the twelfth time, wondering if there could possibly just be no wand for her. Maybe she had spiraled so far down that no wand wanted her as its Master. She wouldn’t blame the pretty little things in the least if they didn’t want to associate with a bad apple like herself.

"Hmm. I wonder." Ollivander muttered, frowning at his thoughts. He took off through the store, to the very back, and reached down onto a shelf he hadn’t pulled anything from in so long. No students were ever to be suited to these wands, he had thought for sure. They were wands that practically reeked with darkness. No one had entered his store in all of his years that he would even think to try one of these with. But here she was, and none of the other wands were taking to her. She seemed so nice, so innocent. Maybe she had what it would take to harness the power in one of these. The box he pulled from the shelf was black, with an equally dark lining of silk over fluffy cotton. His walk back to Willow was much, much slower, as though denying what he was about to do.

"Try this one." He offered, holding the box out to her. "Ebon wood. Seven and a half inches. With a basilisk scale in the center."

The part he didn’t mention, and would never say to her, was that the scale had come from the very basilisk that inhabited the Chamber of Secrets. Who had gotten it and how, he knew not. But he trusted the maker explicitly and knew when the man had told him what the wand contained that it was not a lie. He held his breath, hoping against hope that he was wrong, that the wand would fire off as had all the others before it.

The second her hand touched the wand he knew his hopes were lost. A glow spread along her hand, a slight breeze ruffling her hair. It faded just as soon as it happened, but it was enough to tell him he had, unfortunately, been right.

"Well." His face was strained. "There you are now. Please be careful with it, my dear. That wand is most powerful. It will need a heart of light to temper the darkness it holds."

There, he’d warned her. And he’d warn Dumbledore. That’s all anyone could ask of him.

Willow fished some money from her little velvet pouch, handing it to him with a smile. She could hear Giles calling her from the doorway. It was time to be off again. "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander."

"Pleasure was all mine, child." His eyes were wide with fear-tempered curiosity as she left and he hoped that he wouldn’t have any cause to regret finding that wand for her.

~*~

"I don’t want an owl, Giles." Willow sighed, glaring at the birds. Sure, they were cute, cuddly, but everything she loved died and she didn’t want to see that happen to one of these innocent things.

"You need a familiar."

The red head frowned at him. "Fine. Choose one. I could care less."

It was the truth. No matter how hard she tried, Willow just couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going off to a prison, even though this was her ‘alternative’ to an actual prison.

Giles gave her an exasperated look and pointed out a small, brown owl. The shopkeeper hurriedly took its cage down from the wall and set it, along with a small bag of supplies for the new owner, on the counter.

"Pay the nice man so we can be off, my dear." The former Watcher all but growled. As sorry as he felt for Willow, his patience with her was wearing thin. "We need to get to the train station."

"Fine. Fine." She pulled the money from her pouch, handing the coins to the kindly-looking store owner. The bird hooted at her encouragingly when she picked up its cage.

At least it was cute.

~*~

"This is where we part."

"But –"

"No buts, young lady." Giles admonished her. "You will go to Hogwarts and learn. Unless you want to go to Azkaban?"

Willow shook her head furiously, red hair flying about. She had learned a lot from Giles about the place that was to be her reckoning if she didn’t get through her schooling and it wasn’t somewhere she wanted to be.

Ever.

"Well, then. Here is your ticket. To get onto the tracks just go straight through that wall."

"Through the wall?" She repeated, eyeing him with no small amount of disbelief.

"Yes." He sighed. "Trust me. Just walk straight at the wall, you can push your cart ahead of you if you don’t believe me, it will pass right through."

Willow nodded, absorbing the instructions and trying to push aside the sense of finality she was feeling. This was it. Giles was leaving her here. She wouldn’t see any of her friends again until the winter break. So many months away. Tears filled her eyes.

"Shhh." Giles whispered, gathering her into his arms. His hands ran in short, soothing strokes down her back. "Don’t worry, you’re going to do fine. As usual. You’ll make me proud again."

That was it. The words she needed to hear. That she could redeem herself in Giles’ eyes. She pulled back, allowing him to kiss her on her forehead, her ticket clutched in her hand.

"I’ll see you soon." He offered, backing away before turning.

She watched until she couldn’t see him anymore and then turned to the wall she had indicated, more of a post between platforms. Taking a deep breath, the red haired witch, member of the Sunnydale Scoobies, pushed her cart directly at the bricks. She saw the front of the cart disappear; passing right through the structure, and then her startled body carried her through as well.

When she cleared she was in another, much smaller station, with only a single train loading its passengers. She looked down at her ticket, matching the platform number up with the one she was standing at, her lips moving as she whispered aloud.

"Platform nine and three-quarters."

~*~Part Four~*~

Willow looked around the platform, feeling entirely too much like she just jumped to another plane of reality. This platform was outside, with luscious green trees all around it, a far cry from the station she had been in just a moment before. Directly in front of her was a train, very old-fashioned looked, painted a shade of red that would have seemed obnoxious on probably just about anything else.

Yep, this was a different world altogether.

And she appeared to be the only one in it.

She sighed, letting go of the handle of her luggage cart. Was there someone that she needed to give her ticket to or was she just expected to board this thing? What about her luggage?

"Hullo there, young miss."

The red head turned so quickly that she nearly tripped over her own feet. With eyes that grew ever wider, she looked up, up, up.

And finally she saw the face of the person that had spoken. He looked like a backwoods type of person, very large and hulking. Sort of rough and raggedy. But his face was kind. She had serious doubts that he was human, though. No one could be that large and still be a member of the human species. Were there creatures larger than humans? It was likely, even though she had never met one. Sunnydale didn’t have a monopoly on all things supernatural, she was quickly learning.

"H-Hello." She stammered nervously.

"Would you be Willow?"

That got her attention quickly, snapping her out of the vast pit of insecurity she had been feeling and plopping her right in the middle of an equally vast one of fear and hesitation. He knew her name. He knew who she was. He was going to hate her and revile her just as she so deserved.

"Yes." She nodded slowly, waiting for the disgust that would inevitably come. She was the girl who had tried to end the world, after all. "That would be me."

He smiled at her, holding out his hand. "Rubeus Hagrid. But you can just call me Hagrid. I’m the groundskeeper for Hogwarts."

Willow smiled shyly, taking his hand and shaking it. The soft edge of relief had washed over her the moment he had looked at her with nothing even remarkably similar to the anger or disgust she had been expecting. "Willow Rosenberg. New student.. I guess."

Hagrid tilted his head to the side, looking at her through great, kind eyes. "You sound unsure."

She shrugged. "Probably because I am. You know who I am. I’m assuming you know why I’m here. Everyone probably does."

"Wouldn’t go assuming that, yet." He smiled gently. "The only ones that know who you are so far are the professors that were here over the summer, Dumbledore, and myself. And of course some officials at the Ministry of Magic. So, I ask you again. Why are you unsure about being here?"

The red head thought for a moment before answering. "I don’t really deserve a second chance. Someone is dead because of me. I took a life – Warren will never get a second chance and yet, here I am, getting mine. The students will hate me. They’ll look at me like I’m a freak. And – "

"And what?" Hagrid prompted her gently.

"And what if I can’t do it? What if I fail? I don’t want to go to Azkaban. I really don’t."

The groundskeeper chuckled politely. "Would have thought you rather odd if you –did- want to go. Now, listen to me."

Willow looked up, taking a deep breath and forcing back the tears that had been threatening to fall. She waited patiently for Hagrid to speak.

"Headmaster Dumbledore doesn’t give second chances out like candy. He only gives ‘em to people he finds deserving. You must deserve it."

"But –"

"No buts." He shook his head. "And as for the rest of the students – I seriously doubt that Dumbledore is planning on telling them about you or your exact situation. Some of them may know already, I won’t lie to you about that. But they are a good group of kids for the most part."

He didn’t mention the ones that were not ‘good’, the ones that undoubtedly already knew about Willow and what had happened to her. Such as Draco Malfoy. Willow’s reputation alone wasn’t going to be enough to keep their mouths shut, something like that would be juicy gossip, a tale to be told to anyone that could listen.

"I guess you’re right." She sighed finally, giving him a smile that was more frown than laughter. "And this is better than the alternative… I guess."

"Good way to look at it. I’ve been to Azkaban. It’s not a place for someone like you. Not while there’s still good in your soul. Go on and get on the train. I’ll see to your luggage."

She nodded, giving him a small wave before turning her back to him. His words were still in her ears, in her head, echoing around like so much taunting.

Good in her soul.

Was there still good to be found there? Or was the darkness that she felt each and every day already all that remained? Certainly there couldn’t be room for both light and dark in one soul, one had to win out over the other – a big fight that determined once and for all whether or not the soul was lost or redeemed.

And hadn’t her big battle already been waged?

Hadn’t she killed Warren and doomed herself, and her soul, to the Dark?

She settled into the first compartment, pulling her carryon bag to her chest like a shield. There was no one else on the train, she was sure of that. Only special cases such as herself needed to come to school a good week before it started. She sighed, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the cool glass of the window as the train began to pull out of the station. She would think on what Hagrid had said for the trip; but she was already sure that he was wrong. She knew something that everyone else was bound to figure out soon enough.

There was no good in her soul.

Not anymore.

~*~Part Five~*~

Hours seemed to pass as she watched the scenery slip by. Were they still in London? No, that wasn’t possible. They’d traveled too far. For all she knew they were in another country altogether and that was mildly frightening, the prospect of not knowing where she was or how to get away from there if she wanted to. Not that she had anywhere to ‘get away’ to. Giles would be furious if she went back to Sunnydale, and where else was there for her in this world? That was the only home she had ever had.

Running wasn’t an option for another reason.

Azkaban.

If you she didn’t make this second chance work she would be sent to the ultimate in prisons, one where witches and wizards went to live in exiled torment. If she ran she had no doubt that she would be hunted down by the dementors and then tormented ever the more so because she dared to run.

Hogwarts was her only choice.

The train rolled into the station three hours after it had left the station back in London, by her watch. She sighed as the last shudder of steam ran through the engine, the entire train coming to a complete stop. Carryon bag in hand, she walked out of the compartment and out of the door she had originally come in through. A glimpse up and down the hallway proved what she had initially assumed – there was no one else on this train except her. The platform was equally deserted when she stepped off and she took a moment to look around.

Even if the logical part of her brain hadn’t already deduced that she couldn’t possibly still be in London, she would have known it the second she set foot off the train. The air here was so clean, so crisp, like air high up in the mountains, far from human pollution. A little ways from the station, along a thinly paved path, was a large lake. Boats were moored at docks that stretched out into the water, each looking large enough to contain perhaps three to four students. Was this how she was supposed to get to the school? She looked across the water, then, her eyes going out over its murky-looking depths until they hit land again.

And then she saw the school for the first time and knew what it meant to have her breath taken away.

Despite the jaded state of her heart or the pain that lurked within her soul, she still managed to stare in awe at the building. It was a real castle. An actual, honest to God castle. There were towers and turrets and it even appeared to be made of stone, though she wouldn’t know for sure until she got up close. Wasn’t it every little girl’s dream to be in a castle? Just like a real princess? And here she was, being sentenced to spend the next four years there.

That brought her down to earth. This wasn’t a medieval castle, it was a school. A school where she would spend the next four years learning to control her powers. A school where she would, undoubtedly, learn the meaning of repentance, as she thought long and hard on what she had done to earn herself a place amongst its students. The students were not going to let her forget her sins once they learned of them, if they didn’t know already; there was no point in her even trying to put them to the back of her mind for even one second.

Not that she deserved to forget about them for even a fraction of a second.

"Thinking so hard can’t be good for ya, Miss."

Willow turned, giving Hagrid the best smile she could muster. "You’re right, it’s not."

He smiled down at her. "So let the thoughts go for a while, young Willow."

"I don’t deserve to."

"Worth is a funny thing." He nodded cryptically. "Everyone around you can see if you’re worth it, but you may never see it." He shrugged. "I think you’ll figure it out eventually."

Willow opened her mouth to protest that the reason she didn’t see that she was worthy was because, well, she wasn’t; only to be interrupted by the friendly giant.

"Come along, time to get you to the school. Before dark would be best so’s that you can have a chance to look around before bed." He motioned her over to one of the boats, holding her hand as she stepped daintily into the wobbling device.

"Just sit back and relax." He instructed, giving her another smile as the boat began to drift slowly away from the docks. "I’ll have your things at the school when you get there."

Willow nodded, allowing herself to marvel at least a little over the boat. There was no sail, no motor, yet it moved.

Magic.

The press and taint of magic was everywhere that she turned, a constant reminder of the very thing that had led her down the dark paths and into the realms of sin and vengeance. Had she even dared hope that things wouldn’t be quite that bad here for her? That she’d be able to get away from magic at any time?

She had never honestly thought of it. Not until that moment.

"Oh, Goddess." She whispered, her eyes turning up to the sky above. The sun had already begun to go down, the clouds overhead tinged with pinks and purples from the fading light. It was beautiful, but still not enough to make her smile. "Please give me strength. I don’t want to be right. I want to still be good. Please?"

~*~

"She on her way, Headmaster."

Dumbledore looked at Hagrid, giving him a small smile such as one might give an overexcited child. "And her trip?"

"Uneventful." The half-giant admitted. "I did have some time to talk to her before and after. She’s all wrought up over this. Poor little thing is so twisted on the inside that she really thinks she’s doomed to the nether regions for what she did."

The Headmaster nodded, sighing. A look of worry passed over his features. It was a great risk to bring her here, with the rest of the students. There would be those, like young Master Malfoy, who would do nothing but harass her for her past, though their own futures lay nowhere other than the Dark Arts. Her mentor, Mr. Giles, assured him that she was equal to the task that had been laid before her and he had to agree, though that didn’t prevent him from worrying about the road that lay ahead.

"There is still good in her." He said after a long moment, a reassurance to both Hagrid and himself. "Or else I would not give her this chance to prove it."

"I know that, Headmaster. You was the one that gave me my second chance. And Snape his. We all need a little help sometimes."

"She’ll need more than just a little help, Hagrid. She’ll need all of our strength and hopes if we dare have even a chance of redeeming her."

"She can have whatever she needs from me." Hagrid said simply. And he meant it. Just as Harry had his undying faith, so this little girl had it as well. He had seen enough. She would need all the friends she could get, and he’d be one of them if she allowed it.

"Already taken with her after only a few moments of conversation?" Dumbledore chuckled lightly, turning his attention back to the shore and the boat that was growing ever closer. "I can’t wait to meet this young woman."

~*~Part Six~*~

The water was soothing, almost calming to Willow’s bruised and battered emotions. Traveling across the lake gave her a sense of wondrous relief that she hadn’t felt in so long, like she was actually coming to a place where anything was possible; even a redemption of her soul and spirit. Looking over the side of the boat wasn’t much entertainment; the water was murky beyond belief, prohibiting her from seeing even a few inches into its depths. But, somehow, none of that mattered. Out there, in the middle of the lake, it was just her and her remarkably calm thoughts. Was this the magic of the school, she wondered? Or just some trick of a boat ride; to soothe and relax?

Not that it mattered.

The peace the ride was giving her was welcome. It wouldn’t last, the cynical part of her brain twittered, but that was all for the better. She hadn’t come here for rest and relaxation. Nor had she come to have fun and make friends. She was, in fact, here to learn and repent. This was, for all purposes, her calm before the storm. Here, in this small boat, she could just let her mind wander. Back to the happy times, the times before it all went so wrong, or just not think at all if she chose.

Leaning back, Willow effectively managed to lay down over the rows of seats. She stared up at the sky, letting the little magical boat take her where it may. The sky was blue, with just a hint of sunset beginning to creep in from the west; reds and oranges were starting to blossom in the sky, with purples and dark blues creeping in at the edges. It was beautiful. The water lapped at the sides of the boat, creating a delicate melody of the purest kind – nature at its quiet best.

"Why couldn’t I give life?" Willow whispered to the heavens, her eyes half-shut, body relaxed. "Why did death need to be my contribution to the world?"

A part of her mind hesitated at that. Death hadn’t been her *only* contribution to the world, to her friends. She had given much. Angel’s soul, for one thing. Could he feel her pain still, after so many years? She could still feel his at times. Did he know the second she lost control? But, if he had, why hadn’t he come to help her? Why hadn’t he come to help save her soul? She had done it for him. Why didn’t he return the favor?

She shook off the thought, going back to the deeds she had done in her life.

Bringing Buffy back from the dead had been another of her contributions, the greatest of all. But even that was marred with pain. She had torn Buffy from the grace of heaven and placed her right back in the Hell she had been freed from. It had been a gift to herself, to Xander and Dawn. To everyone that had missed Buffy.

But it hadn’t been a gift to Buffy. The Slayer would never forget the beauty and peace of heaven. She woke at nights, crying; and Willow didn’t have the courage to comfort her. Not when she was the reason Buffy wasn’t still there, at peace. Bringing her back from the dead had been the ultimate act of selfishness.

And then there was de-ratting Amy. Surely that had been a contribution to the world, even though, in hindsight, it may not have been a good thing. Amy had, after all, introduced her to Rack, who had then introduced her to Dark magic. Yes, that had been the contribution that had, if not started her downfall, sped up the process. It had sent her on a one-way track to becoming what she was now.

A murderess.

A practioner of black magic – Dark magic. The Darkest kind known to both demons and men alike. She had been, for those hours, evil personified. She had tried to do what demons hundreds of times over had tried – to end the world. But she had almost succeeded, hadn’t she? Only Xander, sweet loveable Xander, had saved them. He had saved them all – and not with magic or might. He had done it with love.

She had loved once.
Tara.

Tara was dead.

Gone.

Never to return.

Just like the love in her heart. That love was gone. Her heart was an empty place, filled only with the darkness she had allowed in.

"Should’ve known that I couldn’t just stay peaceful." Willow sighed sullenly. She sat up, peering in front of the boat. The shore was only a few yards off. Hagrid was there already, speaking with an older gentleman. His beard, and the little hair she could see sticking out from under his hat, was white. His robes were not the type that she had purchased for herself; these were more flamboyant, as though in his old age he was allowed to go a little over the top. The boat moved to a jerky stop, beaching itself on the shore high enough up that she wouldn’t wet her shoes. It moved back almost as soon as she had stepped out, beginning its trek back across the lake, to the train station.

"Hello, Miss Rosenberg. I trust you had a calming ride?"

"Yes, sir." Willow murmured, smiling hesitantly at the older man. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, waiting patiently for her next instructions.

"I am Headmaster Dumbledore." He informed her gently, gesturing for her to proceed with him up a path she hadn’t even noticed before.

"Thank you for having me." Her voice was thankful this time, though still hesitant, and still very much afraid for what would happen to her here.

"Think nothing of it, child." Again the kindly smile. "Thank you for taking me up on the offer."

Willow shook her head sadly. "This was the best of the two choices I was given. I just hope I’m not too much trouble."

Dumbledore chuckled. "We have our share of trouble already, Willow. Adding to it should not be anything for you to worry about. Have you not heard of the adventures of young Mister Potter?"

The name wasn’t even familiar sounding to Willow so she shook her head.

"No matter, I’m sure you’ll learn all about him, and his antics, in no time once the semester starts."

"He’s a troublemaker?" She asked, curious. It was more than just curiosity, though, it was a chance to delay the inevitable talk about herself and her time here at Hogwarts.

"Well, now, that would depend on who you ask. I do not think he is. Some of the professors, on the other hand … " He let the comment trail off. "Trouble seems to find Harry, not the other way around, if that’s what you’re asking."

They walked on in silence, Willow’s eyes growing wide as the neared the front doors. They were huge in a very old-fashioned way. Like castle doors should be, she reasoned. With barely a gesture of his hand, Dumbledore opened the doors.

And Willow set foot in Hogwarts for the first time.

She tried not to gape; to maintain that air of aloofness that she had developed so well during her months of depression. It was nearly impossible, though. Everywhere she turned there was something to remind her that she, well, was in a castle!

"Wow…" She whispered, looking upwards. The paintings on the walls, those with people in them, were moving and talking with one another. Gossiping, from the looks of it. She knew they were probably talking about her. At least that’s what her paranoid mind assumed. That annoying thought was lost amongst her wonder, though. Like in the boat, she felt one moment of pure contentment to just be alive again.

"Your room will be this way." Dumbledore gave her an apologetic smile. He would have liked to have let her stand there all night, just being the child she had never fully gotten a chance to be, but that was not to be. Not at this moment, anyway. "We may change your room arrangements once school begins, but for the next week I hope this will suffice."

He opened the door on a large room, once usually reserved for visiting guests. The bed was large and comfortable-looking. It was draped in a burgundy comforter that had little gold fringes hanging from its ends. A large fireplace was on the far wall, with a cozy looking chair near it, upholstered in the same shade as the comforter. It was, all in all, much better than she had expected.

"Its lovely." She murmured.

"Hagrid will have your things brought shortly and will show you around the school. I will have one of the house elves bring you something to eat in the meantime."

"House elves?" Willow’s brow furrowed in confusion.

"Like a normal elf. Except much smaller. Suited for doing household type chores." He explained patiently. Her question was just another reminder to him that she had much to learn about the world outside of her little hometown. It was a grievous error on the parts of many people that she had not been in Hogwarts, or an academy similar to it, from the time she was of age.

And that was an error he was determined to rectify.

"Relax, child. Rest. The food will be along shortly. You are among friends here."

She watched him go, realizing that she was very much alone in this large, strange place. She turned to the bed, sitting hesitantly on the edge of it. It was almost too tall for her and her feet swung a few inched above the ground. She wondered with a small, nervous giggle if there were such things as monsters under the bed here, in this large, magical castle.

That made her pull up her feet quick.

The tears came then, as she waited for whatever a house elf was to bring her something to eat. If she was hungry, she didn’t even notice. All of her fears, anxieties and worries came rushing to her. Her friends were half the world away and she was here, dealing with her sins by herself. She wrapped her arms around her legs, bringing them to her chest. Her head went down to her knees as the tears continued to roll down her face.

And she cried.

~*~Part Seven~*~

Willow brushed off the tour of the school grounds that night, begging that it be given to her the next day, instead, once she had been given a chance to rest. Hagrid had graciously agreed, giving her a sympathetic smile and a tentative pat on the shoulder. It had felt weird to have his huge hand on her shoulder; it was so much larger than her own small body. She had felt dwarfed standing next to him, though the sense of kindness he radiated was tangible enough to set her at ease, if only for those moments that he was around.

She crawled into bed, pulling the great comforter over her, eyes staring into the fireplace. The flames danced and crackled against the wood, though the wood was unburned, completely un-charred. Magic, she reminded herself. Everything here was magical. It was a veritable wonderland of temptation for her. The magic called to that dark part of her, singing the praises of all the wondrous things she could find if she were to go searching the school grounds by herself. It whispered the delights of the senses that she could no doubt find, hidden amongst the artifacts and books the school kept within its depths and secret reaches.

Eyes squished tightly closed, the red head burrowed under her covers further, pulling them entirely over her head. Still the magic called to her, pulling at her senses, taunting her with the knowledge that there were things lurking in the school for her to learn, things for her to explore and make her own.

But that was the dark part of her. The part that she was trying to renounce. If she gave in to the urges she would have already failed. Giles was nuts, sending her to this place with all of this magic. Didn’t he realize it was easier for her in Sunnydale, where everyone walked on eggshells and kept magic far, far away from her? This, being in this place, was a test of control she didn’t actually have yet. It was dangerous, not only for her, but for everyone around her.

And the world.

She had tried to end the world the last time she had lost control. Did they honestly take that so lightly that they would place her in this building, surrounded by things that could only aid her further if she decided to go for it again? Not that she would ever consciously choose to end the world again. No – that was something the magic had pushed her to do, something brought on by an overdose of magic that had connected her to the earth.

The earth called to her, too, still, so many weeks after the power was gone. The woods near the train station, for all their darkness and inevitable scariness, spoke to her. Not in words. No, they spoke in feelings, emotions, unspeakable promises of power and not a small amount of corruption and evil. The woods recognized her, knew her for what she was. The Earth knew her for what she was, as well. In Sunnydale she had felt as though the Hellmouth might open and swallow her at any moment, a punishment for the destruction she had damned near caused.

"Goddess…" She whispered, her voice breaking with the effort to keep her senses about her, to not go running through the halls in search of the things that called to her. "Help me… Please. I can’t do this alone."

She could feel wetness on her palms. It was blood. Her blood. Her fingernails were digging into the softness of her palms, bringing pain and a merciful reprieve from the calling on her soul. Tears flowed freely down her face. If she let go it would come back, the whispering, haunting, taunting, allure of the dark.

Going to Dumbledore was a thought, though not necessarily a good one, she decided. How would it look to run to him on the first night, unable to control herself from the darkness that lurked within her? How could she explain to him the pull this place had on her heart and soul? It would mean a one way ticket to the horrors of Azkaban, she was sure. And, if not, what could he really do? There was no cure for a darkness of the soul, though Giles would argue that redemption was possible for anyone and anything, including her.

She bit her lip to keep from crying aloud with the pain that was running through her body. It was a pain brought on by intense heartache, not the pain of an injury or malady. It hurt like nothing else and wasn’t containable by medical means. She cried for Tara, for Warren, for the world she had nearly ended. And she cried for herself, for the soul that she was sure was doomed to the fiery pits of Hell when her life was finally over. Angel could redeem himself, but she could not, she was sure of it. If the Powers that Be meant for her to be redeemed, they would have made it known. Perhaps sent her a guide, such as they did with Angel. She had fought for the light for her entire adult life and still, no sign of forgiveness had been thrown her way by the Powers.

And that alone was a sign that she was damned.

Exhaustion came on speedy feet, bringing with it the welcome release of sleep. Here, in her dreams, the lure of the Dark didn’t taunt her.

At least, it never had before.

~*~

Willow peered through the fog, her eyes narrowing then enlarging, searching for the right mix to allow her to see through the dense layer of mist and into the darkness beyond. The fog hid something, she was sure of it. Noises poured from within, tumbling out of the foggy blackness as though they were objects being hurled at her.

Screams.

Cries.

Pleas.

Begging.

Praying.

And then some more screaming. Screams of the men she had attacked at the police station in her attempt to get to the men she had held partially responsible for her lover’s death. The screams of her friends as they begged and pleaded with her to stop the insanity. The cries of the earth as she started the ritual to end it all.

To end everything.

And then.

Nothing.

She brought her hands down from her ears, only realizing at that point that she had brought them up in a futile effort to block out the noises. The silence was almost as oppressive as the cacophony of noise had been, and a chill crept through her heart, causing her to shiver. The fog was reaching out now, tendrils groping blindly for her. She felt them touch her legs first, cold and clammy, before coming up to surround her entire body. It was damp within the fog, the miniscule droplets of water coating her bare flesh. She was in her nightgown, the wispy green material hardly covering her enough to keep her from shivering constantly amidst the cold fog.

‘Child….’

Willow’s eyes grew large. She whipped her head around – front, back, left, right, up and even down. There was nothing there. Nothing she could see, anyway. The fog was too dense, she reasoned, and someone could be hiding no more than a few feet away and she still wouldn’t see them.

"Wh-Who’s there?" She stuttered. The chill she felt now was less from the clammy hands of the fog than from the hard grip of fear in her heart.

‘A friend.’

"Friend?" She asked.

‘The best you’ll ever have…’

The red head took a deep breath, trying to still her racing heart. Getting overly worked up wouldn’t help her any. She turned, again trying to see whoever was speaking to her. This time she –thought- she saw something moving in and out of the fog, quite close to her. It was a blackish shape and seemed to slither more than walk as it disappeared and then reappeared over and over again, walking just out of range for her to get a good look at it.

"Who are you?"

‘My name is not important.’ The voice insisted, calmly. ‘I can help you. I can make the voices stop, the screaming. The pain. I can take it all away.’

"How?"

The shape stopped moving, still too far away from her to see it clearly.

‘You’ll see…’

Willow blinked – once, twice, and then, on the third blink of her eyes, the black-shrouded figure was gone. She whirled around, looking desperately for this man, woman, whatever, that had offered her the one thing she wanted more than anything – release. This –had- to be her Goddess’ answer to her plea, a sign from the Powers that they would forgive her. Why else would a messenger be coming to her with this promise of freedom from the pain she felt?

An icy hand landed on her shoulder and Willow turned, staring into the darkness of the hooded creature. Still she could not see the face, only the thin, white hand on her shoulder. The scent of death hung around the visitor like a wreath and she shuddered, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to say anything at all.

‘We will talk again….’

He disappeared in a flash of fear that left Willow breathless and panting.

And then she woke

~*~

Willow sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath as though she had been underwater too long. Her chest felt tight, constricted, and the air around her smelled all too much like the breath of the thing in her dream. Her eyes darted frantically around the room, but she could find no sign that she wasn’t alone. How could anyone have gotten into the school, after all, she reasoned. Giles had told her that the castle was built like a fortress, and there was no reason to believe he was wrong.

Satisfied that there was no one in her room, the red head laid her head back down on her pillow. Her heart still raced and it was still difficult to breathe, but it appeared that she had just been having a dream. There was no one in her room. No messenger from the Powers had come to give her the key to her salvation. It was just a dream, no – it was a nightmare, a cruel figment of her overactive imagination, trying to offer her the one thing she wanted with all of her heart.

Forcing her breaths back into a normal pattern, the witch shut her eyes. Her heart was filled with more pain than she would have thought imaginable. Even more than she had carried with her before going to sleep. Why did dreams have to be so cruel? So painful?

Tears came again, unbidden, but she was too tired and, before many had fallen, she was already asleep again.

~*~Part Eight~*~

The fitful sleep that finally settled upon the young red head lasted throughout the night, finally breaking around dawn. She blinked, sitting up in the bed and looking at her surroundings. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and how she had gotten there, but when she did the sense of overwhelming hopelessness returned. She was in a school of witchcraft and wizardry and they were going to be attempting to reform her from the black magic killer she was into a useful member of wizarding society.

Yay.

She slid her legs off the side of the bed, padding softy to one of the chairs next to the fireplace. A dull warmth radiated out from the magically confined flames, warming the skin that had become chilled during her short was from the bed. She pulled her legs up into the chair, wrapping her arms around them and staring into the flames. They licked at the logs, just as real fire might do, but didn’t burn it. The wood was, as far as she could tell, merely a decoration.

Something about the way the fire was dancing, or maybe it was the shadows between the logs or the foggy smoke drifting upwards, made her think of her dream from the night before. She frowned, drawing her lower lip into her mouth and nibbling on it with her teeth. The dream had been disturbing, frightening even. Had it been something more than a dream, though? Or just a figment of an imagination she already knew was twisted and overactive?

The creature in the dream, for it had definitely been a ‘creature’ and not a ‘person’, had offered to help her. It had seemed like it wanted to be her friend, a shoulder to cry on as she worked through the problems she was facing. That alone made her believe more than anything that it had only been a dream. Dreams were there to rationalize and help their owner work through those things that happened in real life, especially things that were too awful or horrible to deal with during the dreamer’s waking moments. And that was certainly what the dream creature had offered – to help her with her problems.

She shook her head, throwing off the notion that anything, even a dream, could honestly have been trying to help her. She didn’t deserve help. Not after everything that she had done, the horror that she had brought down upon Warren and Sunnydale – the death she had tried to call down upon the world.

A soft knock on her door pulled Willow from her thoughts and she tore her eyes from the mesmerizing dancing of the flames. She stood, wincing as her feet touched the cold stone. Smoothing down her nightclothes, the young witch cracked open the door, surprised to find a house elf standing there, tray in hand.

"Miss Willow be wanting her breakfast?"

Staring down at the ugly, yet helpful, creature in front of her, the red head couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t wonder how it had known she was awake. That was probably just one of those things that were regulated and monitored by magic. Or maybe they had heard her up and moving around? There was no telling and she didn’t feel like thinking about it.

"Breakfast would be great." She told the house elf, opening the door a little wider. The creature tottered in, tray held out, and placed it gently on the small dinging table.

"Thank you!" Willow called out. The second the house elf was gone, however, she felt her sadness return. "Just as well," she muttered, back on her kick of not being happy a single moment.

She pulled the lid off of the tray and set it on the small wooden table, her eyes taking in the meal that had been prepared for her. A small bowl of fresh fruit, white toast, and some eggs. A glass of juice, a creamy orange in color, was off to one side, and some jam for her toast on the other. It was a great meal, and her rumbling stomach reminded her that she was supposed to be eating it. There was no telling when Dumbledore or someone else would come by to take her to do, well, whatever it was that they needed her here before start of term for. She pulled the tray into her lap, staring out of the window at the misty dawn, and tried to just clear her mind.

And prepare for the day ahead.

~*~

"You will be meeting with each of the Professors this morning." Dumbledore informed the girl next to him with a soft, kindly smile. "They will be going over their lesson plans with you and helping with the exact details of how your semester is going to work."

Willow nodded and then decided to ask what she had really wanted to know since the moment Giles had told her the outline of her next four years of life.

"Please, sir, is there any hope that I can get this done in less than four years?"

The Headmaster stopped in his tracks, looking at her for a long moment. His eyes met hers and she held her breath, hoping she hadn’t said something wrong. Then the smile was back and he was nodding.

"That really depends on you, young lady. How quickly you learn and get your work done. We have no plans of making you stay here longer than necessary. You will take the classes that our normal students would, no electives unless you so choose, and we will see where that takes you. If, at any time, you feel that you have had ‘enough’ of a class, simply inform the professor. If they are able to test you at that point and determine that you have absorbed all the knowledge that the class has to offer, they will give you your marks and you will be free to move on to another class."

He paused then, his eyes going distant.

"There is one exception, of course. The seventh year classes will be taken in the normal amount of time. This is only because they are the most difficult of the classes we offer, and the most important. That year is your ‘graduation exercise’, so to speak. If you make it through that you will be freed of your fear of Azkaban and may reenter the Muggle world."

"What if I don’t want to go back to that world?" She whispered suddenly, the thought escaping her lips before she could even ponder for herself why she was asking it.

Dumbledore eyes her knowingly, resuming their trek through the halls of the school.

"If you do not wish to return to ‘that world’, then we will certainly not make you. There are many opportunities for a life within this world. You need not fear returning to your Hellmouth if you do not wish to do so."

Willow nodded. Though she wasn’t sure why she had asked the question in the first place, she was certainly relieved to hear the answer. Yet, still, she didn’t know why. Was it possible that she just didn’t want to return to Sunnydale and this was her subconscious’ way of making it clear to her?

"Here we are." Dumbledore announced, stopping outside of one of the classrooms. "Professor McGonagall is waiting inside for you. She will help you learn the basics of our world and the school."

He stepped back and turned, disappearing down the hall before Willow could offer up a single word of protest. She didn’t want to be left alone with this Professor McGonagall person. In fact, she just wanted to go back to her room and crawl under the covers, perhaps get a little more sleep than she had been able to get the night before, hopefully without the whacked out dreams.

That wasn’t to be, though.

She turned the knob on the door and stepped inside, sighing in relief when she saw that the professor in question was a woman. Women were always easier to deal with than men, at least in her eyes. She had never met a female teacher before that didn’t help to inspire feelings of comfort and help. Male teachers, on the other hand, were her least favorite. With the exception of a few in high school, she found that they were generally harsher and not nearly as comforting.

"Come in, child."

Willow took a deep breath and shut the door, sealing herself in the room with the stern, yet still kindly, looking woman. She took a moment to inspect the professor. Pointed black hat, long black robes underneath of which it looked as if she was wearing some sort of equally long dark gray dress. Her face was pointed and thin, and her eyes, obscured ever so slightly by spectacles, were hard with years of teaching. But she still looked kind and the entire classroom radiated with that comforting feeling Willow had so enjoyed during her school days.

Professor McGonagall gestured for Willow to take a seat, waiting until the red head had done so before proceeding.

"My name is Professor Minerva McGonagall. I teach, among other things, Transfiguration."

Willow nodded. She knew what that was – the magical ability to change something from one thing to another. It was a useful talent, and one she had experimented with at different points during her own witchy career.

Taking a fresh sheet of parchment from her bag, the young woman held her quill, poised and ready, to take the notes she would need to make it through it all.

~*~

Dumbledore looked up as the door to his office opened. He smiled in greeting at the visitor.

"Severus. What can I do for you?"

"I’m here about the girl."

"The girl?" Dumbledore asked, raising his eyebrows. "You mean Miss Rosenberg?"

"Of course." The dark haired professor all but snapped at his Headmaster. "You do realize that having her here is dangerous, do you not?"

"Of course." The Headmaster shrugged, settling into his chair and gesturing for his visitor to take one as well. "But what else would you have me do, Severus? Condemn her to Azkaban for the mistakes she made in the heat of passion?"

"Yes. No. I mean, no. Of course not. Its just –"

"It’s just that having her here will be dangerous." Dumbledore smiled, repeating the exact words his professor had said to him only a moment before.

"Yes." Snape sighed. "Word has already gotten out about her, you know. There are whispers in the night that You-Know-Who has taken an interest."

"Then what better place for her than here, where we can look out for and protect her?"

‘Kindhearted to a fault,’ Snape thought, frustrated.

"And what if he gets to her? She’s already felt the thrall of the Dark Arts? Who’s to say that she won’t go to his side, willingly?"

"And who’s to say that she will not?" Albus Dumbledore argued, ever so quietly and infinitely reasonable to the last. "She deserves a second chance, Severus. I cannot willingly send her to Azkaban without at least –trying-."

Snape nodded, the misgivings he had for this woman he had never even met still creeping through his own cold heart.

"Let us talk about something else entirely, shall we?" The Headmaster suggested, raising his eyebrows in inquiry. "Though, I suppose the topic –is- related…"

"And what would that be?"

Dumbledore shrugged, lifting his hands in a gesture of confusion.

"Do we Sort her, or not?"

Snape snorted, giving the Headmaster an incredulous look. Those who knew the potions Professor from his classes would be surprised at his next words, if for no other reason than he actually spoke less than flatteringly about the very House that he was the Head of.

"She’ll go to Slytherin, no doubt about it. And then where will she be? Right in the hands of those students whose very parents are Death Eaters. We would be doing better not to sort her at all and pray that she makes friends with the other Houses all on her own."

"I have thought about it from that angle." Dumbledore nodded. "And have also looked at it from the position that, if we do not sort her, she will loose out on the companionship that being a member of one of the Houses provides. She is already going to have it rough. Rumors have spread like wildfire through leaks in the Ministry. The entire student body will know by the time the Feast begins, if not before."

This was true. And Snape knew it. And if the woman didn’t find a way to anchor herself to their world, to find reasons to live and love again, then there was little chance that she would last very long. Already he had heard that she was little more than a ghost, a vague shadow of a person. Minerva had emerged from her afternoon with the young woman feeling as though she had been at a funeral. It was literally that draining and depressing to just sit in the same room with her.

Which led him to believe that –he- wouldn’t have problems with her in the least. His own personality, according to his students and even some of the professors, was described as morose and cold. And they had so much in common. He had never tried to end the world, it was true, but he had dabbled in the Dark Arts enough to know their pull and know what lure they had for her. Yes, they would get along just fine.

But that didn’t solve the current problem.

"It would appear that we only have one true option, then." Snape drawled after a long moment of silent thought. He met Dumbledore’s eyes, raising his eyebrows in acceptance.

"And what would that be, Professor Snape?"

The potions Professor smiled bitterly.

"Sort her. And pray for the best."
~*~Part Nine~*~

Willow woke the day before the beginning of the term feeling more refreshed than she had since she first arrived at Hogwarts. The odd dreams that had plagued her since her arrival had been nowhere to be found the night before, allowing her to sleep peacefully and without incident. She was even smiling as she woke.

Until she remembered where she was and for what reason.

That chased away any feelings of happiness of contentment she may have been entertaining, leaving only the brooding depression she had become so good at since Tara’s death and her own fall into darkness.

She sighed, pushing herself out of bed and getting dressed for the day. She swept her hair up into a loose ponytail, not bothering to fix the strands that fell out and framed her face. Anyone looking at her would have to admit that she was adorable, even pretty. But those thoughts were the fartherest thing from her mind. She wasn’t here to make friends or win any beauty contests. It didn’t matter to her if the professors or students found her to be too quiet or frazzled-looking. She was. She didn’t need to win them over, all she needed to do was pass her classes in the fastest way possible and move on to the next.

Late last night, though, as she had lain awake in bed, she had wondered if rushing through her schooling was, perhaps, not the best thing for her. Maybe she needed to be here for as long as they would keep her. Maybe she should fail some classes just to stay a little longer? They could contain her here, couldn’t they? She wasn’t a hazard to others, only herself, so long as she was within these walls.

And then she had been forced to deal with the overwhelming sensation of all the magic that was around her as she lowered her shields in preparation for sleep. That one task made her realize exactly why she needed to get out of here as soon as possible. Sure, they could protect the rest of the world from her; but they couldn’t protect her from the harm she could do to herself if she fell off the wagon of temptation and delved into the magics that were lurking around every corner here. The library was a veritable wonderland of temptation all by itself, with the restricted section she had been led by during her tour of the castle.

Restricted books.

Books on the Dark Arts.

She shivered, feeling that little call inside of her – the one that wanted to feel the tortuous pleasure-filled pain that the Darkness held. It was like being burned with liquid fire in her veins, but in a pleasurable way she could never describe. Yes, she was a junkie. A Dark Arts junkie.

Recovering, of course.

That brought a roll of her eyes. She was a recovering junkie. Little Willow Rosenberg. How … stereotypical, wasn’t it? The good girl, the one that could do no wrong, suddenly flips out and starts using. Of course, in most cases it was just drugs being used, or alcohol; but, no, she was above such mundane substances. She had gone straight to the end all and be all of all of creation – magic.

And it had taken to her just as she had taken to it – marvelously. She was a natural at magics so dark it would turn even the purest person to evil. And that, among other things, is what made it so hard for her to quit. She was –good- at this, at being bad. Calling up the forces of Darkness made her tingle all over, like a post-orgasmic rush. And the actual magic itself? Well that was the orgasm, the release, and the climax. And it could bring her to that precipice of pleasure countless times in mere minutes. It was the same feeling she would imagine an actual drug addict to get from their drug of choice, that intense happiness.

Little Junkie Rosenberg.

She snorted, gathering up her bag and entering the halls. Even after only a little over a day exploring them she already knew her way around. And so she knew where she was going now, the next teacher on her list of evaluations, and the last from what she understood. The rest were merely required electives that she could see during the year when she attended their classes. The actual class attendance was nothing more than for show, of course. Her real lessoning was after classes and in the privacy of her own room. She had years of study to cram into a space of, hopefully, no more than three years.

At least, that’s what she was hoping for.

She wandered through the halls, wishing that she had thought to wake up early enough to get some breakfast before her meeting. Oh well. Lunch would come soon enough. The halls grew marginally darker as she went deeper, into the dungeons. These were the rooms she had stayed away from for the most part. They reeked of evil beyond measure in places and a purity so rare that it could only be false in others.

And it was where her next ‘interview’ was located at.

She paused outside the room she had been instructed to go to and raised her hand, knocking on the heavy wood.

"Come in!"

Willow winced at the tone of the Professor’s voice. It was cold, hard. Not at all like the sympathetic voices of the other Professors, the ones that traipsed around her on eggshells, as though she would break and curse them into the next dimension at any moment. No, this voice was exactly what she knew she deserved, coldness personified. She only hoped that it wouldn’t change when the Professor saw who he had spoken to. She didn’t want pity or sympathy.

She’d had quite enough of that, thank you.

Punishment was what she deserved, and what she hoped in one instant that this man, this Professor, could give her.

She grabbed the handle, steeling her expression into one of uncaring indifference. It was what she felt, after all. She pushed open the doorway, her eyes raking over the classroom with carefully hidden curiosity.

"Come in, already."

Her gaze flickered to the man behind the desk, the Professor. He was imposing, in a cruelly cold way, and looked to be just the kind of teacher she needed. One that wouldn’t take any crap from her or give her the pitying looks the others just couldn’t seem to stop. His hair was black and hung to approximately shoulder length. His robes were black, with black pants and shirt beneath them. There was no Hogwarts emblem or anything else to mark him as a Professor.

But she knew what he was right away.

"Have you no wits about you, girl?" He sneered, glaring at the woman that had entered his classroom. He didn’t show her an ounce of concern or compassion. From what he had heard from the other Professors, and even Albus Dumbledore himself, the girl didn’t want their pity.

Fine.

He could do that in spades.

"Sit!" He commanded, forcing himself not to smile when she did exactly as he had asked. Not a word left her mouth. She didn’t wince nor did she simper or pout under his gaze. She was, he found, decidedly obedient. A good trait to have in a student. Her eyes belied the curiosity she felt inside. He had seen it often enough to recognize it despite the efforts she was going through to maintain her casual air of indifference. She wanted everyone to believe that she didn’t care.

But he saw through that.

She did care, even if she didn’t realize it yet.

"Have you ever studied Potions before?"

Willow blinked. "Never in a classroom, sir. I’ve dabbled –"

"Dabbled?" Snape all but hissed in anger, drawing himself up behind his desk. He fixed her with one of the steely gazes that have been known to send many a student running to their mommies and daddies for comfort and waited just long enough to let her wonder what he was getting at before continuing. "Dabbled? How fantastic. I’ve got a dabbler in my classroom. A wickedly powerful dabbler, at that. How in Merlin’s name did I get so bloody lucky?"

The sarcasm hung between them, thick and tangible as a physical barrier. He waited to see if she would say anything, scream at him, cry. Again, she didn’t. She just sat there, hands folded in front of her, waiting for –him- to continue.

And continue he did.

He went through the next three hours, assaulting her with questions and verbal repartee that would have left all but the hardiest of his students weeping. She wasn’t a typical student, though, she was a grown woman, still somewhat his junior, that had been through Hell and back and had nearly brought that Hell to the world.

She was, in other words, far, far from normal.

He dismissed her finally, sinking back to his stool in admiration and fear. Admiration of the walls she had built up around her and the outside world. Fear because of the little things he had noticed in her during their time together. Her nervous habits, for instance – signs that she was still going through a very real type of withdrawal. The school was a temptation to her control, he knew, and that was something he could get fixed soon enough for her. Professor Flitwick would be able to create an amulet of deterrence for her, to help keep the magic from calling to her so heavily. It would still call, of course, no one could fix that, but the lure wouldn’t be quite as strong because she would be shielded from it, in part.

And then there was the look in her eyes, the one that seeped through when she thought he wasn’t looking, the one so filled with carefully hidden despair that he wanted to weep for her. Yes, it wasn’t a very Snape-like thing to do, as his students would say, but he was far more than what they saw each and every day. And he knew the signs he was seeing in her and knew that she was going to need someone, anyone, to help her. He knew this like the back of his hand.

After all, they were signs he had gone through at one time as a recovering abuser of the Dark Arts. He still went through them, on the brief occasions when he was forced to attend meetings of the Death Eaters under his guise as spy. There, in the midst of the Dark Arts, he couldn’t help but miss the pleasure he had once known so intimately. For those moments he wanted to know, again, the feeling of white hot magic ripping through his veins as he reveled in the brotherhood of those he had once called friend or comrade.

But he couldn’t do that.

He –wouldn’t- do that.

Never again.

"I’m her only hope." He whispered to himself, to the empty room, it didn’t matter. It was the truth. No one else would be able to understand the problems she was facing. No one else could feel her pain, could understand the pleasure she was missing. No one else could understand what it was like to kill.

But – to approach her and tell her that he was a kindred spirit?

No, that would never work.

She’d throw him out of her room and hearing before he could say a simple word. She didn’t want pity or empathy. She didn’t want him to ‘understand’ her.

He smiled, coldly, a plan coming into his mind, though it was nothing like an actual plan. More like a decision to continue upon a certain action. He would do just as he had done today, push her over and over again. She’d break, one day; she’d realize that she couldn’t do this alone.

And he’d be there to catch her when she fell. At that moment she’d be ready to know that she wasn’t alone and maybe, just maybe, she’d let him help her.

"If she doesn’t blast me to the next world in the process." He murmured, his lips pressing together in the thin line that those who knew him would call a smile.

~*~

~I can help you….~

Willow looked around, recognizing the foggy darkness that she had experienced during her first dream in the castle, the night she had arrived at Hogwarts. She glanced from side to side, turning in a frantic circle. The cold hand of dread was gripping her heart, fear tangling up her insides.

"You’re just a dream." She whispered to the empty air. "Just a nightmare made by my conscious to rationalize the evils I’ve done, to seek redemption."

~You think that, truly?~

"Of course."

~What evils do you imagine you’ve done?~

Willow was brought up short by that. Shouldn’t her dream creature know what she did? Why did it have to ask and force her to drag all of that unpleasantness to the surface? Just another cruel trick of her mind in a long line of tricks.

"You know what I did." She whispered again. "I killed him. I killed Warren."

Silence.

And then –

~Did he not deserve it? Did he not kill your lover?~

"Yes. No. Yes. He did kill her. But he didn’t deserve to die." Her voice was fury. How dare this thing question her? How dare he insinuate that all of the carefully placed guilt she had heaped upon herself wasn’t even necessary?

~You may believe that, for now, if you like.~

Willow didn’t respond. Something was moving in the fog, just as in her last dream. The sounds were getting closer. Cloth against floor, slithering and sliding. She swallowed her fear, knowing nothing could hurt her here, in the dream realm.

And then the creature was there, exactly as he had been in her first dream, appearing out of nowhere and making her gasp in shocked fear. The scent of death drifted up from beneath the all-encompassing cloak he was wearing and she fought the urge to gag.

~I’ll change your mind, child. Soon enough, I’ll change your mind.~

~*~

Willow woke. Her hand was throbbing with a dull pain. She lifted it up, looking at it in the moonlight coming in through her half-parted curtains. Blood dripped dully out of the cuts her nails had inflicted on her skin. She had forced herself to wake from the dream, fearing where it was going despite her own assurances that nothing could hurt her in the world of dreams.

She whispered a spell, healing the minor cuts with barely a touch of power, and laid back down.

Hopefully the nightmares would stay away for the rest of the night; she needed a good night’s sleep.

After all, the first day of school was in the morning.

~*~Part Ten~*~

There was little for Willow to do in the morning except wander the still empty halls and try to settled her aching heart, soul and mind. She wondered if the loss of Tara would ever really fade or if she would feel this utter sense of desperate loss for the rest of her days. It seemed impossible that she would continue on in this manner for the rest of her life, though. Giles had moved on after Jenny’s death. And hadn’t they all dealt with the loss of Buffy. True, Buffy had been brought back, but they had eventually learned to live without her during those months that she had been dead.

So when would she learn to live without Tara? The one person in all of the world that had ever made her feel special just for being *her*. Not because she was Willow, the Slayer’s friend. Or Willow, the witch. Or Willow, the one that restored Angel’s soul. Tara had loved her because she was just plain Willow.

And now she was just plain depressed lonely, trying to end the world Willow.

Didn’t seem quite so ‘plain’ when she put it that way.

It was thoughts of Tara that had driven her from her bedroom this morning. She couldn’t just sit there and ponder her lost loved one. She needed to walk and think. The ache in her heart was nothing compared to the weight in her soul each time she thought about Tara’s death and the events that had followed it. One thought in particular was causing her a majority of her grief this morning.

Tara would not have wanted her to do what she did. The blonde witch had been kind to a fault, a paragon of virtue. She would have frowned upon what Willow had done, just as she had frowned upon the red head’s use of the Dark Arts in the first place. Had she known about Hogwarts and the world it resided in? A world of witchcraft and wizardry?

No.

Willow couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe that Tara had been privy to that information. If she had, wouldn’t she have offered to help her when she first started having problems with the Dark Arts? Wouldn’t she have told her about this place and the people that could help her?

Of course she would have.

The young witch stopped in front of one of the large, picturesque windows that dotted the corridors of the castle, looking out over the lawn. The rest of the students would be arriving that evening, in time for the Welcoming Feast. She had listened attentively as Professor McGonagall had explained the nuances of the Great Hall, from its enchanted ceiling to the tables for each House, and also the particulars of the Sorting Ceremony itself. This was how each student got assigned to their House, she had explained. And Houses were groups of students that would spend their time together, compete together and attend classes together. Once you were Sorted there was no going back. And, even though she knew nothing about the Houses, Willow couldn’t help but be curious about where she would get Sorted into.

Which led her into another worrying line of thought altogether.

Friends. Or lack thereof. The students, her teachers. Would she fit in with any of them? Did she honestly deserve to?

No.

She didn’t.

But something in her wanted to try. It would be a lonely four years if she had only herself for comfort. Giles had made it seem like coming home on the holidays might not always be possible, that she may be using that time to get caught up in her classes. It was as though he had written her off. Xander and Buffy hadn’t written to her yet, not that she expected it. So that left her with only one real choice if she didn’t want to live in solitude.

She was going to have to make friends.

But these students, at their best were still going to be years younger than her. Age wasn’t so big a deal when dealing with other adults, but when considering friendships with teenagers, sometimes little more than children, she couldn’t help but feel noticeably less than optimistic.

And that was assuming anyone *wanted* to be her friend.

"Enjoying the view, my dear?"
Willow looked up, smiling briefly at the Headmaster.

"It’s lovely. Thank you."

Dumbledore returned her smile and sat on the padded window ledge, gesturing for her to take a seat with him.

"How has it been so far?"

It was a simple question, Willow knew; but she couldn’t get past the pity that he held in his voice. And she didn’t want his pity. It was difficult to describe what she –did- want, at times. She wanted hardness but also kindness. She wanted someone to reaffirm to her that what she had did was wrong and that she must pay for it, but at the same time she wanted someone to just hold her hand and let her cry. It wasn’t possible to have both, of course, but she could dream. And, since it wasn’t possible to have both, she wanted and needed the harshness, the lack of pity.

Just as Professor Snape had given her so abundantly the day before.

There was something, she reasoned, about him that felt familiar. Though why that was she wasn’t sure. She knew nothing about her teachers. Snape looked, as far as she could tell, as much like an evil bastard as it was possible to look. And that, strangely, was comforting. She would get no pity from him, she was sure. He would be a stern taskmaster and not tolerate any acting out or self-pity.

Good.

"Miss Rosenberg. There is a small matter that I need to discuss with you, when your thoughts are back here amongst us mortals again."

The red head blushed, murmuring an apology to the Headmaster. She gestured for him to continue speaking.

"Do you wish to keep your past secret?" He held up a hand to halt any questions that may have immediately poured from her mouth. "I am not saying it is possible by any means. Many of our students have family in the Ministry and they will undoubtedly already be aware of exactly who you are and why you are here. But, we may try, if you wish."

She shook her head.

"No. I’m not going to hide from them, Sir. I deserve it. Their hate, their condescension. I deserve their glares and their frowns." She left it unspoken that she did *not* deserve their compassion or their pity. Their friendship, though she longed for it, was not something she deserved in the end. And if it came, it came. She would not lie to earn it. Lying was one of the many things in her life that she needed to give up. She had lied to herself, Buffy, Giles and even Tara to great extents. And where had that landed her?

Here.

"I admire your courage." He sighed. "This will not be an easy few months, I am not going to lie and tell you otherwise. But it *will* get better. That I can promise. In time, everything gets better."

The words were well spoken and she understood them on the levels he meant them to be. If he was a mind reader, she didn’t want to know. Let him give her cryptically blind advice as long as he was willing to and she could take it how she wanted without feeling like he pitied her. He was, in effect, telling her that her pain would get better. That it would all get easier. She may never forgive herself, but it would get easier to bear.

She gave him another small, tentative smile. His next question sent it faltering, though.

"Are you having any problems at all? Anything that you need to talk about outside of the obvious?"

It was tempting to tell him about the dreams, about the temptation that she encountered around each and every corner; about the withdrawal she was experiencing. The shakes, the headaches, and all of the other symptoms she knew came along with trying to go cold turkey from the Dark Arts. She had been dealing with them quietly for months and had no idea when, if ever, they would end. But none of that was Dumbledore’s problem and he had already been too kind to her. She didn’t want to worry him further.

"No. I’m fine. Really." Her smile wasn’t quite as convincing this time. The light of it didn’t reach her eyes. But she offered no explanations and Dumbledore didn’t feel like pulling it out of her. If she wanted to talk, he would be there for her. If not, he wouldn’t force it. Pushing her could only lead to her closing up inside of herself and destroying the precious chance that they still had to get her life back on track.

"Well, then, my dear," Dumbledore smiled as he stood up. "I must get back to the last minute preparations for tonight. Be sure to be in the Hall by seven this evening. Professor McGonagall has told you about the Sorting?" Her hesitant nod brought a relieved smile to his lips. "Good. You will be called along with the First Years." He paused and then, laying a hand on her shoulder, murmured with all sincerity.

"We are here to help you get through this, Willow. Please use us as much as you need. My office is always open – the password is ‘sugar snap’."

Willow murmured her thanks, watching as the Headmaster moved off down the Hall, in the direction of his office, presumably to finish those preparations he had mentioned. She leaned back against the window ledge, her eyes returning to the world outside of the castle. It was so beautiful. So green and lush. So pristine and perfect. In the distance she could see Hagrid’s hut and what looked like a small corral of animals outside of it. Well he *was* the Care of Magical Creatures professor, it only stood to reason that he had many a wondrous creature waiting to be examined and studied.

This is what she had tried to destroy? Life in all its precious forms? From the blades of grass to the trees. From the animals at Hagrid’s hut to Hagrid himself. She had tried to end it all – the entire World. The darkness on her heart squeezed her almost painfully as she pondered what her actions would have truly done. All life would have ceased. Nothing would have continued. She would have destroyed the human race and every other living thing on Earth.

Maybe it was her remorse that made her different from those that were truly evil, she reasoned. Glory would never have regretted trying to end the world. Angelus didn’t give a damn, either. They both wanted things their way and to hell with the consequences. They could have cared less about killing off everything bright and beautiful in the world.

But her? *She* felt an unending sense of remorse and regret.

And while that didn’t make things any better, it at least gave her hope that she wasn’t so screwed up that there was no looking back.

~*~

She wasn’t in her rooms.

Nor was she with any of the professors.

Or in Dumbledore’s office.

Not even the library and infirmary yielded any trace of Willow Rosenberg.

It was only as he walked one of the outermost corridors, intent on finding Albus and enlisting his assistance in finding the wayward student, that Severus Snape came across her. She was sitting on a window ledge, her back to him. From the angle of her head it looked like she was staring out of the window, though at what he couldn’t fathom. There was nothing on that side of the school except an empty field, Hagrid’s hut, and the Forbidden Forest.

He strode up behind her, making no effort to conceal his presence, and schooled his features into the uncaring mask that he held before him at all times. She didn’t want his pity, he reminded himself.

"Miss Rosenberg? Is there something of particular interest in that field or am I interrupting a rather morose moment of daydreaming?" He silently applauded himself for not betraying the worry he felt for her with his tone of voice. Whatever was wrong with her needed to be dealt with as soon as possible, before Voldemort’s supporters began to try to get to her. She needed to be strong and convinced of her own morals and beliefs before they started to test them. And pity wasn’t going to make that happen. Concern wasn’t going to help her fend off the efforts of the Dark Lord.

Willow turned, her face a blank mask as she stared at the one professor she could trust not to give her a speech on how it all ‘would be okay’ or that ‘things would get better’. The sneer on his face was a relief in comparison to the open kindness on Dumbledore’s.

"Yes, Sir?"

Snape sat down on the window ledge cushions and reached into his robe pocket, pulling out the amulet he and Flitwick had spent hours working on the day before. He held it out to her.

"Take it you silly girl."

Willow arched an eyebrow but did as she was told, taking the simple-looking silver and, perhaps, carnelian necklace. She looked down at it and then at him, waiting expectantly for his explanation. It wasn’t a gift that was meant to make her smile. She didn’t get that impression at all.

"This amulet will help shield you from the energies of the Castle and the artifacts, books, practicing students, etcetera."

The red headed witch’s mouth widened into an ‘O’ as she realized what he was giving her – a blessed release from the temptation that she was experiencing. It wouldn’t help with the withdrawal, but it would shield her from some of the pain the temptation was giving her.

"Th-Thank you!" She whispered in wonder. "How did you know?"

Snape waved off her question with a motion of his hand.

"It was obvious to anyone with any experience in the matter." His tone was stern, leaving no room for further questions on the matter.

His comment did, however, spark curiosity in the witch. ‘Experience in the matter’ could mean so many things. Was he indicating in a roundabout way that he had gone through this same situation? Had he faced a withdrawal such as hers? From the tantalizing pleasure-pain of the Dark Arts?

Snape watched her struggle with the questions she had and knew that he had made the best move possible – hinting without saying. Indicating without telling. She would think it over and come to her own conclusions. *She* would be the one to decide whether or not she wanted to seek him out to discuss what he had meant and what his own experiences were. He wouldn’t offer them out of pity, but if she asked he would answer.

Not at this moment, though.

"The students will be here shortly, Miss Rosenberg." Again his tone was crisp, icy, as he stood looking over her. "I suggest you get dressed for dinner. In school robes."

Willow looked down, remembering for the first time the robes that she had purchased back in Diagon Alley. The school uniform. She couldn’t very well run around in jeans and a t-shirt. She heard Snape move away, her mouth opening to thank him again as she slid the amulet on over her head. Immediately she was surrounded by a sense of blessed nothingness, a barrier between herself and the Castle’s magics.

She sighed and stood up, taking off at a slight jog to her rooms and the robes that were waiting for her, like a skin for a new life.

~*~

"Who’s that?"

Hermione and Ron turned as one to look at the girl waiting to one side of the Staff table, her hands clasped in front of her, head down.

An unladylike snort escaped Hermione’s mouth before she could stop it.

"Cousin of yours, perhaps, Ron?"

The youngest Weasley boy rolled his eyes at Hermione.

"Don’t think so. Mum didn’t mention anything and she doesn’t look familiar. Though – " He shrugged. "Anything’s possible. Maybe she’s a new Professor."

"You don’t think…" Hermione began and then stopped, her eyes narrowing in speculation.

"Don’t think what?" Harry prompted, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Well, you heard about that girl at the end of last term right? The American muggleborn that tried to end the world."

Harry frowned. "Yeah, I think I remember it. Sort of."

"I do." Ron nodded. "Dad had to work late at the office for almost a month trying to get that all cleared up. The American officials did a bloody bad job of things. I had heard she was coming here this term, in exchange for not going straight to Azkaban."

Harry looked back at the girl, seeing her in a whole new light. He had heard the story. Everyone at the school had. It was the talk of their last month of the term, in addition to the tragic outcome of the Triwizard Tournament. Between those two events nothing else had been spoken of. Her lover had been killed and she had gone on a spree of Dark Arts addiction. It was sad, really.

And she looked so vulnerable, standing up there all alone, waiting for whatever cue she was to be given. The Headmaster caught her eye as Harry watched, and smiled at her in reassurance. That made Harry feel a little better about her. If Dumbledore thought she deserved her second chance, then she did. And that was all there was to it.

"Slytherin for sure." Ron sighed. "Shame. Red hair like that she’d have made a fine Gryffindor."

"And how do you know she still won’t?" Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow in a manner that clearly stated that *she* hadn’t ruled out the woman as one of their Housemates, yet.

"We’ll find out soon enough." Harry interrupted, before a true argument could break out between the two volatile friends. He gestured to the doors to the Hall, which were opening even now, Professor McGonagall leading the new first years to the front of the Hall. He leaned forward, staring down the length of the table, and waited to see if they were correct about the woman’s identity and what her fate would be.

~*~

Willow listened to the whispers around her, knowing that they were about her. The Headmaster kept looking her way, as though making sure that she wasn’t about to bolt straight from the Hall and barricade herself in her room.

Which was exactly what she felt like doing.

The Ceremony began, the Hall quieting. Despite her wish to maintain an air of affected disinterest, she was unable to keep from watching as the Sorting Hat was placed first on one child’s head, then the next. Going down the line as it looked in their hearts and souls and determined where they would best fit in. She noticed that a majority of the slimier looking students went to a House called Slytherin and assumed that it was a House of troublemakers. The other three Houses didn’t appear to have any qualities that stood out right away, though she was sure she would get to know them all during her stay at Hogwarts.

The list went on in alphabetical order. She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost didn’t hear her own name called, exactly where it should have bee in the order of things.

"Rosenberg, Willow." Professor McGonagall’s voice rang out through the Hall.

Willow came forward, head held high as she walked in front of the staff table. She was aware of the intense look on Dumbledore’s face, as though something greater than she realized hung in the balance of this one event. There were more whispers and McGonagall’s eyes flashed with annoyance. The woman turned her back on the students, placing the Hat on Willow’s head with a small smile of encouragement.

‘Hmmm… What do we have here? Heart covered in blackness but still a heart beneath it all. Pain and longing. Despair and Tribulation. But!’ The Hat whispered into her mind, its voice seeming to echo all around her. She held her breath, waiting for the pronouncement. ‘But – a courage to rival old Godric himself and loyalty unlike no other. I think its obvious where you belong, young lady.’

"GRYFFINDOR!"

There was a stunned silence and then clapping from the table beneath the orange and yellow banners. It was hesitant at first and then gained in volume until it was just as thunderous as they had welcomed all of their new Housemates with. Willow blinked, waiting for McGonagall to take the Hat off of her head. She made her way down to the table with trembling steps, taking a seat next to a red haired girl that smiled at her with every intention of being the first to welcome her. Her name was Ginny she found out. And the red haired boy next to her? Well that was Ron, her brother. And did Willow think she could possibly have any family on this side of the ocean? Because she certainly looked like a Weasley.

And, for the first time, Willow felt as though maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

~*~Part Eleven~*~

"Still so pessimistic, Severus?"

Snape turned, giving the Headmaster his best look of non-surprise.

"I must admit that the Sorting Hat surprised me, Albus." He murmured after a long moment of silence had passed. "But what comes of that still remains to be seen."

"And the amulet you gave her? Do you think that will help?"

A long-suffering sigh escaped the Potions Master’s lips. He hadn’t told Dumbledore about the amulet. And somehow he doubted that Flitwick had done so, either. They had both been too busy in the past two days to be giving the Headmaster a blow by blow description of their activities. No, as usual Dumbledore was well aware of everything that went on within Hogwarts, up to and including the making and giving of the amulet.

"It will help shield her from the effects of this place." Severus nodded. "Again, the effects of that remain to be seen. She seemed thankful, but who’s to say what is honestly going on in her mind? Does she want to be shielded from magic? Does she really want to give up the darkness that ruled her life so well for that brief period of time? It is almost impossible to tell. She’s been to the brink of Hell and beyond."

"Much like you?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Snape fixed his Headmaster with a stern glare, his mouth shut tight.

"No matter." The older man shrugged when it was obvious that the Professor wouldn’t be answering him. "We will see what this newest development brings, though I tend to believe it can only be for the best. Goodnight, Severus."

The Potions Master watched as Dumbledore continued back down the hallway from which he had come. In the distance the dark haired professor could hear the incessant chattering he had come, over the years, to associate with a large group of students. His House, of course, returning to their dormitory after the Feast.

He turned, heading in the opposite direction of the noise and to his private rooms. He had little wish to socialize with any of the students, whether they were members of his House or not. Tonight he was thankful, though, despite the rather uncharacteristic emotion it brought forth in him

Thankful of the one student that he would –not- be head of House to this year.

~*~

Willow hung back as her House trekked through the castle towards the Gryffindor dormitory. The other students were laughing and chatting with each other, easily ignoring the prefects that were trying so hard to lay down the ground rules. She smiled, remembering her own first year of high school as she listened to the first years whisper in excitement to each other. They were so happy to be here, so childlike in their enthusiasm.

It only served really to remind her how far apart in age she was from the rest of them, though.

These were children, nothing more than that, and she was paired up with them for the next four years; three if she were lucky. They would get older, but so would she. The age gap would never disappear or lessen. In a way she related to the teachers more than the other students, but that was inevitable. The Professors were at least adults and had faced real adult problems, such as she had. A sad sigh escaped her lips. Had she been this old before everything happened? Or was it only that she felt older now? The weight of the world was on her shoulders, and the turmoils and trying times of it as well. These children didn’t know the horrors she had seen, they didn’t know what it was like to lose someone they loved. Most of them probably still had both parents and grandparents. They were young, carefree.

‘That’s not true.’ Her brain wailed against the injustice she had just dared to think. There were those that she had already heard of, such as Harry Potter and his friends, that both knew of horrors and had lost people they cared for. Harry had lost his parents when he was only a baby according to the tales Professor McGonagall had lavished upon her in regards to the star of Gryffindor tower, during those history lessons of the wizarding world that she had been forced to endure.

But wasn’t that easier?

Wasn’t it easier to lose someone you never really ‘met’, like when still a baby, than to lose someone you knew with all your heart and came to love as an adult?

She choked back a sob, thankful that she was at the back of the group and relatively unnoticed. It was these types of thoughts that haunted her each and every day – whether in her dreams or wide awake. She would never see Tara again or feel the soft touch of her body. When would the pain end? She wanted to scream out loud the inhumanity of it all. How could her Goddess create such joy and then take it away? It wasn’t fair to Harry to have never met his parents and it wasn’t fair to her to have her girlfriend shot dead by an idiot with a gun.

‘And it wasn’t fair of you to take Warren’s life. To take him away from his parents, his friends. They will still miss him, despite the fact that he was a monster.’

Willow could almost hear Tara saying those words, in her head. Her lover would never have wanted things to end the way they did. It was too late to take it all back, though. The past could not be undone, even with the best of intentions. Tara was dead and couldn’t come back, so said the lord of the dead himself, Osiris. Buffy was special, Tara was not. The past would stay the past and the future was looking like it would be a Tara-less one.

"The password is Butterscotch Ripple."

Willow stopped walking instinctively, coming out of her thoughts in time to hear the prefect give the password. The portrait they were in front of greeted them cheerfully, bidding them goodnight as they passed one by one into the common room of the dormitory. She allowed herself to look around at the cheerfully inviting room, filled with students happy to be at Hogwarts, for a moment before heading in the direction the prefect had indicated as being for the girl’s dormitory. She moved slowly, glancing in three of the open rooms before she found the one that held her things. There was only one other bed in the room besides hers. Good. Only one roommate to worry with.

The candles were already lit and Willow had to admit that the room was nice, though not quite as lovely as the beautiful guest room she had slept in before the start of the term. Still, a great room for a student to have. The room was decorated in what she had come to learn were Gryffindor colors, with the pillows in her bed alternating back and forth. A soft smile crept across her face. It was quaint.

Her schedule was lying on top of her trunk. Three to four classes every day, five days a week, with Saturdays and Sundays off. She doubted that would work very well for her. If she wanted to get this done in less than four years she would need to work extra hard, and that meant studying on Saturdays and Sundays as well, especially if she could get any of the professors to squeeze her in for some extra study time. They were already being too generous, though, with each one giving her an hour outside of class each week for more advanced lessons. They had lives, too, she reminded herself petulantly, even if she, herself, did not. She could see many nights of getting to know the library in her future.

"All work and no play makes me - me." The red head muttered dejectedly. She had gone from bookworm to junkie and just as quickly back to bookworm. That was okay, though. She wasn’t here for fun and games.

She sighed, letting the piece of parchment drop back to the top of her trunk.

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring across the room with dulled eyes. This was it. Her sentence had begun; the jailors had locked the gates behind her, figuratively of course. School would start in the morning and she would begin to learn to control the powers that she had neither asked for nor desired any longer. The bed across from her was still empty, though by the sounds of laughter coming up from the common room she could only guess where her roommate was – still laughing with her friends.

Friends.

Willow laid down, not bothering to remove her robes, her hand coming up to clutch at the amulet Snape had given her earlier that day. She closed her eyes, hoping the amulet could somehow keep away the nightmares that she couldn’t keep at bay despite all the power she was supposed to have.

~*~

"They changed your room?"

Hermione nodded at Harry.

"That’s what Professor McGonagall told me. She thinks I’ll be a good influence on Willow. Help her get through her classes and all that."

"You have to room with the psycho girl?" Ron squeaked, his pale face reddening.

"She’s not psycho!" Hermione snapped. Her brown eyes flashed with annoyance. "She’s been through a lot, Ron. Give her the benefit of the doubt, would you?"

Ron Weasley shrugged.

"I guess. She can’t be all bad, right? I mean, the Sorting Hat put her in Gryffindor."

"Dark wizards and witches have come out of Gryffindor, too." Harry pointed out quietly. "Being in this House doesn’t make you immune to that stuff."

"Great, Harry, give Ron something else to worry about. As if he doesn’t have enough already!" The fifth year girl grumbled. Secretly she was pleased with her rooming arrangement. The new girl needed all the help she could get, according to McGonagall. Willow would be trying to get seven years worth of classes done in four years – or *less*. The concept was mind-boggling at best.

And then there was the sadness that Hermione had seen in her. It was almost palatable and definitely painful to see. She couldn’t just let the girl be sad all year. It wasn’t within her to ignore someone that was in pain – even if it was someone that could likely tear her head off with a wave of her hand. This way, Hermione could both help her with her studies and try to get her to work through her problems. She doubted that McGonagall specifically wanted her for the therapy portion of it all, but that was just a bonus the Transfiguration Professor was going to have to deal with.

"Night, Ron. Night, Harry." She gave them a small wave, noting with distaste that their conversation had already turned to Quidditch and the Gryffindor team’s chance of winning this year. She made her way up through the dormitory, passing by the room she had shared for her first four years with Lavender and Parvarti, and stopping at the third door. The door was still open and she could see her trunk already waiting, schedule sitting listlessly on top.

Across the room, fast asleep, was her roommate. Hermione sighed. She would have liked to talk with the girl some before going to bed, but that seemed to be out of the question at the moment. She stared at the red head for a moment, worrying over the crease of pain on the other woman’s forehead.

"Nightmare." Hermione muttered, hearing the red head whimper almost imperceptibly in fear. She reached out a hand to wake the other witch, stopping when Willow’s forehead smoothed out again, her body relaxing.

The nightmare appeared to be over.

"Sleep well." The brunette whispered, gathering up her things for the bathing room. She glanced one last time at her new roommate before leaving the room, a flick of her wand extinguishing the candles in the room.

Part Fourteen~*~

Willow found that her first few days of class went by in a blur, leaving her too tired at night to even consider dreaming, much less have nightmares of scary, snakey men with no names. She did her best to avoid her fellow Housemates, and all students in general. Actually, she did her best to avoid any human contact at all. Save that of one person.

Her Potions Professor.

Severus Snape, from everything she had heard whispered in the halls and said outright when the man himself wasn’t around to hear, was a hard and cold, well, bastard. Students whined and moaned about the inhumanity of being forced to take his class, especially those Gryffindors into which she had been Sorted. It seemed that her House was one that he hated most especially. But that hatred never seemed to make it’s way to her. Oh, that first class she had with him was still something to behold. He had grilled her just as ruthlessly as he had any of the other first years in the class, but that certain something, that downright hostility with which he treated the other members of her House? Well, that was mysteriously absent.

And, despite not wanting pity of any kind, she found herself thankful that he wasn’t pushing her in class, wasn’t being overly cruel or dastardly. He was just the right mix of verbal pain and pleasure, she decided, thankful for his soothing presence in a school where everyone else was on eggshells around her. But he wouldn’t do that. She knew already. She also had no doubt that he wouldn’t try overly hard to push her too far, not like he did with other students in his class. This was a Very Good Thing. She would never be able to forgive herself if he brought her to the brink of losing control in a class full of students that were, in all respects, just babies.

Some of them, she had found, though, were very slimy babies.

Slytherins.

She shuddered.

Tales of their House just didn’t do them justice, she decided after only two classes in their company. The young ones were just as bad as the older ones. Slimy, slithering little pieces of trash that she was pretty sure that the world would not truly miss and would be entirely better off without. That wasn’t her choice to make; but she couldn’t help if she really, really considered it sometimes.

The first year Slytherins had seemed to make a pet project of her by the time her first class had rolled around with them the morning after Sorting. It was sickening, really. They gave her encouraging smiles, which would have been nice and all, if it weren’t for the fact that their eyes stayed cold, calculating. They were like miniature assassins and spies, just waiting for the right time to strike. They knew about her. Their parents knew about her. And Willow had always known that she could end up being the pawn in some sort of magical game.

She just hadn’t realized it would start the moment school did.

~*~

Willow averted her eyes from the group of Slytherins waiting outside the entrance to the Great Hall. She had tried so hard to be the last one to come to dinner just for the express purpose of not having to deal with these slimy, scheming brats. They rankled her nerves and made her feel overall very uncomfortable. They didn’t want to get to know her because of who she was, only because of what she was known for. Whispers in the halls spoke that the Slytherins were, as a whole, a bad group. They were in league with the Dark Lord, who Willow had heard was some really, really bad evil guy. Worse than herself, even. That had made her smile, just a little. If she wasn’t the most evil thing on the planet then there still had to be hope, right?

She snorted under her breath and steeled herself to walk by the group of fifth and sixth years.

"Hey there, Rosenberg."

She cringed, looking up into the face of the boy who had spoken. What was his name again? Jonathan? Jakob? Something that started with a ‘J’, that much she was sure of. She kept her expression painfully neutral, almost aloof, and murmured a greeting.

"You know all those classes you have to catch up in." He purred, stepping away from the wall and his cronies, his eyes pulling at her own. "I could help. Tutor you, that is."

She arched an eyebrow at him. Dumbledore had mentioned to her the names of many of the top students in the school and this cretin had –not- been one of them. He was just another Slytherin, out to make friends with the Girl-That-Almost-Ended-The-World in hopes of luring her to whatever side was currently in need of her ‘assistance’.

"Actually, Hermione is helping me. But thank you." She replied, evenly, her eyes betraying none of the unease she felt as the look on the Slytherin sixth year’s face darkened.

"The Mudblood?" He sneered. "How endearing. But, really. You’d do so much better with a pureblood to teach you the ropes. After all, with all of that power, you do deserve nothing but the best."

Willow wasn’t sure what the phrase ‘Mudblood’ meant, but she was completely aware that the tone in which he said it left no room for her to believe it was anything other than hateful. In fact, it reminded her all too clearly of racial slurs and religious denouncements that she had heard on the streets. It seemed vulgar, and that’s exactly what she chose to take it as.

"I’m sure I will do just fine without your assistance." She sneered. Unbidden, her cold power began to creep through her veins, just itching to be let out. The stones beneath her seemed to fade away until she felt as though she were connected to the earth itself, drawing her strength from it and seeking its guidance. She wouldn’t be able to stop if she started, and he was pushing her too far. Much too far. Hermione had been nothing but nice to her since the moment they had met, despite everything she had done. The younger witch was a godsend, never giving up on her despite the fact that she had been quite cold and rude to her at times, when asking to just be left alone.

Thankfully, for the Slytherins sake, the doors to the Great Hall chose that moment to open, an unlikely hero stepping out.

"Parker! Adams! Craves! Deniston!"

The red haired witch snapped her head in the direction of the door, noting with surprised shock that the reprimanding voice was coming from Draco Malfoy, arch nemesis of all her Housemates held dear.

"Get your arses in the Great Hall before Snape comes looking for you!" His eyes flickered only briefly to the woman that was standing there, gazing at him as though he was her own personal knight in shining armor.

"But Malfoy –"

"I don’t want to hear it." Draco snapped, his silvery eyes hard when they turned to Jason Deniston. The boy was a sixth year, one year above Draco, but that made very little difference. The Malfoys were top of the line when it came to social status, and the Denistons were at the bare bottom. If Jason wanted any chance of ever making something in the little circles they all ran in, he had best pay attention to any order that came from a Malfoy’s lips.

And that included all of Mister Deniston’s friends, as well.

Glaring angrily at Willow, the Slytherins filed past Draco and into the Great Hall, their feet shuffling making it clear that they weren’t happy with the order, though they would obey it. Draco waited until they had gone through and then let the door swing shut, leaving just himself and Willow in the hall. He noticed with a cringe that she was watching him very warily. His reputation had preceded him already, no doubt. Despite the fact that he had never once spoken to her. His grey eyes met hers and held for a moment before a slow, sly smile crossed his lips ever so briefly.

"You know me?"

"I know –of- you." Willow replied, her face falling back into its serene mask of disinterest, careful not to betray the hesitation she felt in front of this admittedly evil young man. He was, by all accounts, a symbol of everything she had ever fought against. The son of a man that followed the Dark Lord, and a future obedient servant to said Dark Lord himself. She could take him in a fair fight, but she didn’t want it to come to that. Not now and not ever. Besides, from everything she had heard in stories overheard from her Housemates, he didn’t fight fairly. She watched him carefully, her eyes following his slow, almost languid movements. "Draco Malfoy, right?"

He nodded once, curtly, his eyes darting from one end of the hall to another. There was no one else in sight. The perfect time to –

Willow’s eyes widened as the blonde haired Slytherin stepped right into her personal space, his voice whispery, his silver eyes devoid of deceit. If she could have stared into his mind at that moment she would have seen nothing other than complete honesty, she knew. It was something so rare to see that sparkling out through someone’s eyes, and she was so caught up in it that she nearly forgot to pay attention to what he was saying to her.

"You need to be more careful. Do –not- go wandering the halls without one of your precious Housemates or a Professor with you." He again glanced up and down the halls, making sure no one was around to witness this moment of complete and utter un-Draco-like behavior. "The Slytherins will stop at nothing to get to you, and if that doesn’t work - *deal* with you."

Willow shivered with the way he said it. "Deal" with her? It seemed like a threat, but she could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t mean it that way. He was warning her. Despite everything she had heard about Draco Malfoy, he was actually warning her about members of his own House. She nodded once.

"Understood. Thank you." She tilted her head to the side, adding as an afterthought. "Don’t worry, though. I am quite capable of handling anyone that decides they need to ‘deal’ with me." Just ask Warren. And Rack. And those policemen at that station, her brain threw into her face, bringing the sadness that was ever present rushing to the surface.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, though his eyes belied the seriousness of the situation.

"I know that. They know that. But wouldn’t the quickest and easiest way to ‘deal’ with you simply be to make you lose control? One slip and you’ll be in Azkaban."

She winced. This was true. All they had to do was make her loose her temper one single time and she’d be sent straight to the horrors of Azkaban and those awful Dementor things. She shuddered. While she still didn’t believe she had the right to a second chance, she had been given one anyway – and she was damned if she wanted to be sent to a place where her literal soul could be sucked out of her.

Draco looked back down the hallway, noting that a student was approaching rather rapidly. It looked like the Granger girl. This needed to be brought to a close and quick. He had other places to be, anyway; places involving getting himself and Pansy out of the dire situation they were in concerning the witch standing right in front of him. He took a step back from her, his voice still low enough not to carry down the hall.

"We never had this conversation."

And with that, he was gone.
"Hey Willow!"

The red head forced a weak smile to her face, despite not really feeling like being too friendly, and prayed that Hermione wouldn’t ask her what Draco had wanted. She knew that he had taken a risk in warning her and the last thing she needed was anyone prying into what had been said. Her morning had already gotten off to a rough start and now she had to deal with her roommate as well, the nearly insufferable Hermione Granger. The girl was nice, but a bit pushy when it came to studying.

She was in luck, though. Hermione hadn’t seemed to even notice Draco had been there at all.

"Up for a bit of studying after lunch today? Try to get through a few months worth of Charms?"

Willow hid the wince that the younger witch’s words brought to her. A few months of Charms? Goddess help her, this girl was a nut. Didn’t she realize that Willow was still getting over the ache of a broken heart and the guilt of being a murderess and would be world-ender? A few months of Charms? Sheesh!

But, she had put this off for long enough. Three days out of the school year had already gone by and she hadn’t even made any great strides for getting ahead in any of her classes, despite her own assurances with herself that she was going to do anything but stay here for a full four years. That was where Hermione was supposed to be helping her, if she’d only let the fifth year girl even try.

No time like the present.

"That sounds great. Library or our room?"

The look of shock on Hermione’s face was almost worth the effort it had taken Willow to simply agree to the study session. She hid a smile and waited, patiently, for the girl to recover her wits. Thankfully, it didn’t take long at all.

"The library."

"Okay." Willow nodded. She eyed the doorway to the Great Hall with hunger gnawing at her stomach.

"Come on. You can sit with Ron and Harry and I."

Polite as ever, Willow followed along behind the brunette, hoping she hadn’t gotten herself into more trouble than studying was worth simply by being cordial to the other girl.

And fearing, as she saw the mischievous group of Gryffindors she would be sitting with for breakfast, that she had done just that.

~*~

"She seems to be adjusting nicely." Dumbledore commented, watching as Willow followed along behind Hermione.

Severus Snape raised an eyebrow at the Headmaster, for once unable to mask the look of utter surprise on his face.

"Adjusting?" He managed to murmur from around the lump of foreboding in his throat. "You do no honestly think that she had ‘adjusted’, do you?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at his Potions Master.

"I had thought so." The older wizard replied, the twinkle still in his eyes. "Though I would appear to also be mistaken if the mocking sound in your voice is any indication."

"She does not interact willingly with any of the other students." Severus began. "I would wager that she is only sitting with the Granger girl because she has been coerced into it in some manner. In class she raises her hand, answers the questions, takes her notes. But she does not even try to ‘fit in’. Look – see."

The Headmaster glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Gryffindor table, sighing in sad realization at the sight that greeted him. Willow was there, sandwiched on either side by a Weasley. But she wasn’t a part of their group, despite their attempts at conversation. She would eat and nod, only rarely opening her mouth to say something. No smiling. No laughing. Nothing he would normally expect from a student. He sighed.

"She has the weight of a thousand imagined sins on her shoulders and only a few very real ones." The Potions Master murmured softly. He, too, watched as she sat there, so different from the others. They were so far below her in age, and he knew she must feel like she was sitting amongst children at times. Even on their good days, the Gryffindors were still raucous and playful. She was none of those things. The information he had on her, given to the school by the man that had brought her to them in the first place, Rupert Giles, stated very clearly that she had always been something of a social onlooker – not one to just jump in and make much noise. She was shy, unassuming.

Much like he had been at one point, and still was to some extent. It was easy to say he couldn’t possibly be ‘shy’ because of the way that he acted towards his students and fellow human beings, but that was too simplistic. He was not an outgoing person, though shy perhaps was too strong of a word, he knew.

He watched as she took a sip of her pumpkin juice, licking her lips delicately as she set the glass down. A shiver coursed through his body, unbidden. Why did just being around her do this to him? Bring about such feelings that he knew were wrong? She was in no position to be anything to him other than a student. A student with many, many problems, at that. Take into account that he knew very well that her last lover had been female and he, logically, should have been able to back away from the feelings in dignified defeat.

But he couldn’t.

Perhaps it was the darkness in her that called to the darkness in him. It would have been the fact that they shared so much pain, a pain he longed to ease for her and maybe have his own eased in return. She was certainly beautiful, and that didn’t help either. And she was intelligent. Very much so.

And none of this was helping his current situation.

"Severus?"

The Potions Master gave himself a rough mental shake, turning to the Headmaster with what he hoped was a blank look on his face, if not his normal mask of calculating coldness. He should have known better, though; and looking into Dumbledore’s shining eyes he knew that the old man had seen his staring and taken it for what it was – infatuation. A crush. A very lowly thing for a Professor to have for a student.

So why was Dumbledore smiling.

"She is far too old for me to admonish you, Severus." The Headmaster smiled kindly. He stood and placed a hand on Snape’s shoulder, his voice pitched for Severus and Severus alone. "However, while I believe that the interaction such a relationship could bring would be valuable for both you and her, please show some restraint and do not pursue this too quickly, she is healing after all. And now, to my office. I believe young Mister Malfoy is waiting ever so patiently for me."

Snape watched the Headmaster leave, shaking his head ever so slightly in consternation. While it was lovely to have Dumbledore’s permission in such things, he knew it was altogether premature and unnecessary. He was not about to get involved with Willow Rosenberg.

Not yet, anyway.

~*~

Willow could feel his stare from across the room, and it sent unwelcome shivers along the skin of her back and neck. She kept her eyes down, on her food, nodding along with the conversation around her, as though a part of it though she knew she was most definitely not. Not that it mattered. She just wanted to seem like she was in the middle of things.

Wait.

Exactly why did she want to make that appearance?

Was it for him?

She bit her lip, abandoning all pretense at eating the eggs and toast that were growing cold on her plate. This was an odd realization and one she would have preferred to never have. She wanted him to think that she was in the middle of everything for the same reason everyone wanted to be friends with the popular kids in high school – she wanted him to want her.

Oh Goddess.

Why?

How?

A cold chill crept through her heart. Was this how she would remember Tara? By running out and crushing on the first handsome man that showed her any type of attention.

Handsome?

Fuck.

She felt tears come to her eyes and bit them back, shoving a bite of egg in her mouth. It tasted like nothing, the weight of her emotions far too great to allow her senses any play in the immediate present. Tara was only just now dead for five months. Only five little months. And already her body was betraying her and finding someone attractive. A man, at that. She sighed, knowing she had always been bi more than flat out gay. But this was too much.

When had this happened, she wanted to scream?

‘The day he gave you that amulet.’ Her inner voice whispered.

And she knew it was true.

That day, when he had hinted that he was someone with ‘experience’ with the Dark Arts. That had been when she first actively took notice of the man that had only before been someone to torment her with more tests and quizzes. At that moment he had become real, human; and she had decided she wanted to know more, though she was afraid to ask it of him. He had been so kind, to make the amulet for her; to not coddle her like the other teachers; and to try to at least hint at some type of understanding.

It didn’t help that he was handsome in a dark and scary type of way. That hair that looked so silky, with an overlying glamour that made it seem greasy. She hadn’t asked him about that, knowing that he had to have a reason to make himself less attractive. She was also unwilling to admit that simple sight altering spells, such as glamours, had little to no effect on her. Seeing right through them could prove to be valuable secret and she didn’t want anyone to know about it just yet.

His eyes were dark pools of ebony that seemed to swallow her each time she got the courage to look into them. That voice of his was the same way – a silky purr that threatened to grab hold of her and never let go. She had wondered that day, in her first potions class, if it was a spell or just some natural talent. She had to believe now that it was completely natural. He was just a sexual creature.

Damnit – there she went again. Guilt was overwhelming as she drew up images of Tara to fight off the unwanted feelings coursing through her body.

"What am I going to do?" She cried out silently to her Goddess, praying fervently for an answer.

But there were none coming.

~*~

Dumbledore turned the corner, unsurprised to see Draco sitting there, in front of the Gargoyle leading to his office, waiting for him. It didn’t take magic to know that something was wrong with the blonde – all it took was common sense. There was no other reason for Draco to be here. If he were having a simple problem he would go to see his Head of House, Snape.

But this, the Headmaster could tell, was going to be no simple problem.

And he hadn’t even heard what Draco had to say yet.

"Headmaster." Malfoy jumped up, wiping sweaty hands on the front of his robes. Now that it was time to come clean, to admit it all, he felt sick with nerves.

"You need to speak with me, correct?" Dumbledore inquired, turning to the Gargoyle. "Gummi Bears."

Draco nodded, following after the Headmaster as the slowly rotating stone staircase took them up and into the office. He sat heavily in the chair Dumbledore offered with a wave of his hand and shook his head with a murmured thanks when offered the standard ‘lemon drop’ he had always heard about from other students. They sat that way, in heavy silence, for a long few moments, the time ticking by on an old wizarding grandfather clock. Finally, he spoke.

"There’s some things I need to tell you." Draco Malfoy whispered. "And I need to know that you will try to protect me. That you won’t let me get hurt."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, seriousness overriding his normal mask of humor. He raised his eyebrows at Draco, wondering quietly if the moment they had always hoped for was about to come. Would Draco turn away from the Dark?

"I will always do my best to protect any student in need, Mister Malfoy."

Draco nodded. That would have to be enough for now. He couldn’t really expect vast assurances of protection when he hadn’t even told the Headmaster what was going on yet. He sighed and then took a deep breath.

"You see, it’s like this –"

~*~

That night Willow dreamed again of her mysterious would-be benefactor. He was as charming, if not more so, than he had ever been and left her feeling almost content when she woke up. She didn’t question their meetings, not that night at least. Not when he had tried so hard to cheer her up and reassure her that she may have done bad things, but that didn’t make her evil. It all made sense when he explained it to her sometimes. There was no good or evil. Only differing opinions. Sure, she knew when she woke up that logic may very well fade.

But for that moment, it felt good just to believe for once that she had been right to avenge Tara.

And, in another room, Harry woke up, scar stinging, tears of pain in his eyes.

~*~Part Fifteen~*~

By the time the next morning dawned and Willow stepped from the portrait hole to make her way to breakfast, Willow knew something was amiss. It began with Professor McGonagall, waiting conspicuously outside the portrait, eager to escort her to the Great Hall. And then Professor Flitwick who just ‘wanted to chat’ on their way to his classroom. In fact, all day long, Professors made a special point to find some reason to walk her from class to class, the looks on their faces bordering on pity.

But she had done nothing recently to deserve a newfound wave of pity or the ‘security’ routine they were pulling with her. At least not that she knew of. In a way it was good, though, even if it did make her paranoid. Draco had gone out of his way to warn her to stay around a Professor or one of her Housemates at all times and now the Professors were making it that much easier for her. Just knowing she was safe from any prying Slytherins did little to ease the tension she felt in the air, however. The stones of the castle, and the earth beneath that, were breathing with hidden secrets, secrets about her. The Forest seemed to know, too. Everything around her knew something that she didn’t know. Things that she needed to know.

By the time she made it that night to her after hours Potions catch-up session, she was frazzled and nerve wracked. Something was going on. Something about her. And no one was going to tell her what that was, it appeared. Were the Dementors and Aurors coming to take her to Azkaban anyway and no one thought it would be beneficial to tell her? That had to be it. They were coming. She had done her best and someone had decided it wasn’t good enough and now they were going to lock her away for all time. They would throw her in a magically sound room and then let the Dementors suck out her soul, bit by bit.

She shuddered, her entire body shaking with the motion, causing her to drop in quite a bit more powdered vampire tooth into the potion she was preparing than she had meant to. She looked up to see Snape’s dark eyes watching her thoughtfully. Her cauldron began to bubble furiously, steam pouring up and over the edges, dropping to the floor like a thick hazy fog.

Great.

"Kindly counteract that with a drop of banshee sweat, Miss Rosenberg. Before my *entire* classroom is filled with Endless Fog."

The red head blushed painfully, both because of that horribly delicious voice of his and because of her own inability to perform even the simplest task at that moment Her hands were shaking so bad that she couldn’t even pull the stopper from the vial he had indicated, much less do something as exact as put in one tiny drop. She fumbled with it for a moment, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, her fingers working furiously at the edge of the cork, trying in vain to remove it. The fog was spilling over the top of the cauldron almost continuously. She had read about Endless Fog. It was a potion used at dances and things of the like to create ‘atmosphere’. Well, the dungeon didn’t need any more atmosphere than it already had, in her opinion, but she couldn’t get the damned bottle open to nullify the potion she had inadvertently created.

And then cool hands were on hers, gently prying away the vial. She looked up to see Professor Snape measuring one perfect drop into the cauldron, his hand as steady as hers had been not. Almost immediately the fog ceased, leaving them with only what had already managed to escape to the floor, which was rapidly dissipating as well. She hung her head, eyes down, biting her lip to keep from sobbing aloud as the tears she had tried to hold back spilled free. She heard him move away, back behind his desk, and then a rustling of cloth as he sat down.

"Might I inquire as to what has gotten you so riled up tonight?"

There it was again, his silky voice, cutting through her mental anguish like a cool blanket on a hot night. She resisted the urge to shiver underneath its power.

"N-Nothing, sir." She stammered, unwilling to burden him with her problems, real and imagined. Everything was still just in her mind at this point, of course. She had no solid proof that anyone was out to send her back to Azkaban. There was nothing to prove that the Professors were following her around out of anything more than concern, though she knew in her heart that wasn’t the case. But the thought that that could possibly be the case was eating away at her fragile nerves, leaving her shaken, stirred and quite a bit more broken than she had been to begin with.

"Do not lie to me, girl." He snapped caustically, his voice rising measurably. "You just bungled a potion that I had been assured by Miss Granger that you should be up to making. Your hands are shaking so badly that you cannot even pull the stopper out of a bottle, and you are weeping all over your notes and my ingredients. Now, tell me! What. Is. Wrong?"

She lifted her head, green eyes blazing with a sad fury at his contemptuous tone. How dare he speak that way to her? Didn’t he know what she was going through? Didn’t he realize how tough everything was for her? And he had to be privy to whatever was making her Professors escort her to and from each and every class during the day. How dare he sneer with that handsome little curl of his lip.

And how dare he be handsome at all and force her to think naughty things about him when she shouldn’t yet be over Tara!

That thought just incited her even further, until she was quite thoroughly incensed with the Professor.

"You want to know what’s wrong with me?" She whispered angrily, tears still rolling down her cheeks. "Do you really?"

Severus Snape nodded once, undisturbed by the fact that the girl before him was unconsciously calling on her powers, the rims of her eyes darkening as he watched.

"Fine!" She yelled, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists. "All day long the Professors have walked me to and from my classes. I feel like I’m under maximum-security lock and key or something, but no one is telling me –why-! Hell, Professor McGonagall even showed up to make sure I got –here- all right, and she –hates- the dungeons – she told me so herself! I think that there’s something you guys aren’t telling me and it’s driving me crazy! If you’re sending me to Azkaban, just tell me and get it over with. Don’t coddle me and not let me out of your sight. Heaven forbid, I might run, right? Because I ran so far before. All the way to my little bedroom where I sat and cried and ignored the world around me, trying to wish myself to death!"

She snorted sarcastically, taking a deep breath and Severus thought for a moment that her moment of emotional outburst was over. He had just breathed a sigh of mental relief that her problem was so easy as the extra protection they had placed on her when she opened her mouth again.

It appeared that she wasn’t done yet.

"I love this place, I do. It’s a much better alternative than that Azkaban place, I’ve been told. But even with the amulet you gave me all I can feel is magic. Magic everywhere. It’s even in the damn bathroom! I mean. Who really needs a tub that turns itself on and off – I’m quite capable of doing it by hand, you know. Do you know what its like? To swear you’re never going to touch magic again and then be told that you not only have to use it some more but that you need to master it or end up in jail for the rest of your life? It’s not fun, let me tell you that. And then to get thrown in here, with all this power just curling around me day in and day out. It’s tantalizing. Those books in the restricted section would make a good snack, you know. Just suck all the power out of them, let the Darkness flow through me. It would feel good. Painful. Pleasurable. Everything. It’s so fucking wonderful. Orgasmically beautiful. A rush unlike any other and a high so great I can hardly resist the temptation to sink my hands in and feel it flow over me, in me. I want to feel it beat with my heart, pulse with the blood in my veins and fill my brain with pure, raw, power of the Darkest kind. But I can’t and I don’t expect you to understand any of that."

Severus opened his mouth to contradict her, only to be cut off by another tirade.

"*And* I haven’t been able to get a full night’s sleep since I got here!" She wailed pitifully. "Every night there are nightmares. Well, not every night, but almost every night. Nightmares of this guy. And he’s tempting me. Telling me that he’s my friend and can make things better. In my dreams he tells me that I didn’t do anything wrong and that he can make it alright again, that he can ease my pain. And I know he’s Dark. But he’s just a dream and it feels so good to just believe for one moment that I didn’t do anything wrong. That killing Warren was justified. That killing Rack was a mercy on the rest of the world. Sure, the ending the world thing was a bad, bad idea. But I didn’t go through with that. But then, at the end, he always does something to fuck it up. Something to remind me just how evil he probably is. And I wake up, crying or screaming. All the time. Nearly every night."

She paused, panting for breath.

"And I’m just so tired. Tired of hurting. Tired of being stared at like I’m a freak. Tired of waking up in the morning more exhausted than when I went to bed."

And with that she collapsed into her seat, the tears flowing anew.

Severus watched her, quietly digesting everything she had said. There were many points of interest in her tirade that he needed to touch on. But which one first? He pondered it silently, his dark eyes staring at her as though he was looking at her for the first time, seeing her for what she well and truly was. A very talented woman suffering from withdrawal and loss beyond that which most of his students would ever, hopefully know. Even as she cried and pleaded with him in her own, emotional way, to just help her, she radiated pure power. It called to him the same way her beauty did, just like those books and artifacts around the school called to her. It was a lure. The idea of merging with this woman physically, emotionally and magically was tantalizing. She could very well be his other half, he reasoned. They were so much alike in so many awful ways; both searching for an absolution they may never truly reach.

And they were both tired with the hurt of the world. Both tired of being the ‘freak’.

But, for now, best to start with her rather erroneous assumptions regarding himself.

"What I am about to tell you cannot go any further than this room. I trust that you can keep this between yourself and I?"

Willow nodded hesitantly, biting her lower lip.

"Very well, then." He sighed heavily. "I know what its like to want that power, Miss Rosenberg. I was not always a Professor here. Nor was I this old or this – wise." He smirked in self-condemnation, his eyes rolling to the heavens as if to ask for strength. "I was once young and rather stupid and I did many an awful thing."

"Did you kill?" She whispered into the silence. "Did you take another’s life."

Severus raised an eyebrow at her.

"More than you have, I assure you. Torture. Murder. Rape. Have you been told about the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters?"

Willow’s forehead creased in confusion. She had heard whisperings of some Dark Lord, but no one had come outright and told her anything about him. It was as though they feared she would follow in his path if she knew anything at all. She didn’t blame them. Perhaps if she were in their situation she would assume the same thing. How were they to know that she wanted to end the world out of mercy for all the suffering, not out of any desire to do evil. She wasn’t evil by design, just out of misdeed; and, given half an opportunity, she would readily choose to vanquish the evils of the world from the face of the planet.

"No." She shook her head at last, admitting her ignorance on the subject of the Dark Lord.

"You-Know-Who, or Lord Voldemort as we do –not- call him, is the number one enemy of all of wizarding kind." He began slowly. "He is a killer of Muggles and Muggleborns. Only purebloods are worth anything to him, though there are exceptions." He added as an afterthought, for the girl in front of him at this moment was a Muggleborn and was of great value to the Dark Lord.

"His servants are called the Death Eaters. They are all branded, on their left forearms, with a tattoo." He slowly slid up the sleeve of his robe, exposing his pale white flesh, and the Dark Mark, which sat ever so innocuously at the moment. "They are his right hand men and women. Dark witches and wizards. The worst of the worst."

"Goddess." Willow whispered, her eyes fixated on the Mark. She stood, slowly, walking around the desk to stand before him. She knew that symbol. It showed up everywhere in her nightmares. From on the ground, to shapes in the fog, to embroidered on the cloak of her ‘benefactor’. She felt despair unlike any other rise up from within her at the ramifications of that realization.

"During my time within their illustrious," He spat the word. "Company, I did things that would make the hairs on your arms stand on end. I worked Dark magic. I know the pain it brings, and the pleasure. I know how addicting it can be, how easy it is to just fall back into the routines, the highs and the thrills. And I would be lying to you if I said that I do not miss it at times."

Willow lifted shiny eyes to his face.

"You do know."

"Yes." He nodded, a mere tilt of his head. "I know how you feel. And that is why I commissioned that amulet for you. To try to help with the need until it wasn’t so fresh in your soul anymore."

"Thank you." She whispered, her eyes going again to the Dark Mark. Should she mention it to him? It could be potentially damning for her. They would assume she had done something to warrant the attention, of course. She licked her lips, as though to say something, and then shut them again, unsure.

The gesture did not go unnoticed by her Professor.

"Have you seen this before?"

She sighed sadly, nodding. Time to come clean.

"Those nightmares." She murmured. "I’ve seen it in my nightmares."

Severus closed his eyes; regret washing over his sharp features. Willow longed to reach out, to run her fingers over those regal lines, to wipe away the distress she was apparently causing him; and maybe to share their guilt, their pain, together.

"That is what I was afraid of." He muttered gravely, his dark eyes slowly opening again to face the scared woman standing before him."The man in your dreams – describe him to me?"

Willow shivered involuntarily.

"It’s hard to really describe him." She admitted. "He’s always wearing a cloak, the hood up. His face is shadowed. But there are those eyes. Glowing red. He doesn’t move like a man, though. Its more slithery, like a snake that’s trying to walk like a human. He just ‘feels’ slimy, in a mental sense. I’ve never touched him in the dreams. Scared to."

This was bad.

Worse than bad.

In fact, Severus Snape didn’t know of anything that could possibly be worse than what she was telling him right now.

Okay, yes, there were worse things and perhaps, in his worry, he was over-exaggerating.

But this was still very, very bad.

"You appear to have been singled out by the Dark Lord for his personal attentions." Severus said slowly, trying to sort through the complications this added to everything. His life, as well as Draco’s and some others’ he had learned yesterday, depended on this young woman appearing to be coming over to the side of the Dark until such time as they could work out a better plan. That was easy enough if she wasn’t in contact with Voldemort.

However, she was and they couldn’t break that contact without the Dark Lord becoming curious or, at the worst, paranoid. And that was one of the last things Severus wanted to see happen. A paranoid Voldemort was a very bad thing, indeed.

"Me?" She squeaked, shaking her head. "Oh no. I don’t want him to be singling me out for anything, you hear me? I’ve done a lot of bad stuff but this guy is just plain ick, right? Right?" He nodded and she continued on, ranting and raving as her Potions Professor tried his best to come to terms with what he had been told.

"Miss Rosenberg. Miss – Willow!" He bellowed, cutting short her foray into the world of babble that she seemed to love so very much.

"Yes?"

"Would you kindly cease and desist with the babbling for now? As endearing as it may be, I need to think."

Willow’s mouth worked slowly, open and shut, open and shut; her brain digesting what Severus Snape had just said. He didn’t seem to be aware that he had just given her a compliment, or else she was sure he wouldn’t be sitting there, quietly brooding again.

He thought her babbling was endearing.

And endearing was one step away from admitting you care, right?

Dear Goddess.

She sat down heavily on the top of the student desk most directly in front of the Professor. Endearing. He had said it. ‘To become or make dear’. She shook her head. It was probably nothing, but coming from a man that was normally so cold and distant, it meant something to her. Despite wanting to stay true to the memory of her dead lover, the compliment that had come straight from his subconscious struck a chord in her.

And that chord made her smile, though the implications of it weighed heavily on her soul.

"We need to go see the Headmaster." Severus informed her suddenly, cutting through her thoughts. He was a little taken aback by the look on her face, a smile so small that it could almost be missed. And eyes that were sparkling with maybe amusement? He thought back quickly on what had happened, seeking any clue as to what sparked such a complete turnabout in her demeanor.

She had been babbling.

He had asked her to be quiet.

So – what had happened?

He pursed his lips, thinking back on what he had said –

‘Endearing’.

He had called her babbling ‘endearing’.

Oh, dear Merlin.

He flushed quite suddenly, covering it up by sweeping past her and into the halls. A scrape of the chair, a bang of the door, and he knew she was hurrying to keep up. How had he been so stupid? Might as well have said ‘Miss Rosenberg, I believe I may have begun to fancy you.’

Idiot.

"You could slow down, you know." Willow breathed, jogging to keep up with the long legged Professor that she had finally managed to catch up to. His face was a stony mask, as cold and unpleasant as the walls of the dungeons. "Oh, please. Don’t tell me you’re upset with me. It really is the last thing I need tonight."

She fell out of his line of sight so suddenly that he stopped moving, turning back. Standing there, in the middle of the hallway, Willow Rosenberg was looking at him through tear-filled eyes. He sighed.

"I am not upset with you." He growled. "And can we please leave it at that for this moment? We have more important things to think of than why I may or may not be upset over something."

Willow looked at him, realization dawning in her eyes. He had figured it out. What he had said. He had actually realized that he had said it. She felt like laughing aloud, but didn’t for fear that it would actually turn his wrath upon her. Plus, she wasn’t sure that the situation merited laughter yet. It was a bad thing, in many ways, for him to care for her or find her endearing in any way. So, instead, she nodded slightly, jogging again to reach him.

Like Professor Snape had said, there were more important things to take care of.

Much more important than her own feelings of guilt over slowly falling for this somewhat greasy, decidedly pale, often rude, Potions Master.

~*~Part Sixteen~*~

"This is – not a good thing."

Severus snorted, rolling his eyes at the definite understatement. They had just finished relaying to him everything Willow had admitted to during her tutoring session.

"You don’t say."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, favoring his Potions Master with a glance that clearly said that now was not a time for sarcasm, which was met with the perfunctory rolling of said Potions Master’s eyes.

"My child," the Headmaster continued, turning to Willow with the most reassuring smile he could muster. "I cannot help but feel as though we failed you. You were brought here to be sheltered from the weights of the world and yet you most definitely did not receive that."

Willow shrugged.

"You did the best you could, right? That’s more than Buffy and Xander and everyone else back home was doing. They were content to let me waste away in my room for the rest of time as long as I didn’t hurt anyone else. They never even checked on me. . . Not once . . . At least you guys tried to care, tried to help."

"You speak in the past tense." Dumbledore observed thoughtfully, leaning back against the edge of his desk. He looked down at her, eyes sad. "Do you think our help has come to an end?"

The red haired witch shrugged.

"Hasn’t it? I’m a bad person. This Dark Lord person wants me – which means I’m even more evil than I had originally thought, right. And, ya know, here I was thinking I was doing something right for a change, trying to get my life back on track. I was resisting the whole Dark magic thingie and I was going to class. Oh! I’m even getting ahead thanks to Hermione annoying me about studying all the time. Has anyone told that girl that she is seriously anal retentive when it comes to studying?"

She paused when Dumbledore began to chuckle, looking genuinely amused.

"Miss Rosenberg, rest assured that Miss Granger is only doing what she thinks is best and that *we*," He gestured to himself and Severus, meaning the staff. "Are not going to pull away our support simply because things are getting a little difficult. We were aware, in fact, of the Dark Lord’s interest in you prior to today."

Willow blinked at him, unsure of how to react to that little revelation. She felt surprised shock on one hand – surely this Voldemort guy was a little sharper than to just go about announcing his plans so that the good guys could thwart them? On the other hand, however, she felt a touch of anger. If they had known about the situation, shouldn’t they have at least told her? It did involve, well, *her*, after all.

"The Dark Lord would like for you to join his ranks by the Winter Holidays." Severus murmured quietly. "We did not tell you because we were not quite sure how we are going to handle the situation yet."

"What do you mean, ‘how you’re going to handle it’?" She asked indignantly. "I won’t be joining him, of course. You didn’t think I would, did you?"

"It is much more difficult than that." Dumbledore sighed. He reached for the candy dish on his desk, offering it to both Willow then Severus before taking one of the lemon drops for himself.

"How is it more difficult? I mean – I just tell him next time he rings me in my dreams that I’m not going to be one of his little minions and that he can go screw himself for all I care."

Severus choked back a laugh at the idea of anyone, especially this little slip of a woman, telling the Dark Lord to ‘go screw himself’. Though, if anyone dared, it was most likely her. She did have the power in this situation. It was for her power that the Dark Lord wanted her. With Willow at his side, Voldemort would be nearly unstoppable. And, if she wouldn’t come to his side, the goal would very quickly become to eliminate her entirely. Voldemort would not allow her to live if she turned down his offer of friendship or partnership.

"While that sentiment is amusing," Dumbledore conceded with a smile. "You will find that we are dealing with more than just your welfare in this matter. There are others whose very lives may hang in the balance if they do not accomplish the task of bringing you over."

Willow bit her lip, her eyes searching Dumbledore’s face.

"Why would they get in trouble?"

"Because the Dark Lord does not take kindly to failure." Professor Snape interjected softly. He met her emerald eyes, letting her see beneath his mask to the man that he was for just a moment. "He will torture, kill or both; those who do not meet his demands in a timely manner."

It was both the way he winced when he said ‘torture’ and the sadness in his eyes that gave away his secret to Willow.

"You?" She asked quietly, already sure of the answer she would receive. "He’ll hurt *you*?"

Severus tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"Among others. This was too small of a task to entrust to one lowly Death Eater, after all. He had to enlist a handful of us. –" He paused, his dark eyes going to Dumbledore, asking silently if it was okay for him to tell her the entire truth.

"Go ahead, Severus. I do not doubt that the faith I have placed in Miss Rosenberg shall be well rewarded by her not mentioning a word that you tell her outside of this office."

The Potions Master nodded and sighed.

"Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson have also been enlisted to subvert you to the Dark."

"Draco?" Willow asked quietly. "But he was so nice the other morning. . . practically saved me from this salivating group of Slytherins."

"He is a good child." Professor Snape admitted to her. "And you can believe that he does not want to be doing this. Nor does Pansy. But if they do not they are as good as dead when they go home for the holidays. Lucius Malfoy does not tolerate failure from anyone – not even his heir."

"But –" Willow stammered, her eyes wide with shock. "No. . . no . . . no! This isn’t fair. I don’t want to join this Voldemort guy. I’m a good girl, I swear. I mean, yeah, sure, I did some bad things. And it does feel good to be bad. And, okay Dark magic is nummy and makes me all tingly inside. But I don’t want to do that stuff anymore. But – I don’t want you or Draco or that Pansy girl to get hurt either. Especially not now that I know you think I’m endearing and all. I just want a normal life – or as normal as it can be at this point." She stopped, her eyes tearing up. "Please?"

"Endearing, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

"Headmaster, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss what I could possibly have meant by such a statement." Severus shot the red haired witch a glare, which she smartly returned with a bright, if not slightly worn around the edges, smile. The urge to kiss that smile right off of her lips was almost overwhelming, most especially so because of the pain he knew she was in. Comfort was easiest given in physical form and sexual pleasure really did cure all ills – for a time.

"He’s right. No time to discuss feelings or lack of feelings when there’s badness out there. . ." Willow agreed, tearing her eyes away from the man that her body was growing ever increasingly more aware of. "What are we going to do? I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me. . ."

"The first thing we are going to do is ensure that you get a good night’s sleep, free from the nightmares. Severus can assist you with a Potion for that, I’m sure." He waited for the Professor to nod before continuing. "The second item will be for us to meet, as one – including Mister Malfoy and Miss Parkinson, to determine what, if anything, can be done in this situation. I do not wish to lose my only Potions Professor anymore than you do, Willow. Nor will I knowingly allow for my students to come to harm."

"It just seems so – impossible. Maybe I should --- " She stopped, her eyes unfocused as she thought through the notion circling around in her brain.

"Should what?" Professor Snape prompted, weary and longing for his own bed if they were not to be doing anything else tonight.

Willow frowned for a moment, her teeth worrying with her lower lip.

"If I just act like I’m going to go through with it. . . and then join him and turn on him – he’d never know that you, or Draco or Pansy had anything to do with it, right? He would take out his anger on me and only me and -- "

"No!" Severus practically shouted, rising from his chair to pace. "You cannot do that. It is too dangerous. Do not even –think- about doing something so foolish as to go before him. He would kill you. I don’t think you understand what you are saying --"

"Shhh!" Willow murmured, standing up and catching him by the arm. She laid a finger on his lips, stopping his tirade. "Done? Good. It makes me all warm and tingly that you would worry about me enough to get all scream-and-shouty, but don’t for one second go all naïve on me and think that I can’t protect myself. Hello – Tried-to-End-the-World-Girl, here."

"Yes, ‘tried’." He sneered, berating himself for his weakness. "Did –not- succeed."

"Only because a friend pulled me back from the edge." She told him sadly, her eyes brimming with tears at the memories of that day, on the bluff overlooking Sunnydale, as she called upon all the forces of Darkness to bring about a cessation of all life on Earth. Hadn’t she felt like it was a mercy killing at the time? End the world to stop the pain that was going on? Save everyone from that horrible existence simply by ending existence entirely? It was a flawed plan, she could admit that now. "But I’m sure you knew that, so stop trying to bait me into being angry with you. It won’t work."

They stood there, staring at each other, both breathing heavily; caught up in a moment that neither was sure they wanted to leave or have end. They were alike, though they were both too stubborn to just jump up and admit it. And they needed each other just as much as they needed oxygen, though they were as yet too blind to see it. For that moment, though, they had that glimpse of understanding in each other’s eyes. And it was enough to give hope.

But, as usual, reality had to interfere.

"Severus. Willow." Dumbledore interjected quietly, before the pair before him could get into a fight, or begin snogging, or whatever it was that their rampant hormones seemed to be calling for at that moment. "I think that sleep is in order. We need to have clear heads for tomorrow. Since it is Saturday, may I suggest we all meet here after breakfast? I assume you can relay this message to Pansy and Draco, as well?"

Severus nodded sharply, once; his eyes still locked firmly on the woman in front of him, the one that still had her delicate finger to his lips.

"Willow – go with Severus for a sleeping potion and then I would like for you to get some rest."

The red head nodded quietly, still caught up in whatever moment she had made by standing up to her surly Potions Professor. She stepped back, dropping her finger from his lips, and blushed. Her body, mind, and even heart, were betraying her, it seemed. The pain she felt over Tara’s loss was slowly being replaced by a worn sense of grief, that was fading each time she touched or spoke with the man in front of her.

"Go on, then." Dumbledore nodded towards his door, wondering belatedly if he was going to have to physically push them from his office so that he, too, could get some rest before their ‘war council’ in the morning.

"Yes, sir. " Willow was the first to respond, tugging lightly on Severus’ sleeve. "Good night."

They walked out into the halls, Willow following along behind her Professor absently as they wandered back towards the dungeons. Her head was full of information, her heart was near bursting with conflicting emotions – and she was tired.

"That Dark Lord guy won’t get upset when he can’t get into my dreams tonight, will he?" She broke the silence hesitantly.

"If it happened every night – yes. But for one night – not hardly. You may tell him that you were ill and the school nurse forced you to take it, if you feel up to creating a falsehood."

Willow smirked playfully at his back, stopping behind him as he release the wards on the door to his private chambers.

"One more lie on a list of sins like mine isn’t going to hurt me very much, Professor."

Severus paused, wand in hand. He turned to face her, not caring that they were still in the dungeon halls.

"You should stop that. Sins are sins, yes. But they can be forgiven and atoned for just like anything else. Begin to move on from them for your sake as well as everyone else’s."

Willow stared at Snape even as he turned back to the door and finished with the last of the wards. Had he really just told her to move on? The man that admitted that he, himself, had done awful things had just told –her- that she should ‘move on’? She frowned, following him into his rooms.

"Is it that simple?" She asked as he searched through a shelf that held dozens of potions. "To just forgive yourself for what you’ve done? Do you just wave your wand and ‘poof’, it happens?"

Severus arched an eyebrow at her.

"No. It doesn’t happen just like *that*." He snapped his fingers. "However, it will never happen unless you are willing for it to. If you insist on wallowing in your self-pity and sense of guilt, then there is nothing we can do to stop you. I would ask, though, that you at least give yourself a chance at living again. The forgiveness may come with time, or it may not, but –live-. You have a second chance, which is one more than most people will ever get."

"Live." Willow snorted. "Warren didn’t get to live. Rack didn’t get to live. I took their lives with a wave of my hand and a song in my heart. It felt good and I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t do it again if I had the choice. They were evil. They deserved it. But, in the end, I’m not God. I shouldn’t have been the one to decide."

Severus shrugged.

"The one man, Rack, was a Dark Arts dealer – yes? Well, then – believe me when I say that no one will count his death against you. He would have faced similar should he have been caught by one of our Aurors. The other – Warren – he killed your lover? In cold blood."

"Yes." Willow whispered, swaying on her feet. She took a step back, bumping into a chair that conveniently happened to be there, and sat down. "He killed Tara."

"Well then you did what you did out of passion. And he was far from innocent. You may not be God, but you are human. And as a human you are prone to fits of passion. This is not to say that murder is an acceptable outlet for passion – but it was justified in this case."

"I wish I could believe that." She sighed, closing her eyes. She felt something cold and hard press into her hand. A vial. For the potion, most likely. She unstoppered it and drank it in one swallow without ever opening her eyes. "I wish I could forgive myself for at least that much – maybe not the ending the world thing, because it wouldn’t be right if I could forgive myself for that, you know."

The soft, easy sound of her light breathing announced the end of her babble and presented Severus with a new problem entirely. He had never meant for her to drink that potion while in his rooms or any time, for that matter, before she was safely back in her own bed. It worked fast, as she was now most definitely an example of. But, being the headstrong and brazen young woman she was, she had drank it before he could give her any instructions.

And now she was asleep.

In his rooms.

He sighed and shook his head.

"Best let Dumbledore know about this." He muttered to himself, transfiguring the chair she sat on into an adequately sized cot.

"Accio blanket. Accio pillow." The items flew into his hands, and he arranged the sleeping woman in a more comfortable, and warm, position. She had a peaceful smile on her face – one that he didn’t doubt was the first she had been privileged enough to have since arriving at the school. He looked down at her sleeping form before tossing some powder into the fireplace and calling for Dumbledore.

At least he’d be able to make sure she got a restful night’s sleep tonight.

Even though having her this close, and in his private rooms, did present a mighty test of his willpower, his brain insisted, as he waited for the Headmaster to answer his call. He turned back to Willow, watching her sleep so quietly; forcing down his body’s reactions to such a beautiful, and arousing, sight.

A mighty test, indeed.

~*~Part Seventeen~*~

She awoke to the sight of a ceiling that was most decidedly not the red and gold canopy over her own bed. In fact, it wasn’t a bed canopy at all, as far as she could tell. More like stones. Fighting back the instant urge to panic, Willow took instead a moment to gather her thoughts around her like a shield. What had happened the night before and why was she wherever she was?

Dumbledore.

She had gone with Professor Snape to see Dumbledore. They had talked about her nightmares and the fact that the Dark Lord was ready and willing to take her into his ranks. And he had told her that there were lives counting on whether or not she actually did join up over the Winter Holidays. That break was still pretty far away, but that didn’t stop her from worrying about the immediacy facing her.

After they had agreed to meet for breakfast to discuss it all, Snape had taken her back to his rooms to get a sleeping potion, something to keep her nightmares at bay for the night so that she could finally get a good night’s rest.

‘A potion which I stupidly chugged right there in his rooms like an idiot.’ She sighed, understanding now where she was. She sat up, looking around the room she had spent the night in. The cot beneath her was new, she was sure of that. So Professor Snape wasn’t above a little silly wand waving when it came to Transfiguration, hmm? And he was right good at it, from what she could tell. The blanket that covered her was warm, while the room outside of the blanket looked decidedly cold. Just like a dungeon room should be, she reasoned silently. The room was definitely Snape, though, she could tell without even looking around. Dark and dungeony. Yep. That was Snape.

"You’re awake."

She couldn’t help but laugh after getting over the initial shock of the voice and its owner, sneaking up behind her like a thief in the night come to rob her of her sensibilities.

"And you are ever the master of the obvious."

Severus Snape raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t chastise her for her lapse in protocol or ‘cheek’ towards a Professor. She doubted a younger student would have gotten away with it. Or even an older student that he hadn’t admitted to having the most minor of feelings towards.

"I assume you will wish to go back to your rooms and change before we meet with Dumbledore this morning?" It was hardly a question on his part, more of a suggestion it seemed. He cast a look of distaste at her robes from the night before, now wrinkled and mussed. "I am sure that your roommate is wondering where you disappeared to, as well. If you must tell her the truth, which I am sure you will do with that insane Gryffindor desire to pull one’s associates into the mess they are in, then please do so with discretion. You hold more than just yours and my life in your hands, you know."

Willow nodded slowly, giving her Potions Professor a small, reassuring smile. She hadn’t forgotten about his comment the night before. Her babbling was endearing. And she was going to take that to mean that he found her to be endearing as well, maybe even more so when she wasn’t babbling than when she was.

"I’ll see you later." She murmured, resting a hand lightly on his arm before slipping past him and out of the private rooms. The longing to kiss him, even if just for a moment, was nearly overwhelming. What would it take on her part just to give in and run back? To grab onto those pristine black robes and pull his mouth to hers for a kiss that, she hoped, would knock both of them off of their feet?

What would it take?

‘Too much.’ She sighed to herself. It would still take too much for her to give in to her feelings like that, though the amount it would ‘take’ was growing less and less each moment she spent in his company, it seemed.

She moved through the halls of the castle, noting vaguely to herself that it couldn’t be too late in the morning yet. The halls were still relatively empty, with only a small spattering of students up and around to see her wandering up from the dungeons in robes that looked, and had, been slept in. The Fat Lady swung aside when she murmured the password, and it was relief that she saw that the Gryffindor common room was also devoid of activity.

So far, so good, she mused.

But that kind of luck couldn’t hole, she realized all too soon, as she opened the door to her room.

Hermione was already up, if she had even gone to sleep in the first place. The dark circles under her eyes would indicate that she had not done so.

"Where have you been?" The younger witch exclaimed frantically, jumping up from her bed and running over to Willow. She eyed the other woman suspiciously, a gleam in her eyes. "Was it a boy? You were out with a boy all night?"

Willow had to laugh.

"Hermione, as I’m sure you realize, the ‘boys’ at this school are, at the least, four or five years my junior. I truly doubt I would be out with one of them. . . That’s just. . .well. . . ick!"

The brunette witch managed a shaky laugh, though it was clear by the look in her eyes that she was still disturbed by Willow’s lack of presence in the dorm room that prior night.

"So – where were you, then?" She persisted after only a moment. "Last thing I heard, you had detention with Professor Snape. . ."

"That’s right." Willow nodded, weighing her options in regards to Hermione. She knew she could trust the other girl, but did she really want to trust her with this much? It wasn’t that she was doubtful of the other witch’s loyalties, she just didn’t want to burden her with so much when she was still trying so hard to just have normal childhood, it seemed.

Finally, though, the need for a plausible explanation won out against any misgivings she may have had.

"Herminone." She began quietly, gesturing for the brunette to sit down. "If I tell you something can you keep it between us? Not even tell Harry and Ron?"

That took the younger witch back a step, and she could almost hear the other girl wondering what she was about to get herself into. Thankfully, or unthankfully as it were, Hermione was naturally curious and could always be counted on to venture into areas where even angels feared tread.

"If this has something to do with where you were last night, or why you look as though you fell asleep in your robes, then I swear."

"Good." Willow sighed. "This is what happened. . ."

~*~

Thirty minutes later Willow was done with her tale, including the parts about Snape, Draco and Pansy; and was waiting patiently for Hermione to say something, anything.

"Wow." The brunette finally uttered. "That’s awful . . . " She shook her head, as if to clear the cobwebs that had cropped up while listening to the whole awful story. "So – what are you going to do?"

Willow shrugged, sad.

"We don’t know yet. S’posed to be meeting after breakfast with the others in Dumbledore’s office to try to figure out a plan."

Hermione nodded.

"I think you should do it." She murmured, eyes unfocused with the pure effort of highly concentrated thinking.

"But –"

"No, don’t get me wrong, now." The other woman shook her head at the look on the red head’s face. "I don’t think you should join the Death Eaters. Not in the least. But – you should *act* like you’re going to. Have Snape give you some ‘extra lessons’ that can get back to Voldemort. Let Draco and Pansy start ‘getting close’ to you. Make it seem like they’re trying, but that its taking a while. In the meantime Dumbledore can try to figure out a way to protect his informants when the charade is exposed."

It was so simple.

Act like she was going to go along with it and work towards something else.

So simple.

And it seemed like a really good idea, she admitted. If Voldemort thought his followers were trying and that she was just being stubborn, then he wouldn’t be looking for immediate results. It was only the beginning of October, that gave them a little over two months to come up with a way to get everyone out of this situation intact.

"You know – that’s a good idea. For now." She smiled at the younger witch. "I knew there had to be a reason why they called you the smartest girl in the school."

Hermione laughed, her earlier fears washed away under the valid explanation she had been given. Now there were new fears, of course. Fears for three people she had never thought she would care enough about to ever be truly afraid for.

Severus Snape.

Draco Malfoy.

And Pansy Parkinson.

Odd how life sometimes threw you a curveball.

Or three.

~*~

Draco walked hand in hand with Pansy behind Professor Snape, up out of the dungeons. They sought solace in each other at that moment. Not because they were dating, because they weren’t. But because they were both in the same sinking boat. Their Lord wanted something and he had charged them to do it.

And they had no choice but to fail miserably, for the sake of the wizarding world, though their own lives may be held forfeit for their ‘inability’.

The sight of Professor Snape, interrupting their conversation only moments before to lead them to see Dumbledore had come as something of a shock. If what Dumbledore needed to see them about was relating to the information they had given him on Voldemort’s plans for Willow Rosenberg sending Snape to fetch them was just foolish. Hadn’t he been clear with the old man on Snape’s role in the Death Eater inner circle? He certainly wasn’t Voldemort’s right hand man, but he was close.

And now that same inner circle villain was taking them to see Dumbledore. Draco couldn’t help the shiver of horror that flashed over his skin. If his father were to find out that he had turned colors and given up some very precious secrets, all would be lost for him. Lucius Malfoy would find him the second he stepped foot outside of the safety of Hogwarts and the Unforgiveables would be the least of the curses he would need to fear at that point.

And the fun wouldn’t stop there, he was sure. The Death Eaters in general were pretty well schooled in the various methods of torture one could inflict with even the most mundane of devices.

And his father definitely had things that were above ‘mundane’.

They stopped outside of the entrance to Dumbledore’s office, the two students glancing at each other with growing fear when Snape didn’t just usher them in, but instead preceded them up the stairs.

He was going to see Dumbledore, with them?

"This isn’t good." Draco mumbled.

Pansy could only nod, the fear in her heart making its way to her throat, preventing any further attempts at speaking at that time.

"I told him about Snape." The blonde haired boy continued, feeling even more betrayed when he saw who else was in Dumbledore’s office.

Willow Rosenberg.

And Hermione Granger.

It wasn’t the sight of the Granger girl that worked him up inside to a state of high anxiety. No, that honor lay solely in Willow Rosenberg, the one that was sitting there chatting quite amicably with Hermione Granger.

And Snape was still there.

Snape was taking a seat, even.

"Mister Malfoy, Miss Parkinson – sit, please." Dumbledore invited congenially, offering them a candy. "You are no doubt wondering while I’ve called you here this morning. First off, let me start by apologizing for monopolizing a clear, sunny Saturday morning."

"That’s alright, sir." Draco merely murmured for both himself and the still shocked to muteness Pansy. "We were just talking, anyway."

"About the situation?" The Headmaster inquired gently. He didn’t need Madam Pomfrey’s superior healing skills to know that neither of the children sitting before him had slept very well the night before, or perhaps even the nights before that. This was weighing heavily on them.

Draco gasped, frantic silvery eyes now darting from Dumbledore to Snape and the back again.

"Headmaster – I really don’t think this is the time to discuss this." He managed to grind out from between clenched teeth. He was a dead man. His father would hear about this before the day was over and he’d be as good as dead. Merlin’s beard! Why did the Headmaster have to always believe that he knew best even when he knew nothing at all?

"Ah. I see the problem." Dumbledore chuckled. "You haven’t told him yet, Severus?"

Draco saw something suspiciously close to a smile pass over Snape’s lips.

"No, Headmaster. That would have ruined the. . . surprise of it all."

"This was not a time for surprises." The older wizard admonished gently, his own eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Excuse me?" Pansy growled, her fear abating long enough for true anger to shine through. Draco could tell that she was irritated beyond belief at the two men that were jibing back and forth with each other without even the slightest regard for the hysterical children before them. Willow, for her part, looked sadly serene, an expression he had come to identify as being her normal state.

"What is going on here?" The fifth year witch exclaimed.

Dumbledore was now smiling, a movement that annoyed Draco and his terrified sensibilities to no end.

"Children, I apologize for Severus’ twisted sense of humor." He chuckled lightly. "What he neglected to mention to the two of you prior to this meeting is that he has been, and is still currently, a spy for our side against the Dark Lord."

Draco slumped back in his chair with shocked relief, noting absently that Pansy had just fainted outright.

Just when he thought his life couldn’t get any more complicated . . .

~*~Part Eighteen~*~

Willow stumbled wearily back through the corridors and hallways of Hogwarts. She could feel the darkness at the edge of her mind, begging to be released to wreak its own particular brand of havoc on the world.

But she didn’t dare let it go.

Not even now when it was so tempting. Just let free with the power she held inside and go find this Voldemort guy and make him pay dearly for daring to threaten someone she cared for.

‘Ah, so now I can admit I care for him?’ She questioned herself silently, shaking her head in silent remonstration. How had she fallen so far? Tara was her one. Her only. Her soulmate. No one else was allowed or deserved that place in her heart. But yet, here was Severus Snape, teacher at the Hell she had to endure for the next three to four years, and he was calling out to her soul like no one other than Tara had ever done. He was making her feel like there could possibly be a reason to keep living, a reason not to just give in to that horrible self-destruct longing she had been coping with for months now.

But he hadn’t said very much to her. Not during the meeting earlier that day. Nor as they parted ways outside of Dumbledore’s office, with him promising to get with her the next day to work out their specific portion of The Plan. They would be having ‘private lessons’. Lessons that were specifically meant to make the Dark Lord think that the Potions master was doing his part in the effort to get her to go over to that side of this little war that was brewing between the forces of the Light and the forces of the Dark.

And so, with his lack of conversation about ‘them’, she had to wonder if there was even a ‘them’ to talk about. All he had ever said was that her babbling was endearing, after all. He hadn’t said that he wanted to date her, wanted to kiss her or anything of that nature. It was stupid and wrong of her to assume otherwise. Endearing babbling didn’t make for a relationship, if indeed a relationship was even what she wanted.

Which, it wasn’t.

No.

Not at all.

She, Willow Rosenberg, did not desire in any way to begin a relationship with the quietly sexy, tall-dark-and-mysterious Professor Severus Snape.

Uh uh.

She mumbled the password for the Gryffindor common room, ignoring the mother-hen like ramblings coming from the Fat Lady as she did so. She missed Sunnydale at times like these, when portraits felt the need to ask her why she ‘looked so down’ and recommend that she ‘cheer up some’. Why did even paintings have to get involved in her life?

The common room was devoid of anyone that ran even a remote chance of wanting to speak to her. For the most part the members of her House avoided her like the plague. She knew why, of course. And she didn’t truly blame them. Would she want to be friends with the girl who tried to end the world?

Not hardly.

In fact, she doubted very much if she would have ever given a person like that the time of day. Hadn’t she been so prejudiced back then? Assuming that using the Dark Arts made a person Dark themselves. Not that she wasn’t Dark, she just wasn’t a ‘bad person’, so to speak. She had done ‘bad things’ and would kick herself for the rest of her life. But she was nothing compared to people like Voldemort.

Or was she?

She trudged up to her bedroom, unsurprised that Hermione hadn’t returned yet. It was still early in the evening and the younger witch had said something about studying for one thing or another in the library, with Ron and Harry. That was all fine and good, Willow didn’t feel like company anyway. She had too much on her mind, too many things to ponder and discuss, internally, with herself.

‘Like what to do about this Voldemort guy in the long run.’ She gathered up her bathing things as she thought, quietly padding down the stairs and into the Gryffindor girls’ bathroom. The room was empty, thankfully, and she was soon sliding into a hot bath, letting the warm waters work their way into her aching muscles. She let the warmth soothe her senses, calm her mind.

And before she knew it –

She was asleep.

~*~

The scene was one she recognized well, one that last night’s gentle potion-induced reprieve from had been blessed. The foggy nothingness was difficult to even stare upon, knowing what she knew now. And she fought to school her face into a mask of sadness, of despair, as the one that came to her in this place would expect such things of her.

"So sad, still?"

She nearly tripped over her feet to turn towards the voice that drifted over her shoulder. She stared at the hooded creature, one she had now heard so much about, and calmly replied.

"I have nothing to be happy about."

There was a slithering rustle of laughter, and it chilled the little warmth in her heart.

"You are still alive and free, child. That, in itself, is something to be happy about. You are healthy of the body, sound of the mind. And you are power personified. Why not be happy with that?"

Willow bit back any stinging retorts she may have felt the urge to say, replying instead.

"I deserve to suffer. Nothing more. What I did was wrong."

It was the same song and dance that they had been through time and again. She was remorseful and he was there, telling her everything would be okay. That things would work themselves out and that, really, she had no reason to be upset with herself. He would insinuate that she had done the ‘right thing’ and that feeling guilty for that was just ‘unnatural’.

‘No more unnatural than he is.’ She thought snidely, waiting for the faked sincerity of compliments that were about to come. She could see his eyes, red and baleful, flickering from beneath the hood and felt fear in her heart. What if she said the wrong thing? What if she were unable to keep up with the charade that Severus, Draco and Pansy depended on her for?

She felt the fear spread through her heart, overtaking her senses, and realized with a start that this was all his fault. This fear wasn’t natural. She knew her body, and knew that this type of overriding fear wasn’t something that she would normally deal with in this situation. She ground her teeth together, trying to push away his empathic demands.

And just when she felt that she couldn’t bear anymore, that his will would dominate her own. . .

There was a flash, a woman’s commanding voice, and a single phrase, spoken harshly.

"Not tonight."

Willow flinched, the light blinding. She felt something pull away, receding further and further from her mind and body until that awful taint that she had come to associate with the one known as Lord Voldemort was gone.

"Open your eyes, baby."

She stiffened. That voice was so familiar. So achingly, heartbreakingly familiar. It was the same voice that she had held tight to in her memories, clinging to it like a lifeline when things got hard.

"Tara?"

Emerald eyes opened, falling immediately on the smiling form of her lover, standing just in front of her. The fogs were gone. The endless screaming that came out of nowhere, reminding her of the billions she nearly destroyed – that was gone too. The dreamscape was now a rolling green hill of a landscape, blue sky and white clouds overhead. It was beautiful, the type of place she would have loved to have made love to Tara in.

But Tara was dead –

"Is that really you?" She whispered, afraid in her heart of hearts that this was just another manifestation of the Dark Lord, trying to trick her into going to the Dark.

"Of course." Tara giggled, and it was that little mannerism that gave Willow the reassurance she needed. The Dark Lord had never met Tara. He could not mimic her movements in such an accurate and believable way.

"Oh – Tara." Willow sobbed, falling into strong arms that were already open and waiting for her. She cried for what seemed like forever, the clouds rolling by somewhere over her head, her lover’s tender touch caressing her back as she poured out her heart to the one person she had ever felt understood her. Tara had been her soulmate. Her love for all of the ages. And now she was gone.

"Shhh." Tara murmured firmly, as the river of tears from the red head’s eyes began to slow. "You need to listen to me now, sweetie. I have some things to say to you and I don’t have all night to do it, okay?"

Willow pulled away, wiping her face on the sleeve of the cotton shift she had come to the dream realm in.

"G-Go ahead." She sniffled, trying to calm herself enough to just pay attention; to not dwell on a moment she knew would be ending sooner or later.

Tara smiled, gently running her hand down Willow’s cheek.

"I’ve missed you, you know. The havens just aren’t the same without you there, with me. But its not your time yet. And you need to get on with the living, dear heart."

"But. . . Tara. You don’t understand. After you died. . . I did some very, very bad things. Bad as in Buffy needed to try to stop me type of bad things."

Tara nodded, her smile still in place, though a little softer, her eyes sparkling with a reassurance that could never be truly voiced and have any meaning. It was a feeling, nothing more, and it quieted Willow the way words never would be able to.

"I know what you did." The blonde haired woman, a witch in life and now an angelic vision of mercy to Willow’s tired soul, murmured softly. "And you need to know something – I. Don’t. Blame. You." She grinned at the gasp that came from her lover’s lips. "I know, shocking isn’t it? That I would be so understanding to you. You lost me. I was your lifeline and I know it. That had to hurt. You killed Rack. No big loss. You killed Warren and sped up his one way ticket to Hell. So – no one appointed you the Angel of Death. Big deal. It wasn’t the right thing to do – but you did it anyway. And I don’t care. I’m not disappointed in you and I have it on very good authority that you haven’t damned yourself to fire and brimstone for eternity, either."

"But –"

"No!" Tara exclaimed joyously. "No more ‘buts’ or ‘should haves’. No more ‘if onlys’ or ‘maybe ifs’. You did what you did and no one, not even them." She pointed towards the heavens. "Blames you. Just, next time, try not to take that anger out on the world, too. That would have been a Very Bad Thing."

Tara winked and Willow giggled, the mood lightened between them considerably, and Willow allowed herself just to breathe in the scent of her lover, imprinting it in her memory anew.

"There’s one more thing I need to tell you." The blonde began again after a moment of relaxing silence. "And this one might be even harder than the other one was. . . But. . . you need to accept it for what it is. . ."

Willow glanced up into her lover’s face, her forehead wrinkling with confusion. What else could be more difficult than what she had already had to hear?

"Severus Snape." Tara began slowly. "You - -"

"There’s nothing between us!" Willow cried, saddened that Tara would bring up the matter at all, when it was already weighing so heavily on her heart. "You have to believe me. I may be lusty, but I’m faithful to you, baby. I will never betray your memory. Never!"

"Stop that!" Tara sighed, throwing up a hand in frustration. "Do you think I want you to live your life being alone? When there’s so much life left to live? So much happiness left to have? Do you really think that’s something I would do?"

The red head blinked, thinking about the question for the first time.

"No." She said finally, shaking her head slowly. "You wouldn’t want that, would you?"

"Of course not!" Tara grinned. "And believe me, you need to take whatever he is offering. The two of you are perfect for each other. I did my research. He’s all broody and you’re so perky. The two of you balance each other out. Yin and yang, if you get my meaning. So – stop beating yourself up for it. After all, I had to pull a lot of strings to get Them." Another glance to the heavens. "To allow you to have two soulmates in one lifetime."

Willow gasped.

"You – He --- Oh, Goddess."

"Yeah. ‘Oh, Goddess’ is right. And She doesn’t want to see you be all lurky, broody girl either! You’re giving Angel a run for his money in that department, so pull it together and you and Severus be happy. I’ll be waiting for you, in the havens, one day. For both of you. I look forward to meeting him. But not yet. No time soon. Neither of you are destined to be with me for a long, long time. I wanna see babies in the future when I’m looking over your shoulder all guardian-like! Though, not literally, you know. This is a one time thing."

The red haired witch laughed, blushing simultaneously.

"I don’t think things have gone that far yet. No babies in the near future. I don’t even know if he feels like that about me . . ."

"He does." Tara nodded firmly. "Like I said. I pulled some strings. Soulmates."

She placed a hand on Willow’s arm, looking over her shoulder almost immediately, her eyes widening to a voice only she could hear.

"I have to go." She sighed sadly, turning back to the woman that had stolen her heart. "Keep in mind everything I said, though."

Willow felt tears come to her eyes and she shut them so Tara wouldn’t see. There was a brief warmth on her lips. . . and then. . .

"I’ll always love you."

When the red head opened her eyes again she was awake, in the bathroom. The water in the tub was cold now, and she was breathing heavily. She shivered, leaning her head back against the edge of the tub, a whisper of a sigh escaping her lips.

"Tara. . ."

And then. . .

"Severus . . ."

~*~Part Nineteen – In Which Smooching Commences Post Haste~*~

Stumbling from the bathtub and throwing off the last remnants of sleep that had invaded her mind, Willow hastily dried her body with a quick flick of her wand. Normally she would have taken the time to allow herself the one simple pleasure of running a towel over her body, of letting the fuzzy cloth suck at her skin and pull the water from upon it. It was one of the only pleasures she had allowed herself after her ‘dark phase’; that sensual feeling of cloth against skin, rough against smooth, dry against drying.

But she had no time for that right now.

Tara had told her things.

Tara had been there, in her dream. She had chased away Voldemort, giving her a sweet dream instead of a nightmare for once. And she had said. . .A lot. . . But most importantly. . .

Soulmates. . .

Dear . . . Sweet. . . Goddess.

Her and Severus were. . .

It was unbelievable. In fact, if Tara hadn’t been the one to tell her, she would have continued to berate herself for all of eternity over what she had begun to feel for the surly Potions Master.

There was no use in denying it now, though.

No use at all.

She shivered, donning the nightshirt she had brought into the bathroom with her before running from the room and back to her bedroom. Slipping a fresh robe over her head, the witch sprinted, barefoot, from her room and down the stairs. Then into the common room, out of the portrait hole. . .

Before she could even form another conscious thought about what she was going to do and to whom, she was running through the halls of the school. Down, down, into the dungeons. The stones were cold beneath her feet and she wished for one moment that she had put on her slippers before leaving her dormitory.

She was going to Him.

She was going to see the one that Tara had told her about; the one that Tara had promised her she had gone to great lengths to set her up with.

As a soulmate.

Bonded, for all of time.

Just like she was to Tara, though Tara was gone. She’d see the blonde witch again, one day. In the havens, far away from the toils and troubles of this world. They’d be happy again, one day. . . and Tara was looking forward to meeting Severus. . .

She had even said so.

But, best of all, Tara had said that Willow was not eternally damned.

There was still hope for her. She was not yet an instrument of the Dark Arts. She was still a warrior of the Light, just as she had always been. She just needed to start over, to make herself what she once was and leave the wallowing in pity to those that deserved it more.

And it all began with being happy again, with allowing herself more than just the simple pleasures. She needed the whole, great big, whopping pleasures again. The ones that came from caring and being cared about. The type of pleasures that made you feel something, instead of going to sleep at night with a big aching pit where your heart was supposed to be.

Those were the type of pleasures she needed in her life.

And, by ‘giving her’ Severus, Tara had also given her one last chance at recapturing those pleasures, at making them a part of her life again.

She stopped before the door to Severus’ chambers, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. It seemed difficult to just swallow and breathe now that she was here; waiting to do what she had intended to do from the moment she set foot outside of her room.

And wasn’t it easier now that she had ‘spoken’ with Tara, than it would have been before? Now she had the blessing of the one she trusted more than anyone else in the entire world.

It was almost as though the air was dense as she raised her hand, slow motion kicking in as her brain worked itself into a state of delirium in her anxiety. She watched in a sort of fascination as her hand moved, as if of its own accord, towards the door; her eventual knock ringing through the empty dungeon hallway.

She held her breath, waiting to see if he would answer. It wasn’t too terribly late. But she did not know his sleeping schedule, either. And there was always that possibility that he wasn’t in his rooms at all. . . he was a Potions Master. Perhaps he was working in a lab somewhere, restocking the healing potions the infirmary needed? Or working on something top secret and powerful for the fight against the Dark. Perhaps researching a cure for some sort of wizarding disease?

The possibilities were endless.

Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, the red haired witch turned her head to the left, then right, checking to make sure no one was coming. She didn’t want rumors to get started. . . a student outside of a Professor’s rooms at night? It could be quite scandalous.

Though, not nearly as scandalous as what she had planned if he did open that door and let her into his rooms, and life.

The click of the latch on the door being pressed drew her out of her thoughts of what students would think if they saw her here and more firmly in the direction of exactly what she was going to say when the door opened.

‘Guess what I talked to Tara and she said you and I are, you know, soulmates. . .We’re going to be doing that whole eternal bond thing for, well, eternity.’

Nah, that just didn’t seem like something that would work too terribly well with Severus.

The time for decisions came and went remarkably quickly, as the door swung open to reveal the man himself, in all of his black-robed, entirely wicked-looking, glory. She stared at him, mouth agape, trying to get her head together; it was the subtle raising of his eyebrow that sent her over the edge.

"Oh – to Hell with it!" She muttered, throwing herself at him. She pressed herself along the full length of his body, one hand snaking up behind his neck to pull his head down, mouth to hers. She only briefly allowed herself one more thought on students seeing them before her lips met his, crashing into them with a strength she hadn’t been aware she possessed.

He growled into her mouth, fighting to pull back from the embrace that she held him to so strongly.

She felt it the moment he finally gave up, the moment that he relaxed into her arms, allowing himself to return the kiss that she was intent on lavishing upon him with or without his consent. His lips parted, mouth opening under the urgent ministrations of her tongue. At that moment she wasn’t sure if the moaning she heard was hers or his, certainly it seemed like a mixture of the two, a blending of femininity with masculinity in these animalistic groans of pure pleasure.

He pulled her backwards, into his rooms, the door slamming shut behind them.

Willow abandoned herself to him, to this feeling between them; the same one she had been trying to deny since the first moment she saw him. It had been wrong of her to assume their only kinship lay within their mutual experiences with the Dark Arts, especially in light of the new information Tara had presented her with. This man, this Potions Master, was one with her, in soul and spirit. He was her mate for the rest of her time upon this earth.

She grabbed his lip between her teeth, pulling at it roughly before relinquishing it back to his control.

"Miss ---"

"Willow." She corrected, breaking contact with him only long enough to murmur her name before her lips were once again working at his, tearing down all of his carefully placed barriers against emotions and passion. She was the key to his undoing, yes; but in no way he could have ever imagined.

He pulled back, holding her at arms’ length with the little willpower he still had in him.

"We should not be doing this. . . not so soon after. . ."

"Uh uh. You will not be doing that! No turning me away, no telling me this is wrong. For the first time in months I feel *alive*! I feel like I have something to live for. . . someone to live for. . ."

Severus listened to her with wide eyes, his expression carefully guarded as she shrugged easily out of his now limp grasp.

"Don’t tell me you can’t feel it, Severus." His given name rolled like honey from her lips. "Tell me you can’t feel the connection between us, that bond that can’t be described. If you tell me you can’t feel that then I will leave. . .Though I won’t promise not to return."

But he couldn’t say what she asked.

He couldn’t say it because he *did* feel it; had felt it from the moment she first set foot in his classroom.

Without his protestations to stop her, Willow stepped into his arms, her mouth seeking his with the unerring accuracy of one who had a map to his very soul.

And he could have sworn, right before she let her lips touch his again, that he heard her whisper:

"Besides, I have it on excellent authority that what we’re doing is meant to be."

~*~Part Twenty~*~

It wasn’t easy to rattle Draco Malfoy.

In fact he prided himself on being one of the most unflappable people he knew.

But the events of that day had rocked his world to its very foundation, creating wave after crashing wave of shock within a soul he had thought before could never be so set in turmoil.

Snape was a spy.

He felt a laugh bubble up from within him, pouring from his lips in a dry chuckle that drew stares from the few Slytherins gathered around the fireplace of their common room. He could almost read the pity in their eyes. Poor Draco, his father’s going to have his arse if he doesn’t succeed.

Poor Draco.

He snorted, standing with a flourish and tossing his onlookers a sneer. His room was a better place for this kind of thinking than the common room. Goyle and Crabbe were still at dinner. He could have a little time to himself just to remember what had happened earlier that day, to relive the shocked amazement time and time again.

~*~Flashback~*~

"You’re. . ."

Severus Snape raised an eyebrow at his young charge.

"Yes, Mister Malfoy?"

"Sir, its just . . . father says. . ." And again Draco found himself stumbling over his words, glancing sideways just a bit to watch as Willow fanned Pansy’s face, trying to get the younger witch to wake up. He frowned, shaking his head in annoyed shock.

"Your father says a great many of things. Which is it that you are referring to in this instance?"

"Well, he’s always said that you are one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted servants." Draco stammered, confused to the core by the revelations that had been tossed at him without so much as a warning. Even now he felt as though his heart was likely to burst from his chest at any moment and flop wetly on the ground at his feet, beating painfully.

"Indeed." Severus smirked. "One would assume that I do well at my task as spy then, hmmm?"

"But – why didn’t you tell us?" Draco protested, scowling. "Pansy and I could have used you . . . for talking. . . it is so hard sometimes. You had to have known that we –"

"Had to have known?" Severus snorted. "Until the Headmaster informed me of his meeting with you the other day I hadn’t the slightest clue as to your feelings on the subject, Mister Malfoy. In fact, I firmly believed that I had failed and you were destined for the Dark Mark the moment you turned seventeen."

It had hit Draco at that moment, as he looked into the dark eyes of the man in front of him – Severus Snape was a good person. He was surly, a bit rude and callous. And he was one of the sternest, cruelest teachers Hogwarts had ever seen. But he was not a true Death Eater in the sense of being evil. In fact, he was a true hero, going undercover as spy, risking his own life for the betterment of others’.

And he cared about his students.

‘Failed you’, he had said; allowing Draco into his innermost thoughts. He felt like a failure each time he wasn’t able to stop one of his charges from joining the Dark.

"Sir. . .neither Pansy nor myself want the Dark Mark. . . we’ve been fighting against it for years. . . but, you know, ultimatums. We’ll get it on our seventeenth birthdays, if not before."

He said it with a resignation that clearly lacked the one thing that was integral to succeeding in a plan such as this –

Hope.

Draco Malfoy lacked hope.

He knew that it was possible to get out of the current situation alive and still with their cover intact as long as they played their cards right. But after that? There would be nothing to stop his father from hauling him before the Dark Lord for the Mark.

Not a single thing.

"I have told you before, young Malfoy, that I will protect you. Do you think I have forgotten that vow already?"

Draco smiled sadly at Dumbledore.

"Can you really protect me from my own father, Headmaster?"

The wizened wizard smiled gently.

"I believe I can protect you from You-Know-Who himself, or else I would not hesitate to send you into hiding right at this very moment. Lucius Malfoy, for all that he believes he is a powerful, evil creature; is no hard task."

Draco smirked. How his father would get all red and angry if he knew that someone had dared to say that about him, behind his back nonetheless. It was amusing, he conceded silently, to know how the ‘other side’ thought and felt. Dumbledore was quietly confident in his abilities.

And that gave Draco some hope.

"Dray—"

The blonde haired wizard turned to see Pansy slowly coming out of her shock-induced stupor. Her plain face was scrunched up with confusion, eyes still shut. It appeared as though she was fighting against waking up. He couldn’t say as how he blamed her, this was all like some sort of twisted dream turned nightmare turned dream again.

"It’s okay, Pans." He grabbed hold of her hand, squeezing it lightly.

"I had the strangest dream, Dray. Snape wasn’t the git we thought he was. . . not a spying bastard. . ."

Draco blanched, raising terrified eyes to look at Snape just as Pansy dared to open her eyes. She followed his line of sight, cringing when she saw who was sitting just behind her, off to the right.

"Sir! I didn’t . . . I mean. . .Oh, Merlin. . ." She sighed, a tear leaking from her eye.

"That is quite alright, Miss Parkinson." Severus inclined his head just slightly in concession. "I am well aware of what students think of me. Even members of my own House, it would seem."

"No – its not like that… really….." Even as she stammered Draco could see on her face that not even she believed what she was saying.

And then Professor Snape chuckled.

A genuine sorta-laugh.

Things progressed smoothly from there.

~*~End Flashback~*~

Draco felt his lips tug into a smile. Sure, it had been little short of a war council, but he had left feeling more upbeat than he had in a very long time. He had someone he could talk to now – and any meetings he had with Professor Snape wouldn’t even seem that out of place. He was one of his father’s friends, after all. It was almost expected that he seek him out for guidance.

‘If only father knew that I wanted guidance on how best not to get that bloody Mark. On how to escape this life of darkness. . .’ He thought snidely, rolling onto his side. A few quiet minutes and then he’d go find Pansy to help her with her Charms work.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when the door to his room slammed open, Crabbe entering with Goyle right behind, their arms filled with treats they had taken from the Great Hall.

"Oy! Draco! Pansy’s downstairs waiting for you."

The blonde sighed, sitting up in bed. He grabbed his wand from the nightstand and muttered a quick spell over his hair to clear it of any fly away pieces. The little magically illuminated clock next to his bed said that he’d been asleep for nearly an hour. Pansy was going to be furious.

But she wasn’t.

At least, not that he could see from the stairwell.

In fact, she looked positively glowingly happy.

"Someone pour pepper up in your pumpkin juice, Pans?"

The brunette shook her head, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"You won’t believe what I heard, on the way back from the library. . ."

"Potter and Granger, snogging like there’s no tomorrow?"

She glared at him, her thin lips twisting into a playful sneer.

"Oh do grow up, Dray. Besides I said ‘what I heard’, not what I had the unfortunate displeasure of ‘seeing’!" She harrumphed, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "Peeves was screaming it though the halls, I’m surprised you haven’t heard yet."

"Alright, already." He sighed in frustration, his sneer quite real whereas hers had been mocking. The couch creaked as he sat down next to her, silver eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I’m out of the gossip loop for once. Tell me what you heard."

Pansy grinned wickedly.

"Well . . . It has to do with our dear head of House."

"Snape?" Draco’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. "What about him?"

"It seems he is currently entertaining someone in his rooms. . . one red haired Gryffindor, too old to be a real student, somebody."

Draco frowned.

"So – Willow’s in his room? So what? They’re probably plotting and planning."

Pansy shook her head.

"You don’t understand. Peeves saw them *before* they disappeared into Snape’s rooms. . . and they seemed to be trying to snog each other into suffocation. I believe Peeves exact words were ‘the greasy git is finally going to get some’."

Draco laughed, at first sputtering in indignation for the man he had started to look up to, and then full out snickering at the idea of Peeves saying such an inappropriate thing.

Not to mention what Snape was doing, with Willow, at that very moment; if what the poltergeist was saying was to be believed.

He laughed with Pansy, the only two in the common room at the time. Laughed until his cheeks and sides hurt, and tears were trickling down his face.

It felt good to laugh, Draco decided at that moment.

Hopefully he’d have more reasons to do it in the future.

~*~*~Part 21~*~*~

By the next day the news was around school.

Professor Severus Snape, all around evil git, had not only found someone who
could tolerate being around him, but was also in his room last night. And,
thanks to a handful of Slytherins who staked out the door of his private
rooms at varying shifts during the night, everyone was also aware that
Willow had not left the rooms until early in the morning.

"Well, Severus, I would have cautioned you a bit more on discretion, but
seeing as how this cannot be blamed on either yourself or Miss Rosenberg, I
feel I shall forgo that lecture for now in favor of having the Bloody Baron
give Peeves a good scare."

But the twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes as he spoke these words totally
undermined the seriousness of the situation.

And it left unspoken the question of how this would affect The Plan. He had
certainly not intended for Voldemort to ever find out that he harbored
feelings for the red haired woman. This could very well spell certain doom
for him the next time he was Called.

Or. . .

He felt a sly smirk steal across his face and smothered it quickly behind
his usual mask of scorn and contempt.

On second thought, this could work out to his advantage. If he could
convince the Dark Lord that he was doing this solely to work on the red head
’s weaknesses, to ingratiate himself with her; then perhaps he wouldn’t get
hit with an Avada.

Perhaps.

~*~

Hermione looked up from the charms textbook in her lap, thinking back on her
own first year and how flustered she had been, trying so hard to get
everything right and to be the top of her class.

Okay, so some things never changed, really.

She gave Willow a smirk of a smile.

"Are you sure you’re up to this? Rumor has it you had a rather tiring
night."

The other woman’s face went from pale to scarlet with embarrassment in a
matter of seconds, her skin turning the same fiery color as her hair.

"Nasty rumors," she muttered, unable to hide the grin that peeked out from
under her glaring blush. "I don’t know where people come up with these
things."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"I think that has something to do with a certain poltergeist who saw the two
of you . . . not to mention Crabbe and Goyle camping out in the hallway to
see when or if you left during the night."

Willow just blushed harder and shook her head. But she was smiling. The
night before had been breathtaking if her expression was any indication.

"Anyway," the red faced red head giggled a moment later. "Back to this." She
gestured at the book in Hermione’s lap. "I want to take the first year
Transfiguration test soon so I can concentrate on my other first year
classes." She sighed in frustration. "I *will* make it out of here in less
than five years. . . less than four, I hope."

Hermione spared her a smile.

"I’m sure you will – with me to help I don’t see how its possible for you
not to, that is."

Willow laughed, the scarlet flame on her cheeks fading by the moment.

"Conceited." She shook her head. "My study buddy is the most conceited witch
in the castle."

Hermione snorted and gave her a grin of her own.

"It’s not conceit – it’s the truth."

~*~

It wasn’t until that night, after hours upon hours of studying under the
grueling taskmistress that was Hermione Granger that Willow finally made her
way, discreetly, down to the dungeons. She slipped in and out of hallways,
avoiding students and nosy ghosts, until she came to the door she desired.

She knocked and only had to wait for a moment before the door was flung
wide, Severus pulling her inside before she could greet him in the same
manner as the night before.

"Miss me?" she murmured, strolling past him and into the bedroom.

"Mmm," he muttered, noncommittal, yet following her nonetheless.

"S’matter?" She turned back to him, casting a curious glance his way. "You
don’t seem happy to see me at all."

And there it was.

Her pouting face.

She hadn’t meant to use it on him, but he was being so non-cuddly she just
couldn’t help herself. Not that he had been cuddly the night before. No,
cuddly was something she never would associate with Severus Snape. But this?
This was something that was different even from the night before.

He sighed, and it was filled with something she couldn’t name but was pretty
sure she didn’t like.

"I can expect to be Called tonight."

"Called? You mean – Oh, no." When she collapsed onto the bed it was less of
a sitting motion than a falling one, her face stricken with panic. "Well,
you can’t go, of course."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, silly thing to say – but the sentiment is still there. I don’t want
you to go."

"Rest assured that if there were to be any way to get out of this servitude
I find myself in, I would most readily submit to whatever the ‘cure’ might
be."

She didn’t need to hear him say the unspoken words to know them in her
heart. There was no way out of this for him either himself or Voldemort was
dead and gone. Only then would he truly be free.

"Do you think he knows .. .. you know. . . about us and last night. . ."

Severus snorted, though not unkindly.

"I think that he would have to be dead not to have heard. I fear it could
have been in the entertainment section of the Prophet this morning."

"No!" She blushed crimson, her mouth open in shock. "It wasn’t – was it?"

He spared her a mock-glare.

"Of course not. I was merely illustrating the point that Peeves did his job
very, very well. There is more than one student here who owes their
allegiance to Voldemort. He would have been informed last night or, at the
latest, this morning."

Willow nodded, biting her lip in frustrated worry.

"Is he going to be mad?"

It was at the moment Severus opened his mouth to reply that he also grabbed
for his left forearm, wincing in pain. His mouth clicked shut, teeth
grinding together to keep from crying out.

Willow moaned in sympathy, standing to rub a circle on his back, worry
filling her green eyes. She had heard him describe before how the Call first
hit him, and knew the agony the second that she saw it. That first blinding
pain passed within minutes and he straightened, still rubbing at the tattoo
she could not see.

"We’re about to find out just how displeased he really is," he muttered,
feeling hopeful that his plan would succeed. All he had to do was stick to
his story. He was doing it to subvert her, nothing more, nothing less.

"Be careful." The object of his current summons whispered, a tear trickling
from the corner of her eye. "I’ll be waiting right here when you get back."

When.

Not if.

He would come back.

She had to believe it or else she would collapse right then and there and be
of no use to anyone.

"Tell Dumbledore that I left. The password back in my rooms is Darkness
Falling."

And then he was gone, grabbing his cloak and a silvery mask from the closet.
She held her breath until she heard the door slam shut and then fell to her
knees on the floor, praying for all she could.

"Dear Goddess . . . Don’t take him from me too . . . watch over him . . . oh
please. . . please. . ."

She whimpered when a hand touched her shoulder and jumped backwards,
sprawling with no amount of dignity on the cold stone floor.

"H-Headmaster. . . Severus. . .I mean, Professor Snape. . . He. . ."

"I hardly think it appropriate for you to call him Professor when you are in
his private rooms, child," Dumbledore admonished gently. "And I know. . . he
has gone. . . I saw him apparate from my office."

Willow shivered, her tears falling anew.

"He’ll be okay, right?"

The look the Headmaster gave her was anything but reassuring, though she
supposed he meant it to be.

"Of course he will, my dear."

Of course he would.

She shut her eyes and began to pray again, this time with more fervor.

~*~22~*~

Severus felt the cold air of the sea hit him the second his apparated to the meeting location, the cool saltiness racing right through his robes to chill him to the very bone. Great. As if meeting with Voldemort wasn't bad enough, now he had to do it in the freezing cold.

Just wonderful.

There was a circle of Death Eaters already a little ways in the distance, a bonfire crackling merrily in the center of it all. A woman was screaming, high pitched cries of hysteria. He didn't run towards her. That would do nothing but give away his position as a traitor and do nothing towards saving her. She would die before this night was out. There was no way around it.

A whisper went up as he neared the group, mask in hand. His 'comrades' turned to look over their shoulders, parting before him, a clear sign for him to go straight to the center.

It was all very eerily reminiscent of his school days and being summoned to the Headmaster's office for a lecture or punishment. The sense of dread in the pit of his stomach that wormed its way into every single fiber of his being. He kept his face very neutral, however, unwilling to betray his feelings in front of this crowd of vultures. One sign of weakness and it would be exploited by those that called him friend to his face and plotted behind his back. There was no loyalty in this group except to the Dark Lord himself and, in cases like Lucius Malfoy, even that was suspect.

"My Lord," Severus murmured, dropping to his knees to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robe. He smelled of death and damp earth. Like a creature crawled freshly from the grave, not yet free of crypt mold and decay.

"You've been a busy boy, Severus."

The Potions Master fought back a wave of disgust at the hissing, slithering quality of the Dark Lord's voice. He waited, on his knees, for whatever was to come, his 'cover story' at hand and ready to be used. He had thought it over a million times in his head what he would say when the moment came.

'May my smooth talking not fail me now, dear Merlin,' he thought, a fervent prayer to whatever deity was watching over him for that night.

"I have heard something quite interesting in regards to you and the witch," Voldemort continued, moving out of Severus' line of sight. The Professor could hear him moving along the ground, pacing around behind him. Whether it was the Dark Lord's robes that made the slithering noise on the ground or his body, Severus did not know. He did not care, either. As long as he never had to find out one way or the other. . .

"Our next generation has reported that you and young Willow have taken to meeting in your rooms. . .Though I must say that we all had a hard time believing that you and she are together. She is such a pretty young thing and you. . ."

There was some coughing laughter from the assembled group and Severus flushed in humiliated anger.

"Well. . .let's just say that you are much older than her. . . and not nearly so 'pretty'."

Severus bit his tongue to keep from saying something that would inevitably lead to pain, if not death.

"So, my boy," Voldemort sneered. "What have you to say on this?"

"She is quite taken with me, my Lord," Severus began haltingly, gathering courage as the words he had rehearsed over and over again came tumbling to his lips. "I am in the hopes that she will find herself even more enamored with me in due time, thus rendering her further susceptible to my Lord's desire for her to enter our ranks. There is much darkness in her, my Lord. She should be ready by the Winter Revel."

He thought he heard a pleased noise come from the Dark Lord, but could not be certain seeing as how he was still kneeling on the ground and could not see Voldemort's face.

"She is taken with you?" The Dark Lord snorted. "I do not see why. But, as you said, this could be a good thing. A weakness to get through to her and slowly ease her over to our cause. Yes. . . a very good plan indeed. I am pleased with you, Severus."

For one brief moment Severus felt his heart life out of his shoes. He had done it and without torture or death. Merlin was on his side tonight.

"However," Voldemort continued, shattering Severus' hopes and wishes with one word. "You should have spoken to me about your plan before acting on it. If she were to fall out of lust, or love, or whatever this may be with you - she will be even further from our side than she was before. See that it does not happen that way, Severus. And, as a reminder - Crucio!"

He had just a second to brace himself, as if it were possible, against the torment before the pain began. The spasms were so great that he fell over, curling into a fetal position as if to ward off further pain. It did not good. Nothing did. Not against this torture. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, tasting blood.

He would not scream.

They would not get that pleasure from him tonight.

~*~

Willow heard the door to Severus' room open through the sleepy haze that had worked its way into her brain. She opened her eyes, yelping in surprise at the figure that stood there, leaning on the doorframe.

"Sev!" she wailed, jumping up from her chair and racing to give him a shoulder to lean on. The potions he would need were already at his bedside, and it was there that she led him, step by trembling step. "Drink this."

He gave her a small, tired glare and then downed the entire bottle in one swallow, doing the same with the next. And the next. One for pain, one for the aching joints and one for a dreamless sleep to ward off the aftershocks of the pain. She placed a hand on his forehead and wiped away the stray hairs that had fallen.

"Is everything okay? she whispered hesitantly.

"He believed the rubbish I rattled off. Everything will be fine for now."

Even as he said the words he was already succumbing to the sleeping potion. His grip on her hand lessened bit by bit until he dropped it entirely, the sound of his deep breathing filling the spacious bedroom.

Willow stared down at Severus, her heart filling with an anger that would have terrified most. She wrapped her mind around it, harnessing the power of that emotion like she had learned to do. She would not be ruled by her emotions any longer, but they could be used for her will. Even now Severus was in pain, his forehead wrinkled with discomfort as the potion forced him to sleep. She felt the anger swell and then squashed it into a compact little ball of pure rage.

A ball she was going to lob straight into Voldemort's heart the first time she got a chance.

~*~Part Twenty-Three~*~

Two days later Willow was already at her breaking point. In that short time
she had been forced to watch as Severus recovered from the aftereffects of
the Cruciatus, and it was heartbreaking, making her want to mete out no
small amount of hurt on the monster who had done it to him.

And she fully intended to do just that at her first chance.

But first she had to work her way into this Dark Lord’s graces, she had to
convince him that she meant no harm and that she was quite willing to join
up with his side.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t something she could just start doing overnight.
She had to be sneaky about it. Very sneaky. Sneaky enough that she wouldn’t
raise suspicion. But slowly he would begin to trust her, as much as a
creature like him trusted anything.

And then she’d make him sorry he had ever been born.

Hadn’t he heard of her?

Didn’t he know what she did to people that hurt those she cared about?

What made him think he was any different than the man she had tortured with
the power of her mind alone?

He was nothing to her.

Nothing.

~*~

There was something different about Willow, Severus decided, only a few days
after his last Summons. She had both retreated in on herself and become
doting all at the same time. That darkness that he had always been able to
sense within her was no longer so much within her as hovering right on the
outside, waiting to strike.

Had they lost her?

He sighed, staring down at the papers he was grading. There was an ache
within him that he was loathe to put a name to, though in reality he already
knew what it was.

Love.

He loved the silly little woman. Every mope, every giddy giggle. He liked
everything there was about her, even that darkness that was, at that moment,
worrying him.

Had she fallen off track again?

If so. . .

No, he would not think about what would happen if she had started dabbling
in the dark again. He wouldn’t let the idea of her in Azkaban work its way
into his head. He. . .

Damnit.

It had happened anyway. He could almost hear her screams, her pleas for
mercy as the Dementors came down on her.

Merlin, he thought, please keep her from harm.

~*~*~

"You and Severus have gotten cozy, have you not?"

Willow fought down her urge to gag, repulsion flowing through her veins. If
the creature that was circling her slowly, like a vulture, could feel it, he
did not show any signs. Which was a good thing. She could put on a pretty
mask and act like everything was okay, but there was no way she could
convince herself, not inside where it really counted.

"What Severus and I do is none of your concern," she answered lightly, as
she felt would be expected of her.

"So you’ve gotten over your little witch already?" A dry chuckle from under
the hood of the robe, like leaves skittering along the sidewalk. She
suddenly was quite sure that she did not want to see what was under that
hood – not here in her dreams or in real life.

"I will never be over Tara," Willow hissed from between clenched teeth, her
desire to fake niceties with the Dark Lord fading in light of his sudden
desire to piss her off. "And what Severus and I do is none of your
business."

Voldemort paused in his pacing, his back to her.

"Do you really think so?" He laughed and she couldn’t stop the shiver that
welled up from within her. "He is mine, child. Only those who are also mine
may ‘play’ with him."

Willow frowned, her eyes narrowing. He was trying to irritate her, to make
her lose control.

Well, fuck him. She wouldn’t do it. Not tonight, at least. Her vengeance was
waiting for the day they finally met face to face, doing something to him in
a dream would be next to meaningless, a waste of her powers.

"I think its time for me to wake up," she smiled with honey-eyed sweetness.
"Until we meet again. . ."

She woke, breathless, a sly smile curving its way across her lips. Let him
believe that what he said disturbed her enough that she had to ‘run away’.
Let him believe that she was in the waking world thinking over what he had
just said. Let him pretty much think any damn thing he wanted. She didn’t
care.

As long as he believed she was playing for his side when the time came,
nothing else mattered. If she could just keep this ruse up long enough to
get an audience with him everything would turn out fine.

She slipped out of bed. The clock on her nightstand said it was not even
midnight, no time to be up and wakeful. But going back to sleep wasn’t an
option. Not at that moment. Tossing on a robe, the red head slipped
discreetly out of the Gryffindor common room, racing through the halls
before she could get caught by one of the Professors, Filch or a ghost.

There was a certain Professor that would be getting ready for bed by now.
One that could make sure she had really sweet dreams tonight.

She knocked on Severus’ door out of courtesy, waiting for him to open it
instead of just giving the password. The door eased open, her lover standing
there in all of his black-pj’ed glory.

"I need a goodnight kiss," Willow pouted, blinking innocently.

"Oh really?"

She shivered, loving the purring silk of his voice.

"Yes, really," the red haired witch cooed, stepping forwards until she was
just inside the door of his room, her body pressed up against his. She
licked her lips and gazed up into those dark eyes of his, knowing that
destroying the Dark Lord would do nothing but make his life easier, better.
"And. . . a good night shag wouldn’t hurt either, if you’re up to it."

And since she knew that wasn’t his wand that was digging into her hip, she
had to believe that yes, indeed, he was most definitely ‘up to it’.

~*~Part Twenty-Four~*~

Three weeks later Willow had managed to not only work on her own plan while
keeping the overall plan intact, but she also passed on to her Second Year
classes. If she kept going at this rate she’d be able to finish through
Third Year during only her first actual year of classes.

That alone was enough to buoy her spirits in her moments of sadness; which
were anything but few or far between. Tara was still gone, and there was
still a homicidal maniac of a Dark Lord with his sights set on her.

But still, even if her prowess in her schoolwork were all that she had to
keep her excited, Willow would have managed.

It wasn’t though.

She had Severus.

The second soulmate she had been privileged to have in her lifetime.

Wasn’t she just the lucky one? Despite having tried to end the world, the
Powers had decided that she was worthy of having a second chance at love, a
reason to keep living and fighting the good fight.

It was that, more than anything, that was keeping her going.

She had been given this second chance – and she’d be damned straight to the
inner circles of Hell if she was going to pass it by.

"You’re doing that thing again."

Willow glanced up from her homework, favoring her boyfriend with a smirk.

"And what ‘thing’ would that be?"

Severus raised on eloquent eyebrow in response to her smirk, his lips
curling into a half-smile.

"Your forehead was getting crinkled right there –" He touched the spot of
skin right between her eyes. "And you had this far away look in your eyes. I
know it cannot possibly be because of the second year potions book in your
lap – so what is it?"

The red head smiled warmly, leaning forward to snatch a kiss from his lips
before he could move out of her grasp.

"Nothing, really. Just in my own la-la land tonight. Thinking how lucky I
am."

"Quite." He smirked, pulling away now to return to his own work grading
quizzes for a group of fourth years. "And why is it that you are lucky if I
may be so bold as to ask?"

She shrugged. "Just because. I have you. I’m doing good in my classes. I
made some new friends – even if they are a bit younger than me. . . And life
is just. . . good."

The last was said with a goofy grin so much unlike the girl that he had
first seen come to the school that Severus could scarcely smother the smile
that threatened to come to his lips. Times like these did much to remind him
of who she should have been had life not interefered, had the power and sway
of the Darkness not grabbed hold of her soul and made it its own. It was
moments like this when he could see who she had been Before.

That did not detract from who she was Now, though. She was still his
dark-souled beauty, the one that woke in the middle of the night crying over
her sins and could feel the pull of the Dark just as intimately as he
himself did.

It was nice, he conceded, to see her like this – full of carefree happiness.

"But. . . "

And here it was, the downward spiral that her bouts of elation always led
to.

She sighed, and already he could see the sadness creeping into her eyes.
"But He’s still out there. . . And winter holidays are getting closer and
closer."

There were tears in her once sparkling eyes. Tears of pain and frustration.

"The Plan is going well. . ." He murmured, returning to sit next to her.
"There is no reason to believe that the Dark Lord has been made aware of our
ruse. Draco received a letter from his father just yesterday commending him
on his ‘hard work’."

Willow nodded, leaning into his embrace. How to explain to him that which
worried her when she couldn’t admit to what she had been doing? Her own
private ruse with the Dark Lord was going along well. As far as he knew she
was right on track to take the Mark as soon as the winter holidays began.

Which left her only with the problem of how she was going to exterminate
this Voldemort bastard. Painfully? Quickly? In the true fashion of blood and
gore, like in the horror movies? Or without a trace?

It was those thoughts that plagued her in moments like this, drawing her
from happiness to the pits of despair. Voldemort needed to die, there was no
doubt about that. And it would be by her hands if she had any say in it.

But that didn’t make the prospect of murder easy.

It was the one thing she had sworn to herself she would never have any part
in ever again.

This time it was justified, though. If she didn’t take him out he would kill
others, people she knew – people she didn’t yet know – and people she may
never even meet. He would kill muggle-borns and muggles alike, any witches
and wizards that didn’t follow along with his plan.

So. . . if she could stop it – wasn’t it her duty?

"Can we sleepies now?" she said out loud, giving Severus her best
innocent-tired look. "It’s been a long day."

Thankfully, he nodded, magicking her books and notes off of his bed.

~*~*~

Harry woke, scar burning. He shut his eyes tight against the pain, biting
the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out and waking his roommates. It
took a few long moments before the pain faded enough for him to move again,
and when he did so it was only to reach to his nightstand and grab the small
vial of pain numbing potion Dumbledore had asked Poppy to provide him with.
He allowed a couple drops to fall on his tongue and swallowed hard against
the bitter taste.

Knowing now that he was receiving these blasts of pain in the middle of the
night because Voldemort had taken a personal interest in Willow Rosenberg
didn’t make things any easier for The Boy Who Lived. Only rarely did nights
go by without one of his headaches waking him up. At the least it was a
throbbing pain, at the worst it was a blinding pain that made him scream and
cry out.

The painkiller was working already; he could feel it making its way through
his body, making him languid and at peace. He sighed and leaned back in the
bed, eyes slowly falling shut. There was nothing to be done about any of
this mess tonight.

Nothing at all.

~*~*~

The bottom fell out of Willow’s world only a month before the winter
holidays, when her co-conspirators were rushing to figure out how they were
going to continue with the plan when it became evident to Voldemort that
Willow was not to be taking the Mark.

She knew something was wrong at breakfast. Draco’s family owl flew in with
the rest, dropping a redish-black envelope onto the table in front of the
young man. He played up his smirking grin, opening it with a flourish to
read the latest his dearest father had written.
And maybe it wasn’t evident to his fellow Slytherins, who had never taken
the time to really get to know Draco; but she knew the moment his face
paled, his eyes went a little wide.

She knew something had happened.

Something bad.

She watched through lowered lashes, only half paying attention to Hermione
jabber on about history of magic, as Draco folded the note with automatic
motions, stiff and precise. The smirk was gone. There was no playing in his
tone or posture. He looked nervous, anxious. As she discreetly watched he
caught Severus’ eyes and nodded, just so slightly.

And then they both stood, unnoticed amidst the hustle and bustle of the
morning meal.

She waited a few moments before following with a mumbled excuse to Hermione.
The front hall was empty – but they wouldn’t have used that for any private
conversation. The first side hall she came to had the goal she was seeking.

It was the look in her lover’s eyes when he turned to see who was coming,
the one that faded to pure fury when he saw her, that told her that he Knew.

"How could you have done this?" Severus hissed, shaking the letter in one
pale, white hand.

She flinched, tears threatening to break forth from her eyes.

"I did what I had to do. No one will get hurt because of me."

There was disbelief in his eyes at her outright admission to what she had
done. Perhaps he had thought she would at least have the decency to deny it
once or twice.

Well, she didn’t.

She wasn’t a liar.

Just deceptive.

"The Dark Lord thinks that you will be coming to him at the beginning of the
holidays! And what do you plan on doing once you arrive there? Believe me
when I say that THIS," he jerked up his sleeve, exposing the tattooed flesh
of his Mark, "Is not what you want out of your life, Willow."

"I *know* that!" The witch felt her emotions break and now those tears were
pouring from her eyes. "But what did you expect? How did you think this was
going to end? I had to tell him *something*! I will go there – and he will
die for what he has both done and planned to do."

She drew herself up to her full height, defiance flashing bravely in
tear-filled eyes.

"And if the two of you don’t appreciate the fact that I’m risking my life
for you – then you can both kiss my ass."
~*~Part Twenty-Five~*~

Fury was an emotion that Willow had not allowed herself to feel for a very long time. Not since Tara’s death and her subsequent vengeance spree. She, instead, kept a tight lid on that side of herself, bottling up the emotion until such time as it was over with.

That didn’t seem possible now.

She was moving through the halls, quite aware that her hair and eyes were pitch black. The students were still in the Great Hall for breakfast, and she managed to make it up to the astronomy tower before she truly lost control of herself.

Her power spilled out over the school grounds like a wave of darkness, covering all it touched in shadow as the sky darkened overhead. The power was rolling through her body in painful waves that left her gasping and struggling for breath as she strove to channel it into nothing more than an electrical storm.

Snapping cracks of white-hot lightning flashed through the blackened sky. Thunder boomed overhead in a near-continuous wave of sound that shook through her body.

How could they do that? Reprimand her, jump to conclusions? She was doing this all for –them-. Not for herself. If she had her way she’d charge in headfirst and do her damndest to destroy Voldemort once and for all before he even got near her. But, no, she was too busy trying to save their asses, working up devious little plans to keep them safe.

And did they appreciate it?

Apparently not.

She seethed, the lightning coming quicker now, the sky never quite recovering from one flash before another would spark. It was beautiful, really, the play of nature that was completely and utterly not natural in formation.

Had Severus really believed that she would be taking the Mark? Had he not bothered to think things through enough to realize she would have to have a better plan than that? She liked her skin white and unblemished, thank you. Maybe a tattoo on her lower back one day if she got up the courage, or on her ankle. But not one on her inner arm. That was just . . .ugly.

A few startled students were running for cover from the storm, pulling their robes up over their heads to forestall the soaking cold drops that were falling from the sky.

She watched, her anger a bitter taste in the back of her mouth. How could they distrust her like this? Jump to conclusions and not even give her a chance to defend herself.

It was a gradual realization that she was no longer alone that led Willow to turn, slowly, to greet her sole visitor at the top of the Astronomy tower.

"You are scaring the students."

She raised an eyebrow. "They’re afraid of a storm? How childish."

Without another word she turned her back to him, her eyes roaming over the landscape that was illuminated almost completely by the lightning that continuously flashed through the sky at her behest.

"Miss Rosenberg. . . ."

She stiffened, her eyes widening with shock and regret. How could Tara have been so wrong? This man was not her soulmate. How could he be? "So we’re back to that now? Fine – ‘Professor’ what can I do for you?"

He sighed and she smirked, still not turning to face him.

"Willow, please. Can we talk?"

"About what? My impending disastrous mistake? Or how you don’t think I’m doing the right thing even though you have no idea what I’m doing in the first place. Sorry, Sev. Not in the mood to discuss it with you. Run along back to your classroom and leave me in peace. The storm can’t possibly be scaring the students that much."

She expected him to argue with her further, to say something to dispel what she was feeling in her heart – that this had been a stupid mistake for her to make. Falling for him, even if she had been told by a messenger for a higher authority that it was right, had been a colossal blunder. Best if she had just stumbled on in pain and sadness.

He put his arms around her, his head leaning on hers.

But he didn’t speak again. Standing there, watching the marvels of nature, he didn’t speak –just held her.

~*~*~

Hours later she was back in his rooms, warming up next to a roaring fire. The Headmaster was gracefully forestalling his inevitable visit in favor of letting her get the ache from her cold, tired body. She sipped at the mug of tea that had been handed to her, her eyes losing themselves in the fire.

"Will you explain it to me? Your plan?"

Willow nodded, licking her lips.

"There wasn’t much plan to it all. Not really. I get his trust, convince him I want to join him and then meet with him to get that idiotic Mark. And then. . . I destroy him."

If it were possible, Severus paled.

"You were just going to go up to him and curse him? Hex him? Poison him? What were you planning on?"

She shrugged. "A knife will kill a man just as easily as a spell, Sev. And I will try everything the moment I am within his presence. If I can do this. . .then I will have started making amends for what I did."

"By dying?" He cried out, standing and glaring down at her, full of righteous fury. "Do you think Draco and I have played this game for these last months just to watch you throw your life away? He will kill you!"

"I somehow doubt that," she laughed hollowly, without emotion. "Do you forget who I am, Sev? I’m not just a student or another witch. I’m HER, the one that had the power to end the world. He won’t be able to do anything – and if on the off chance my spells don’t work I’ll do it the old fashioned way."

She met his dark glare head on, unflinching under his steady gaze of incredulity and indignation.

"You cannot do this."

"You can’t stop me," she argued right back, a slow smiling curling the corner of her mouth. "Its for the better, really. He won’t know what hit him. . .and if everything goes as planned I’ll live to see another day."

"And if things do not ‘go as planned’?" he whispered, pale face drawn and worried.

"Then at least we had this time together," she smiled simply, shrugging as she stood up. She rested a hand lightly on his chest, feeling his heart thud beneath the flesh. He loved her. In his own way he really did care. Sure, it wasn’t the idea of romance she’d always hoped for when she was little. That had consisted of a Prince Charming coming to take her to his castle to live as a Princess. But Severus was a prince in his own way, and this was a castle – and though she may never be a Princess, that was still good enough for her. He didn’t need to tell her his feelings, she knew. Just as she knew her own though she did not voice them aloud.

She tugged on the front of his robe, pulling his head down so that she could kiss his lips. It was hard, rough, and full of the emotions that had built up within her from that morning.

"We really should . . ."

"Have sex," she finished for him with a shake of her head, a lick of her lips and a firm hand on the back of his neck, keeping him within easy reach of her mouth.

"No. . ." he shook his head, murmuring into her lips. "We should go talk to the Headmaster."

Willow grinned, forcibly pulling him with her towards the bed. She was in no hurry to talk to Dumbledore. Not when she knew for a fact he was going to lecture her and probably tell her that her plan was foolhardy. Let that wait for tonight, or tomorrow. Or whenever. Right now there was something else she wanted - "Later. First – make up sex."

"Make up sex?" He repeated, unresisting as she began to unbutton his robes.

"Yep – we were fighting and now we’re making up. It’s a good thing, trust me."

"And how long will we be ‘making up’?" The last part was groaned between clenched teeth as her talented lips worked their way over his chest, down across his stomach, stopping at the line of skin above his trousers as she worked with their fastenings.

"As long as it takes."

He lost all conscious thought at that point, those perfectly shaped lips attaching themselves to a rather sensitive part of his anatomy with a gusto she had never before shown.

The Headmaster could wait.

~*~Part Twenty-Six~*~

In the weeks following the revelations of Willow’s plan, Severus found himself running ragged trying to keep up with the charade. The Headmaster had deemed that her plan was sound, if not more than a little foolhardy; and had thereby given his permission for her to proceed as she saw fit, so long as neither Severus nor Draco were harmed in any way for her actions.

And she had assured him that no harm would come to them, or anyone else, so long as she had her way. She was hell bent on being the end of the Dark Lord – and nothing anyone could say would stop her. Not even Hermione, a perpetual voice of reason for the brash red head, could talk any sense into her. She would take on the Dark Lord one on one the night he brought her before him for the Dark Mark and either she would succeed or she would fail. Either way, no one would know of Severus’, Draco’s and Pansy’s duplicity. If she failed it would seem only as though she had played them all for a fool in order to gain the Dark Lord’s confidences.

If she succeeded there would be no reason to worry at all – because the Dark Lord would no longer be around to mete out punishments to traitors.

So it seemed a solid enough plan.

What this meant for Severus was being Called once every other week to the presence of the Dark Lord to answer for his actions in regards to Willow. He was asked each week for her progress in the areas of poisons, hexes, curses and every other vile subject the Dark Lord could come up with – up to and including necromancy.

Yes, the Dark Lord had heard that Willow had raised the Slayer from the dead.

And that pleased him to no end.

The meetings were wearing thin on Severus’ tattered psyche, though. At each meeting there had been a revel, as if the Dark Lord was testing him in his own loyalties. And each time he had been forced to watch as either the Dark Lord or another Death Eater raped and/or tortured a muggle woman.

It was sickening, causing him to return to the school time and again with nausea filling his stomach. He could no longer stand to watch the atrocities that his one time friends and compatriots visited upon innocents. Long since had he given up those ways. He was a changed man and the sight of blood did not instill in him the same passion that it once had.

Only Willow could do that now.

The Potions Master stared silently up at the ceiling over his bed, wincing as an after tremor of the Cruciatus danced through his body. Willow would be along at any moment and then she could get him the potion he needed to ease the pain of the tremors. Taking care of him was one of the things she was most good at.

That wasn’t to say, however, that she was lacking in the area of her schoolwork. He had only seen one student before her that came even close to her academic levels and that had been Hermione Granger. Willow was infinitely more intelligent than the bushy haired know-it-all, however; and he was pleased to say that at the rate she was going she would be finished with her year three work at the end of the spring term.

It was that intelligence and unbridled power that had led to her being a target of the Dark Lord to begin with. That burning beacon that she presented to all magically inclined creatures of the world – up to and including Voldemort himself. The Headmaster had once said that Willow shined like a star on the verge of burning itself out – that one last radiant moment that seemed to give off the light of a small sun.

But she wasn’t going to burn out. Nor would she fade and die like such stars did. She was his and that was the way it was going to stay.

Another tremor racked his body and the normally stoic Severus Snape bit his lower lip to keep from screaming from the pain. With Winter Holidays another month away, he wasn’t sure how many more summonings he could stand from the Dark Lord. Surely his body was going to give way at any moment from the pain and suffering of the Cruciatus. It wasn’t a curse meant to be used repeatedly on one person, after all; just another form of torture that would lead to death.

But death wasn’t coming for him any time soon.

At one point he would have wanted nothing more than to succumb to the pain, to let time and aches rend him asunder from the inside out until he was quite assuredly dead.

No longer.

Not when he had Willow to take care of. If he were to give into the pain now there would be no one to tutor her in the areas she needed. No one to assist her with her ridiculous plan to assassinate Voldemort.

Most of all, it would leave her lonely; and there was no way he wanted to visit that upon her.

~*~*~

One month.

Thirty-one days.

And only goddess’ knows how many minutes.

That was how long Willow had until she would appear in front of the Dark Lord for the Mark.

She shivered, the anxiety of that thought creeping through her defenses to linger momentarily in her heart; spreading its cold fingers of insecurity through her body.

‘You have to do it,’ she reminded herself simply, walking quickly through the halls of the school and towards Severus’ rooms. He had left dinner early and due to different studying sessions she had been unable to secure a chance to see him until that moment. The knowledge that soon she would be in her lover’s arms, protected from all of the stresses of the world for just that moment, was enough to make her smile despite her nervous twittings.

She would do this, stand before the Dark Lord and strike him down, because it was the right thing to do. It was step one in her ultimate plan for atonement – kill a big bad. Of course, she would have to kill him with as little pain and suffering as possible despite how much she longed to torture him until the end of time. Torture was not an act worthy of redemption, after all, and could very easily negate any good she could do by killing him. The secret to redemption was not to do the very things your enemies would do.

Images of what she had done to Warren flashed through the red head’s mind and she stopped, hand on the wall. Her eyes screwed tight against the unpleasantness of the scene her imagination was painting for her. Except – this was no fantasy dream, these images were pulled straight from her memories. She could see herself, as if from an outsider’s point of view, standing before Warren. A gesture made and his mouth was sewn shut so that he couldn’t scream.

Willow whimpered, leaning on the wall for support as the images assaulted her. Why now? Why here? She had been doing so good. . .

The bullet was hovering in front of Warren, slowly driving itself towards his skin. It slipped in and he was screaming in pain as much as he was able through his sewn-lips as the bullet traveled with red-hot scorching pain through his body, boring a hole in whatever it came into contact with.

"Bored now," she mumbled, shaking her head in shock as her dream self did the same thing. Warren’s skin came off with a sickening wet tearing sound. And now he was dead, a flayed man hanging between two trees.

The memory ended.

Willow blinked, tears filling her eyes. She was panting, trying to catch her breath, and her throat felt sore. Had she screamed? No, someone would have come running if she screamed. Someone would have heard her. Maybe the screaming she was doing in her mind had translated to a physical ailment.

Did it matter?

She sobbed, pushing herself off of the wall and running now down the hall towards Severus’ rooms and his waiting arms.

The door flew open in front of her as she screamed the password, slamming shut as soon as she had entered. She heard a startled gasp from the bed and looked there first for her lover.

"Are you alright?" They asked each other at the same time, responding likewise with a ‘no’ each.

"You were Called?" Willow whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Do you need –"

"Yes, please," Severus nodded, motioning for her to get the potion from his stores. Within moments she was back, vial in hand, tilting a few drops between his parted lips. The change was almost instant as the lines of tension eased away from his eyes and forehead. Willow sighed, running her palm along his cheek.

"You should have called for me when you got back. . . a house elf could have come for me."

"I knew you were studying," Severus shrugged her off with a ghost of a smile.

"Still . . ." Willow admonished.

"And what happened to disturb you this evening?" He asked quietly. "You came in here like you were being chased by demons."

"Does no good to run from demons," Willow corrected him with a small smile of her own. "They usually run faster than you."

"As fascinating as that may be," the Potions Master drawled. "I am still waiting to hear what upset you."

She bit her lip, averting her eyes from his to stare sullenly at the black sheets on his bed.

"Memories."

"Hmm." Severus nodded, closing his eyes as the after effects of the potion began to overcome him. He held out his arms, drawing her small frame down to lay beside him. "They are just memories," he whispered, kissing her forehead as one long-fingered hand played with her hair. "They can’t hurt you and cannot influence the future."

Willow nodded, toying absently with the buttons of his nightshirt. She closed her eyes, letting the soft sound of his breathing lull her into a sleep she knew would be filled with nightmares.

~*~Part Twenty-Seven~*~

It was lonely being the ‘Girl Who Tried to End the World’.

But, then again, she had known that.

Sure, she had Severus. And there was always Hermione helping her with her homework, trying to get ahead so that she wouldn’t be a student here for so long. There were Draco and Pansy, as well; and they were great friends, not at all like the stuck up bitchy pair they played in front of the other students. But her friendship with them was a secret. Only Hermione really knew about it. The Slytherins knew she was acquainted with the ‘happy couple’, but they thought it was all a plot on the part of the Dark Lord.

Other than those few people and Harry, whom Hermione occasionally brought by for variety, there were few others who would even give her the time of day. At Quidditch matches she found herself sitting alone, cheering silently for her House’s team. Harry was quite good, but she could never work up the energy to actually be enthusiastic about sitting alone while the rest of her House cheered and stamped their feet.

She was an outsider.

Dating Severus didn’t help matters any. He was the most feared Professor at the school for a reason, after all. Students didn’t want to be friends with the Potions Master’s girlfriend.

So she found herself alone more often than not. Severus was too busy to be with her all of the time. The library became her greatest friend.

As it always had been in the past.

~*~*~

"You could just try, Ron. She really is a good person."

Ron Weasley snorted, rolling his eyes at the witch across from him. "She tried to end the world, ‘Mione. And then she started dating Snape. I swear, she’s probably already thrown herself in with You-Know-Who and is plotting to off us the moment we relax our guard."

Harry sputtered into his porridge, fighting to hold back his laughter. Far be it for he to get involved in the fight brewing between his best friends, even when he knew without a doubt that Hermione was right and Ron was as far off base as possible. But Harry couldn’t tell Ron that without breaking the promise he had made to the Headmaster about Willow’s nocturnal visitations to try to ease her way into the Dark Lord’s service so that she could, then, kill him.

It was an honor he had wanted for himself, but he would be happy one way or the other just to have Voldemort dead and gone for good.

"She is –not-." Hermione growled, furious. Her hands were clasping the edge of the table and her pale skin was flushed with anger. "She made a mistake, Ron. We all make mistakes."

"Yeah, but my mistakes don’t almost end all life on the planet." He retorted, his own freckled face going red.

"You’re impossible." She hissed, standing and grabbing her books. "I’ll see you later, Harry."

Harry watched Hermione go, sighing. Why did Ron have to be so pig-headed about everything? Wasn’t it good enough that Willow was willingly submitting herself to being in a school with what were, to her, nothing more than children?

"Where does she get off?" Ron smirked, shaking his head in angered frustration. "I mean – it’s not like Willow ‘accidentally’ tried to end the world. She did it on purpose."

"Yes," Harry nodded once. "She did. But, then again, she was grieving. She was angry with the world for taking the one good thing in her life, Ron. How would you feel if the one you loved was killed?"

The Golden Boy stood up, grabbing his own bag of books. Ron was his friend, but it was times like these that seriously put strain on that relationship.

"I’ll see you in Potions."

"Yeah." Ron frowned, watching his friend disappear without another word; Harry’s parting words echoing through his mind. How would he cope if someone he loved was killed? How would he make it to the next day if someone, like his mother or Ginny, were to be murdered?

He wouldn’t be able to do it, he knew at once. Maybe he wouldn’t try to end the world, but he’d go out seeking revenge. He’d do something stupid, that was just his nature. Even if it was Harry or Hermione, he didn’t know how he would be able to just sit back and not do. . . something.

And so where did he get off acting like this?

Now –that- was a question he couldn’t answer.

~*~*~

Ginny crept around the corner, her sharp little eyes following carefully the movements of the pair of students that were ever so slowly making their way deeper and deeper into the dungeons. Malfoy and Parkinson. The devious duo. The ones that everyone knew to watch out for. They would stab you in the back with a smile given half a chance.

And here they were, slipping off together to do Merlin knew what in the dungeons.

Well she wasn’t going to let it go unnoticed. She would follow them, find out what they were up to – and then she would report right back to her brother and Harry.

She stopped at the next corner, carefully peering around. They had stopped only a few feet away and were now talking. She jerked her head back around the corner, taking a deep breath before calming herself to listen.

". . . We’re as good as dead if this doesn’t work, Dray. He’ll kill us. You know that, right. And if he doesn’t do it – our parents will . . ."

"You think I don’t know that?" Draco’s angry voice was muted, almost a whisper. "Do you honestly think I don’t go to bed at night wondering when our little charade is going to be found out? The second my father finds out I’m not working on His side I’ll be Avada’d."

Ginny fought back a gasp. This wasn’t what she had expected to hear at all. Draco wasn’t on his father’s side? Or. . . had he meant –Him-, as in, He-Who-Could-Not-Be-Named? She stifled the sudden urge to show herself, to make her presence known and demand an explanation from the two. It didn’t seem like a good idea at that moment, though, not when they obviously had things to say to each other.

". . . Willow won’t let us down, Pans. Trust her. She’s going to kill the Dark Lord and then we’ll be free."

"That sounds only slightly better than a fairy tale, Draco. We wait for the beautiful princess to rescue us from our mean, wicked families. To rid the land of evil." She laughed, bitterly Ginny thought. "I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago."

There was silence, and then a tired voice that she could hardly recognize as the boy she had grown up hating, murmured with such utter, resigned sadness.

"Yeah, but sometimes that’s all we have, Pansy. And I’m willing to believe in it right now. What choice do we have."

Pansy sighed, and Ginny could almost picture her standing there, arms wrapped over her chest, crying.

"No choice . . . " The whispered response came. "We’ve never had a choice."

"It’ll all be okay. . . I promise you."

"You break promises to me all the time, Dray."

Ginny pushed off of the wall, tip-toeing back the way she had come. The conversation was almost at an end as far as she could tell, and for some reason she didn’t want to be caught, wasn’t ready to admit yet that she had listened in on them during such a private moment of shared pain. She made it back to the main halls, heading back to the Gryffindor common room with a heavy heart, and a brain reeling with the impact of everything she had overheard. She was divided with the things she had always known, and what she had just witnessed.

There was one thing she was sure about, though.

She wasn’t going to tell anyone about what she had overheard. Draco and Pansy were right – that would be a death sentence for them.

And she couldn’t do that to them.

~*~*~

"You need any help with that? I actually did quite alright in Herbology."

Willow looked up, confusion giving way to shock, giving way back to confusion. She blinked at the red haired boy standing in front of her. Ron Weasley, she knew him by sight. He was friends with Hermione and Harry.

"I –could- use help with this one here. . ." she jabbed a finger down on her book and the question she had been struggling with for the past ten minutes. She knew Hermione had gone over it with her before, but she just couldn’t remember, and try as she might she hadn’t been able to find the answer anywhere in the text.

"Oh! You’re studying mandrakes? Those little buggers are nasty. They scream, you see. . ."

Willow nodded as he rambled on about the plants, hiding a grin at the not-so-subtle way the younger student had joined her at the library table and begun to proofread her homework. This was a peace offering, she could tell. It could possibly be the closest thing she would ever get to an apology from him. She would have preferred something more akin to an ‘I’m sorry’, of course.

But, right then, that didn’t seem so important. He was trying – and that had to count for something. Everyone made mistakes – some worse than others, of course. And his had been to judge her before getting to know her.

But he was giving her a shot – something most students would never give her.

And for that he would have her silent gratitude.

~*~Back at Square One: Part Twenty-Eight~*~

No matter how hard she ran, how fast, she couldn’t get away. They were at her back, in front of her, to every side. If she dared look overhead, the petite red head knew she’d see them there as well, hovering on their brooms, waiting to take her away. Lock her up. Exploit her and then destroy her once and for all. She was a liability and a blessing all wrapped up in one little package. They would kill her eventually. They had no choice. Given enough time and opportunity she would do the same to them.

So she ran.

She ran until she could feel her lungs burning with the effort, her legs and arms pumping as fast as she could make them.

But still they came.

Faster and faster.

They were catching up and there was not a single thing she could do about it. If she stopped long enough to work up the will for a spell she was done for. The moon was high overhead, not quite full, though still big and bright enough for her to see where she was going for the most part. The forest smelled like musk and decay. The trees were dying and barren, their leaves scattered in piles of mulch all over the forest floor. There were animals, too. Predators of some kind; she could see the leftovers from their meals laying in bits of bone and fur as the scenery flew past her frantic eyes. Was there anywhere to hide? Somewhere big enough for her to crawl inside and escape notice until –

Until what?

No one was coming for her. These were the authorities and they didn’t seem to care that she was innocent. It was a witch hunt in the very literal sense.

She continued to run, the muscles in her legs screaming. Her heart would fail her soon enough, she had pushed it far too long. This kind of physical intensity was unknown to her.

There was no other choice, though. Run and die. Or stop and die. The death part was inevitable, but she’d be damned if she stopped and gave in to it.

How had this happened? It seemed like only moments before she had been lying in bed, wrapped in Severus’ arms. And then there were Aurors everywhere, tearing him from her and her from him. Screaming and throwing curses at her. She was injured before they ever tried to apparate. And when they did apparate it was to no where she recognized. They were in the middle of nowhere and she was at a loss.

"Why?" She had screamed.

"Traitor."

"Murderess."

"Slut."

"Death Eater’s Whore."

The names they threw at her were like slaps to the face, vicious punches to her stomach. They had robbed her of all speech momentarily as she struggled to think of anything to say to refute the accusations. She had tried to protest. She wasn’t a traitor. She had been planning on killing Voldemort. She tried to tell them the truth. Go see Dumbledore, she had screamed.

And they had ignored her, laughing at the ‘poor little witch’. One of them had called her a Mudblood, no better than a Death Eater himself.

So she did the only thing left to her at the first chance she had – she ran.

And that was where she was now. Running for her life through a forest that could be deadly for all she knew. Let it be - she would rather be eaten alive by some rabid animal than back in the clutches of the Aurors, though. She’d rather die out here, of exposure or a venomous bite, maybe falling and being impaled by something sharp, than live out the rest of her short life in the hands of men that had already made it clear they hated her.

She rounded a thick tree, slamming face-first into someone. A cry escaped from her lips as she tumbled backwards, to the ground, scampering back as she did so, away from the hooded man in front of her. One of them, her brain screamed. One of the Aurors. He would hurt her. He would hurt her before he gave her over to the Minister of Magic. She had heard them talking. . . they would hurt her. They had said they would. . .No, her brain couldn’t even say the word. They would violate her in the most intimate, disgusting way possible.

"Give yourself to me and this will all end. . .I can help you."

Willow stiffened. She recognized that voice. It was Him. The one that she had been planning on killing.

"Give yourself to me and I will make them rue the day they ever dared to think of touching you, Willow."

She winced, the desire for vengeance against those men ‘out there’ getting to her. She could feel the call for justice in her veins. They were the evil ones, not her. She had never done anything to them. She was going to rid the world of the evil of the Dark Lord, and they were giving her no choice now but to join with him. To take that hand that was protruding from the dark cloak and let him help her to her feet. To join with him and cause pain and death to those that had dared to stand before her.

It was like a drug, easing its way into her mind; warming her very soul with its particular brand of dark comfort. She reached out, taking his hand in her own, ignoring the leathery-paperlike feel of his skin on hers. Their magic flared together at the touch, bolstering her courage. She could do this. She could hurt those that would hurt her. They would pay for even trying to do this thing, for thinking that she was so beneath them that they could plan on using her in that manner.

"Now they shall pay. . ." He hissed, and she smiled in the darkness. They were coming closer. Closer still. And soon. . .

"Willow – no!"

"Tara?" The witch sobbed automatically, pulling herself from Voldemort’s grasp to wheel around. Her eyes widened at the sight of her lover, standing there with moonlight showing through her ghostly body, ethereal robes billowing in an imaginary breeze. The blonde haired witch had a sad look on her face, her eyes dark with worry. She reached out a hand to Willow, as if reaching across an impossibly wide chasm.

"This is a dream, Willow. Wake up and it will all end."

"A dream?" The witch repeated, shaking her head. This was too real to be a dream. There were noises and smells and pain. She was hurting from where she had fallen, her hands scraped up. "It’s not, Tara. They’re going to kill me. . . they’re going to . . ." She broke off with a cry, watching as the first of the men barreled into the clearing, through Tara’s apparition, scattering the particles in a million directions. Willow screamed, her shriek filling the air as once again she saw her lover taken from her by a scummy excuse for a man. Her power built up, within her – and without thinking twice, she struck.

His anguished cries filled the air.

"What have you done?" Tara murmured, from next to her, tears on her face. "Sweet Goddess, Will. . . what’d you do."

~*~*~

Willow woke, screaming. She sobbed, grabbing for something, anything to anchor herself to this reality and not take her back to where she had just come from.

"Willow? Calm down. You must calm down."

Strong arms were around her bare shoulders, pushing her down into the pillows, holding her steady when she felt like bolting into a closet and hiding from her fears. She shut her eyes, her mouth open, still screaming silently. She had killed him. She had flayed him alive, just like she did to Warren. And he had done nothing other than threaten her. She had murdered him. Nothing had been learned from her previous mistakes, she was still a killer and deserved to be sent away. Far away. Locked up tight so that she didn’t hurt anyone else ever again.

She deserved –

"WILLOW! Stop this at once or I will be forced to bind you!"

The red head’s eyes flew open, settling on the man kneeling over her. Severus, she reminded herself. Her soul mate, sent directly from Tara and the Powers. She stilled, arms and legs falling to the bed. She whimpered, the sound foreign to her ears.

"Sev?"

He leaned back, pale face dark. There was only a single candle lit in the room, and it was casting shadows this way and that, making his face seem like a mask made of dark and light.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded slowly, closing her eyes again. It had seemed so real. So horrifyingly real. Her chest still hurt from the running; there was a burning in her lungs from the overexertion, and her legs felt as if they were so much jello. She sniffled, rubbing at her face and coming away with a hand wet from tears.

"I killed him, Sev. I killed him. I dreamt I killed him."

"Who?" He was lying next to her again, holding her tightly to his chest as though he were afraid to let go for fear of what she would do. Probably not the worst idea, she decided, afraid for herself that she may bolt if she didn’t hold her steady. The dream had seemed so real.

"This Auror. . . they came to take me away. . .called me these n-names. . .and then He was there. . . and the Auror came. . . Tara tried to tell me it was just a dream . . . but I killed him Sev. . . I ripped his skin right off of him. . ."

"It was just a dream. A nightmare." The Potions Master sighed into her hair, breathing in the warm scent of the shampoo she had used earlier that night. "You haven’t done anything wrong."

Willow snorted bitterly. "Not recently, you mean. I’ve done plenty wrong in my life. I’ve killed people."

"And you are working to make it better, correct?"

She nodded.

"Even to the extent of concocting some wild scheme to rid us all of the Dark Lord at the risk of your own death?"

Again she nodded. When he put it like that, her plan almost sounded like an idiotic jaunt, but she knew that was far from the truth.

"Then I hardly think you’ve done anything to be ashamed of in the very recent past. And you are atoning for the rest. You are not the only one to have sinned, Willow; and the rest of us keep going. You will too. Close your eyes and sleep."

"Don’t wanna." She mumbled petulantly, feeling the first vestiges of sleep already creeping back into her brain. She yawned, eyes closing; and when the gesture was complete she did not reopen them. The nightmares would come if she dared relax enough to sleep. They would overwhelm her, she knew it. And, when in those dreams, she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference from reality and make-believe.

That part scared her the most.

"Sleep," Severus whispered, holding her still-trembling body in his arms. "I’m right here."

Willow nodded, unsure what he would do if another nightmare came to exact its horrific designs upon her. She trusted him, though. . .

And soon found herself asleep.

~*~*~

Ginny stared at the ceiling. A day had gone by since she had overheard Draco speaking with Pansy. One full day and yet she was still no closer to figuring out what his words and actions meant. It was obvious that he wasn’t thrilled with the Dark Lord or his father – but did that necessarily mean that he was on the side of good? Or was he just anxious to get all of his superiors out of the way so that he could take control of everything for himself?

"That’s silly," she whispered into the darkness, finding herself greeted, unsurprisingly, by silence. The other girls in her dorm had long since fallen asleep, as she needed very much to do for herself.

But she couldn’t.

Not with this problem weighing in her mind.

‘I’ll just have to go talk to him. . .’ She decided. ‘Let him know I know and then, if he’s up to something, he’ll know I’m on to him and he’ll stop. And if he’s not on to something. . .’

Her thoughts trailed off as she rolled over, fluffing her pillow before laying her head on it again.

She wanted to believe in Draco. With all of her heart. He always had had that lost-puppy look about him when no one was looking. And she was quite willing to be his friend, to care for him like he so apparently needed.

But first she had to make sure that he wouldn’t stab her in the back the first time she turned around.

~*~Part Twenty-Nine~*~

The room was lit up, even though the time was far past any ‘decent’ hour.

Which was good, Willow admitted to herself, because the conversation in the room was far from ‘decent’.

"So . . .’Mione." Willow smirked, popping a piece of cupcake into her mouth. She felt good – relaxed, even. For the first time in weeks she honestly felt like everything was going right; with her schoolwork, with her relationship, with the Plan, with, well, everything. Tonight was a night to get back to her childhood, to remember what it was like to be young and stupid, without a care in the world and, for once, she felt like she just might deserve it. "Truth or dare?"

The rest of the Gryffindor girls that had gathered for this impromptu ‘sleepover’ turned curious eyes to the bushy haired brunette. Would she choose truth or dare? Either way it could get interesting, especially since it would be Willow doing the truth-ing or daring.

"This is silly, guys," Hermione tried to backtrack out of a game she had agreed to a half hour before, when her turn had seemed far off in the distant future. "We probably should get to bed, too. Look how late it is."

Willow raised an eyebrow, smirk plastered on her face. "Tomorrow is Saturday, ‘Mione. No reason to go to bed all early-like. So, choose – truth. Or dare."

Hermione shot her sometimes-pupil a mock-glare before sighing in defeat. "Fine. Truth."

The red haired witch smiled in triumph, casting a devious look in Ginny’s direction. They had planned this, the red haired sirens of Gryffindor. They had planned to get Hermione in exactly –this- situation.

"Well, Hermione," Willow purred, all seriousness. "Truth, is it? Are you sure?"

"Of course." The younger witch nodded, though doubt crept into her eyes. She saw another glance pass between Ginny and Willow and knew she had been set up.

"Very well. ‘Mione – how do you –really- feel about Ron Weasley?"

"I – you see –" Hermione stammered, her face lighting up with a blush.

"Give it up, ‘Mione!" Lavender crowed, leaning her laughing head onto Parvati’s shoulder. "We all know. The little looks you guys give each other. It’s cute, really. So just admit it to us, and yourself, and be done with it."

Hermione groaned, flopping back onto one of the many cushion-sized pillows the girls had managed to round up for the evening of fun on the floor. "Fine!" She moaned. "Have it your way. Ron Weasley is – He’s – "

Willow laughed. "Spit it out, already. How do you feel about the boy?"

"Yes, ‘Mione. Don’t keep me in suspense. It’s been hard enough watching the two of you moon after each other for years." Ginny snickered, putting a piece of candy into her mouth with a flourish.

"He’s . . . perfect." Hermione finally managed, much to the shrieking amusement of her fellow female Gryffindors.

"You’ve got it bad," Amanda, a sixth year, chortled. "You should see your face right now. As red as Ginny’s hair, it is."

"You just wait," the other witch snarled, the laughter in her eyes dulling down the normally harsh response, "It’ll be your turn soon enough. And I’ve seen the looks you’ve been giving a good friend of mine who’s initials happen to be H P."

Amanda spluttered, her own face turning red with embarrassment. "There aren’t any looks. I swear. I –"

"Right," Hermione nodded, complete with condescending smirk. "You just keep saying that now. I’ll get the truth out of you when the time comes. But – not right now. I have something else in mind. . . Oh, Willow dear?"

The red head broke off the conversation she had been having with Ginny on the nature of setting up Hermione and Ron, and turned her attention back to her friend and ally. "Yes?"

"So – Truth or Dare?"

Willow pondered the question for a moment before answer – "Dare."

"Oh, goodie."

That was the first time Willow, or any of the others, had ever seen the type of deviousness that Hermione was capable of. They waited with baited breath to see what the bushy haired Gryffindor know-it-all would come up with.

"I dare you. . ." Hermione began carefully. "To go to Professor Snape’s room –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Willow waved her hands frantically, interrupting before the dare could be completed. "Nuh uh. No sending me down to my boyfriend’s room. Not only that – but a –teacher’s- room!" She glared reproachfully at Hermione.

"Fine, fine." The other girl huffed. "So – truth?"

"Yeah." The red head nodded, her eyes wide. There was no telling where Hermione had been going with that dare and, to be honest, Willow didn’t want to know either. The simple fact that it started off with ‘go to Professor Snape’s room’ was enough to let her know that she wanted no parts of it. There was no telling how Severus would react if he caught her doing anything in his rooms even remotely related to a dare.

"Okay, then. What is it like – you know. . . being *with* him." Hermione, at least, had the good grace to blush.

As did Willow.

And Ginny.

In fact, all of the Gryffindor girls looked quite embarrassed by the question.

Which only made Willow want to answer it that much more.

"Well . . ." She began. "Let’s just say that he’s just as surly and rough in the bedroom as he is in the classroom." She waggled her eyebrows, eliciting a group of squeals from many of the younger girls, and knowing looks from some of the few sixth and seventh years that had joined them.

"What made you decide to just jump him like that?" One of those seventh years asked, hurriedly adding. "If the rumors the ghosts were blabbing about are to be given any credit, that is."

Willow nodded, deciding to ignore the fact that the girl was asking a question out of turn. These girls had taken her in for the night, let her be one of them; she wouldn’t shun their hospitality for the sake of a game – nor would she give too much of her personal life away. "I did just ‘jump him’. It’s hard to explain why – and if I tried you probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. Let’s just say that you reach a point in any relationship – whether it’s friendship, love, lust, etcetera – when you know you just have to take that next steps, repercussions be damned."

"And that’s what you did with Professor Snape." Ginny smiled. "That’s so. . . romantic."

The older witch shrugged. "I guess. I mean – from where I’m sitting, it seems like a normal relationship. No more or less romantic than any other."

"Wow." Ginny grinned, flopping back onto the pillows. "I wish I had someone like that. Someone who could make me think of love logically, but still with that look in my eyes that says I’m crazy about whoever he is."

"You’ll find someone one day," Willow assured her gently. "Now – if no one minds, I think it’s my turn again? Ginny – truth or dare?"

~*~*~

Ginny lay awake for most of the night, her overactive brain contemplating the many things she had heard and learned that night. Willow was full of information about life, the Muggle world – and she had some pretty good ideas and theories on life, love, death and heartache. And why shouldn’t she? That woman had lived through all of it – from one extreme to another. Now she was resting happily in the arms of a safe middle – a love that didn’t leave her breathless, but made her complete. Those were Willow’s exact words, and they made all the sense in the world.

At dawn she began to walk the halls, the only student out of bed so early on a Saturday morning. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to study or work on homework. So she just walked.

Walking inevitably led her outside, to the lake. She sat down by the murky water, wrinkling her nose at the brown liquid. The squid was under there, somewhere; carrying about his life under the surface while they all came and went on dry land.

"Well if it isn’t the youngest Weasel."

Ginny felt her heart sink, her perfect morning of quiet thought ruined by the one person she had been hoping not to see. She had yet to decide how she felt about him, after overhearing his conversation with Pansy. If she were lucky he would taunt her and then move on. Even luckier would be no taunting and rapid moving on – though she didn’t dare hope for that much.

"Good morning to you, as well, Malfoy." She forced with a smile. Beat them with kindness, don’t give in to the dark – Willow’s words, again. Be nice instead of hateful. Be true instead of deceitful.

He didn’t reply, merely frowned at her. Then, before another word could be spoken, he sat down at her side, keeping a few feet of empty lawn between them.

Ginny was confused, but strove not to let it show, turning her attention back to the water. He was out here to think, just as she was. And she would give him his privacy, just as she wanted her own.

"I’m surprised Gryffindor tower is still standing. Heard your god-awful little group was having a ‘sleep over’ last night." He made the words sounding mocking, insulting – but she read past them to the hidden symbolism behind them.

He was making small talk.

Fine.

Two could play that game.

"Yes, well, it wasn’t for lack of trying."

"Granger keep you from doing anything fun?"

Ginny had to laugh at that, the image of Hermione at her most devious still fresh in her mind from the night before. "Not hardly. I’d say she was the troublemaker of the group."

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows. "How – shocking."

"It was, trust me."

Silence descended between them again, and the memory of him and Pansy the other day came rushing forward, demanding to be dealt with. She took a deep breath, summoned all that foolhardy courage her family was known for, and spoke:

"I heard you and Pansy the other day."

"You – Look – Weasley – Ginny . . ." He sounded frantic now and had moved closer, their sides nearly touching each other. "You cannot say a word of that to anyone – do you hear me? This isn’t a game. It could get her and I killed! I know I’ve been awful to you, to your family – but for Merlin’s sake –"

"Calm down," she laughed lightly, turning in his direction. Their faces were only inches apart, so close that she could smell the mouthwash he had used that morning. "I haven’t told anyone yet and I hadn’t planned on it."

She could see the tension leave his shoulders, his thin frame nearly folding in on itself in relief.

"How could you think I would place anyone, even you, in danger?" The question was spoken aloud, though she expected no answer from him; certainly no startling leaps of insight into his character. He hadn’t moved away from her, and she was almost painfully aware of the closeness of his body to her own. Despite his predilection to seemingly evil behavior, Draco Malfoy was a very handsome boy. The kind of handsome that made her stomach do these weird flipping things, like when looking down over a large cliff or flying on a broom for the first time.

"You live your whole life expecting someone to stab you in the back and then try expecting anything decent from anyone, Ginny – it’s hard."

He had said her name. In that low purr that he used sometimes. The one that always made her heart skip a beat, even if he was using the voice for dastardly purposes.

"I can see that." She agreed, not daring to turn to look at him. She tried to steal a glance at his face from the corner of her eye, hoping for inconspicuous – but that, like so many things in life, did not go as planned.

"Why won’t you look at me?"

"N-No reason." She stammered, shutting her eyes and fighting against the blush that she could feel rising up. Wouldn’t Ron just die if he knew what she were thinking right now? The idea of her and Draco, snogging by the lake, running rampant through her teenage brain. She sighed, frustrated with herself and the situation she was in.

"Ah. . . I see. . ."

And maybe he did, because as she opened her eyes she had just enough time to see that he had moved to kneel in front of her before his cool lips met hers. It was almost innocent, that first brief kiss that they shared.

But the second, the one that he initiated after a moment’s breath, was nothing close to chaste, nor was it innocent. It was full and deep, and carried with it a bit of tongue. Her eyes fluttered closed, capturing the picture of him, looking like a pale angel in the early morning sun with his own eyes closed, in her mind for all of time. Whatever had prompted this from him would pass all too soon, leaving her with only the memories of one sweet morning when she had been kissed by Draco Malfoy, by the lake.

"Don’t tell anyone ‘bout this, either." He smirked when he finally broke away, gray eyes scanning behind them. They were too far away from the school for anyone to have seen them from the windows, and there was no one out on the ground. Their moment remained just that – their moment.

"Of course not." She managed.

They shared a smile, full of secrets that neither could speak of, before he turned and made his way back to the castle – leaving her to the thoughts that she had been dwelling on before he arrived.

~*~*~

Draco forced his face back into the mask of contempt and scorn that he normally wore around the school before stepping back within its cold, stone walls.

What had made him do that, he wondered?

The innocence she portrayed? The ability to still believe in something good?

Perhaps.

In fact, that was probably most likely the reason.

She was his opposite in so many ways. Poor where he was rich. Nurtured where he was emotionally starved. She still believed in good and he had long since given up hope in anything or anyone.

If opposites truly attracted, then this was their ideal situation.

And that was what had happened.

A brief smile broke through his stony mask, and he ran a finger over his lips – over the exact place where her mouth had been only moments before.

He had his own memories that he would carry with him, until his dying day – memories of a sweet-mouthed red head from the wrong side of the ‘tracks’.

Of course, if this plan of Rosenberg’s didn’t go off well – his dying day could very well be coming up soon.

~*~Part Thirty~*~

The week before winter holidays came without much fanfare. There were no
trumpets blaring to announce that this could very well be her last week upon
the earth. No banners and no signs. Nothing of any importance except in the
way that Severus looked at her each night, the way he held her in his arms.

He had been Called the week before, questioned extensively on whether or not
she was ready for the Mark. Whether she would be present for the initiation.
He had been able to answer truthfully to at least the last one – she would
be present for the initiation. And, yes, in a way she was ready for the
Mark.

Though not ready in the way that the Dark Lord meant.

Willow ran a hand absently over her robes, her gestures slow, languid
almost. She was walking without a purpose, while most students were in
classes. She had a break this week due to her ‘good work’ getting so far
caught up in her studies. If she kept on this track she would only have two
years to go after this one.

If she lived through her so-called initiation, that was.

Severus had been a blessing to her. He was almost kind to her at times,
holding her when she needed to cry, putting a silencing spell on his room
when she needed to just scream. He taught her advanced hexes and curses,
things that would help to protect her if and when she needed them.

And she would need them.

There was no doubt about it.

She was going to be in the fight for her life. Her magic was still at her
beck and call but what good would it do to defeat Voldemort if she abandoned
herself to the darkness again. She had come so far in these months since she
had left Sunnydale. So far. And the last thing she needed was to backslide.
She would do this without those dark magics. She would take him down with
the simple magics she had known for most of her adult life, and pray that
that was enough.

The main hallway was deserted, not even a Professor in sight, and she
wandered past the Headmaster’s gargoyle-door without looking twice at it –
until someone called her name.

"Willow?"

She turned, an inquisitive arch of her eyebrow greeting the Headmaster.
"Yes, sir?"

"A package was just delivered to my office for you, my dear." He held out
the medium-sized box, smiling gently when she saw the return address on the
brown shipping paper. There was a lump in her throat when she met his eyes.
"Go on back to your room and open it."

She nodded and turned. It was pure instinctive autopilot that got her back
to Gryffindor tower with no wrong turns, and before she knew it she was
tearing open the paper that covered the box, exposing the contents. She
stared at the shreds of paper, the return address looking back at her like a
reminder – Sunnydale, California, USA. This had come from Sunnydale. For
her. She opened the lid of the box, gasping. There were letters there – four
in total. And a long enameled box at the bottom.

With trembling hands, she picked up the first letter, identical with all the
others from the outside, and opened it.

~*~*~

~~Willow,

We received word from Dumbledore on what you plan on doing. I only pray that
you will be safe, child. Too much has happened in your life and you are only
now getting back on track. Buffy wishes that she could be there to help you
‘slay the Big Bad’ – but I’m sure she will tell you that herself, in her own
letter.

I fear that we have been terribly neglect in our communications with you
since you left for Hogwarts. And that is, in part, my fault. I told the
others that it would be best for you if you didn’t have constant reminders
of home, things to drag you back into the memories that we needed you to
move past.

And for that I am sorry.

We were all very happy to hear that you have made such wonderful progress,
though I must question your choice of companionship. Severus Snape is
infamous in certain circles – and not all of it is good.

I will leave you to make your own decisions, however. Go where your heart
takes you and be safe. We care for you deeply.

Giles~~

~*~*~

Willow was sobbing by the time she finished the short letter. She folded it,
heavy tears still falling over her cheeks, and placed it aside, eagerly
reaching for the next. Her heart felt lighter for knowing that Buffy and
Xander had been encouraged in their silence. Even if that had been stupid of
Giles, she could understand why he had done it. And she would forgive him.
He was the closest thing she had to a father, and that wasn’t the type of
bond to throw away lightly.

With trembling hands, she took the next, unfolding it and beginning to read.

~*~*~

~~Best Bud o’ Mine,

I feel like a royal jerk, Wills. I mean, here we were doing what Giles said
we should do, and you’re over there carrying on the proud Scoobie tradition
of trying to right the wrongs and fight the good fight.

I’m proud of you.

I didn’t say that enough during all those years we spent as friends. I never
told you how special you were to me, to Buffy, to Dawn, to everyone around
you. Not just one person, Wills. We never should have let you think that the
sum of your existence rested on one person. We loved you. We still do. We
always will. No matter what you did, you’re still our Wills – and we love
you more than anything in this world and only want to see you get better.

Giles told us what you’re going to be doing, well, soon. And I’m scared for
you. Not because I think you’ll freak out and try to go all psycho again –
but because I think you’ll hold back and get yourself killed. Don’t. That’s
all I’m going to say – don’t hold back. We can fix you again if you go off
the deep end. We can’t bring you back to life.

Well – apparently we probably could – but you’re the only one who really
knows that spell and if you die that option goes out the window pretty
quickly.

What I’m trying to say is this, Will – you’re my bestest bud. You always
have been and always will be. I’m proud of you for what you’ve done in the
past, and how you’ve survived without our help, being so far from
everything. You don’t even get to watch Saturday morning cartoons over
there, or so the G-Man says. It must be hell.

You go show the V-guy what Sunnydale witches are made of – and we’ll be
waiting for you when you get back.

Love Forever,
Xan~~

~*~*~

The letter fell from nerveless fingers back to the bed she sat on. The room
was spinning as she sobbed from the heart. She missed him so much. Her
Xander. Her snoopy-dancing friend of fun. The one that had always been there
for her, no matter what.

The one that had –saved- her from doing the unthinkable.

He loved her. Buffy loved her. Dawn loved her. They all still cared about
her. He took responsibility for not caring enough over the years, for not
being there to provide back up support to her fragile emotional network. It
wasn’t his fault, and one day she’d make him realize that. She had done this
all by herself. She alone had placed her world in Tara, conveniently
neglecting the other people in her life that not only loved her, but that
she also loved in return.

She would make that up to him. To all of them.

~*~*~

~~Wills!!!!!

Dawn here! Ohmigod! I can’t believe you’re still over there. We’re so sad
without you. Its just not the same. I mean, what are the Scoobies without
Willow? You’re our rock – our guiding light!

And, ya know, maybe that’s not a good thing. For us or for you. It took me a
while to realize that. Some things that Buffy said – about relying on you
too much, about dragging you down with things we should have found other
ways to do. We took advantage, Wills. We all did. We didn’t need magic all
the time, it just made things easier. I feel guilty. You had to learn the
hard stuff to protect me from Glory. I know, I know – you’re probably
sitting there thinking – ‘Dawn, don’t you dare think this is your fault!’.

But I do.

I love you, Wills. We miss you soooooo much! I don’t think we ever made you
see how important you were to us, and now that you’re gone – we’re feeling
it. I think Spike even misses you on some level. He’s reminded us a few
times that you were the only one worth biting and now that you’re gone he
needs to find a ‘second place’. He’s silly.

Giles told Buffy and Xander what you’re going to do. They didn’t tell me, of
course, because no one thinks I’m old enough to handle it.

But I am!

Will – take care of yourself. We screwed up – you screwed up – the world
screwed up – but we can’t make it all better again if you die. In fact, if
you die I will seriously be looking to kiss your ass!

Love,
Dawn

PS – What’s this I hear about a boyfriend? Is he a hottie?~~

~*~*~

That letter made her laugh, except for the part where Dawn felt responsible.
Sure, it was possible that the increase of magics when Glory was around had
helped contribute to her own growing problem. But she would never, ever,
admit that to Dawn.

Only one letter left now, and she was shaking when she grabbed it from the
bed.

~*~*~

~~Wills,

I can’t believe you’re going to be bringing with the hurting and I can’t
help! I tried to get Giles to make with the plane tickets, but he said ‘no
– and it was all forceful and everything. He says this is a fight for your
world and we can’t help.

What does he mean, Wills? Your world? Are we still a part of your world?

I know we didn’t call. We didn’t write. Or owl. Giles says you guys have
owls, but we’re sending this by Air Mail. Hope it still gets to you okay. We
didn’t do all of that partially because of what Giles said – and sort of
because we were still scared and hurting, too.

We loved her, too, Wills.

I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I hope you know it’s the truth.
She was special to all of us. I only tell you this now because Giles says
you’re ready to hear it. You know me – always making with the bluntness. We
love you. We loved her. And life will go on now. I promise. We have to make
it better between us, now, because we miss you like we miss a piece of
ourselves. Its not the same without you.

Giles said you might not want to come home when this is all over with. I
think I can handle that. I mean, we’ll miss you and all, but if you make a
life there then we have no right to take you from it. At least if we can get
with the owls and letters and stuff we can still be friends. And we can
visit! Giles says you live in a castle now – is that uber-cool or what?

Now, on to the instructional portion of this letter. I sent something
special for you to use when you go up against this big bad Giles has been
saying so much about. It’s just a little something, and I hope you like it.
You know what they say about diamonds being a girl’s best friend? Well, you
know I never believed that. So – there it is. A ‘something special’ just for
you. Use it to wallop him good with, Wills. I’m counting on you to start the
first slayage of the English branch of the Scoobies out with a bang.

We miss you. I hope you know that. Even if things are still sort of tense,
it’ll get better.

I promise.

Be safe. Don’t let the baddies get you. We’ll be waiting to hear how it
goes, of course.

Love,
Buffy

PS – Giles says you’re dating a teacher? Way to make with the naughty,
Wills! Do you get extra credit for – wait, nevermind, I don’t wanna know.
That could be majorly ick-some.~~

~*~*~

Willow pulled the enameled case from the box, opening it carefully. When
Buffy says she sends ‘something special’, there really is no telling what it
could be. She gasped when she saw the present gleaming in the case,
surrounded by red velvet.

A knife.

A beautifully designed knife, with a handle carved in runes of protection.
She could feel the magic bouncing off of it when she touched the her skin to
it. Goodness was infused in the steel, the pure Light of the world. The very
thing she had tried to snuff out had gone into the making of this blade.

She smiled wickedly, taking it into her hand. It was weighted beautifully
she could tell from years of fighting. It was sharp, deadly, and packed a
punch in the form of Light magic. This would look good with her robes,
hidden in a sheath on her right arm, far from the prying eyes of the Dark
Lord and his followers. They would only get to see it when she was ready.
And by then it would be too late.

Trust Buffy to always know the perfect accessories to go with any outfit.

~*~BaSO: Part Thirty One~*~

Willow glanced at the timepiece on the wall, rolling her eyes at her own inability to stay focused for more than five minutes on anything. She had twenty-four hours now – or less, perhaps – until it would be time for her to meet the creature that had invaded her dreams on a regular basis, turning them to nightmares. In less than a day she would be done with this, for better or worse. Either he would be dead, or she would be dead, or both. There was no outcome that she could foresee that did not end in death.

The only thing she could do would be pray that, if things turned for the worse, the deaths did not reach farther than herself. She knew the consequences of failure like she knew the paths of her nightmares now. If she died and didn’t take Voldemort with her it would likely mean Severus’ death, as well. The Dark Lord would never believe that her own boyfriend had not known that she would betray them.

But it would not end with Severus – because Draco and Pansy had been writing home with detailed reports on how ‘well’ she was doing. She knew because she had helped write the letters, making sure they didn’t sound too forced or fake. How would those two students who were supposedly her ‘friends’ not know that she was a betrayer? The Dark Lord would want to know that if he lived past tomorrow night for certain. Not a single one of her allies would escape his hateful gaze; they would not pass his inquisition if it fell upon them.

She held their lives in her hands.

Literally.

Just as she had once held the fate of the world in her hands, so now she held the fate of those that trusted her. Draco, Pansy, Severus. They were all near and dear to her, even though she had originally thought that each one, in turn, was not to be counted as a friend. Amazing how things turned out, such a short time later.

Thinking of friends and friendship, of bonds too strong for even death to shake, took her inexplicably back to her friends back in the States – in Sunnydale. Their letters were on her bed, the small case with Buffy’s present to her lying off to one side. She had read them and then re-read them time and again, choosing the best phrases from each to take to her heart. Those words were what she would cling to tomorrow night if things got rough. Those memories of her friends, of their love. She would drive herself on the power of their love and pray it was enough, because she wanted to one day be able to see them again.

They would be her strength, her light in the darkness. It was their memories that she would hold tight to if the darkness tried to overwhelm her. Them and Severus. And Draco, Pansy, Hermione, Harry – everyone that had taken the time to get to know her, to help her. She did this for them. It was their strength she would have at her back.

The letter from Dawn tore at the strings of her heart more than any of the others, though. Poor Dawn, thinking this was her fault. The magic had always been there, even before there was Dawn. She would have fallen off the carousel of control eventually, helping fight against Glory, and then subsequently bringing Buffy back from the dead, had only expedited the inevitable. Dawn should never think that this was her fault, because it wasn’t. If Willow had the choice to do it all over again, with the consequences being the same – she would still choose to do whatever it took to protect Dawn, even at the loss of her own soul or life.

With a smile, Willow took up her quill, the sharp tip hovering indecisively over the blank parchment she had perched on a book on her knee.

~*~

~Dawnie,

By the time you get this letter everything could be over – but I couldn’t go off to face my destiny without telling you some things.

I don’t blame you and I would never want you to blame yourself. Neither would Tara. She, and I, both loved you with all of our hearts. What happened was awful, and in some ways inevitable. I was on a one way track to destruction, and nothing short of intervention would have been able to save me. We weren’t in a position to be able to have me give any of it up, Dawnie; and I would never have wanted to if it meant putting any of you in danger.

There aren’t words to describe how happy I was to hear from you. I spent many nights thinking that you guys would never forgive me; that you would continue to lock me out of your lives forever.

I see now that that’s not the case.

I want you to know, above all else, that none of this was your fault Dawn. I would have given anything to protect you or Xander or Buffy. Goddess, I probably would have done just about anything for Spike or Anya, too – and I can hardly stand them most of the time. I made my choices and I have to live and die by them. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You have so much still to live for and believe me when I say moping about isn’t the way to live.

Should something happen to me tomorrow night I want you to know that I love you and will always be there watching out for you, even if it is after I have left this earth.

Love,

Willow~

~*~

She found as she laid aside the first letter, sealing it with a minor charm, that she was crying. It was so hard to do this, to say the things that needed to be said in the event that she wasn’t around to say them after tomorrow night. Hopefully Dawn would understand one day that this wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t, after all. It never could have been.

‘I was on the fast track to Hell,’ Willow thought sadly, readying her quill again. Evening was coming and she still had things to do before she could sleep.

~*~

~Xan and Buff,

I respond to the two of you together because you two are the same to me – my best friends. One girl, one boy – but still both just my friends. Thank you for writing to me. It was courage I needed for what I have to do.

Giles told you to do something because it was ‘best for me’? He’s such a daddy to us, don’t you think? But he means well. And I have no doubt that, in this case, he also meant well. Maybe it was better, in the long run. I had enough to go through when I first came here without constantly thinking of home. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have liked to hear from you – it’s just me saying that, well, maybe Giles was right. I didn’t need to be reminded of home yet, because right now home has so many bad memories I’m not sure how I’ll ever be able to deal with it. I’ll come home eventually, even if its only to visit – but that’s far in the future. No time soon. I need to get my head on straight and finally once and for all beat back this damn addiction before I can get near the Hellmouth – I’m sure you guys understand. It’s better to have me back in one piece than to never really have me back at all.

Severus is the man that I am dating. Yeah, that’s right. Willow is driving stick again. Guess I was a little more ‘bi’ than ‘gay’ – and I think I like it that way. Twice as likely to be able to get a date on Saturday nights, and all that.

Not that I think I’ll need to date anytime soon.

I won’t.

Severus is. . . my soul. He is my heart and everything that I need.

And I have it on excellent authority that he and I are ‘meant to be’. Don’t ask me about it because I won’t tell you in a letter. Maybe one day I’ll tell you face to face, but not on paper – that’s just too impersonal for this type of intimate admission.

You guys need to convince Dawn that none of what happened is her fault. She said that in her letter to me, you know. And I don’t want her to think that. It will never be her fault. I could have said no, and I didn’t. I could have asked for help, and I didn’t. Giles, with all of his wealth of experience, could have helped me if I’d only just bit the bullet and asked.

But I didn’t.

So – no more making with the blame. Either on her or yourselves. What happened happened. Blaming can’t make it better.

I love you two. Tomorrow night will be the fight of my life; right up there with everything we did with Glory. There’s always the chance that I won’t make it – and if I don’t I want you two to know that I never stopped loving you guys. Not even when I thought you had abandoned me. Never. Not once. Remember me with love if this is my time.

Anyway – let’s not say goodbye and all that – only ‘til later’. There’s so much that needs to be said, and not nearly enough time left to do it. Let’s just leave it with ‘I love you’ and ‘I miss you’.

So – this is Willow, signing off. See you guys when I see you.

Love,

Willow

PS – Thanks for the knife Buffy – Would you believe that I know *just* who to use it on? ~~

~*~*~

Giles~

You’ve been like a father to me. I’ll never forgive myself for the things I said and did to you while I was all big and bad. Thank you for still being there for me. For still caring enough to make sure that I got through everything okay. You’re so much more of a parent than either of my real ones ever were.

If things don’t work out tomorrow night I want you to make sure that they are okay. Please don’t ever stop looking out for them. Buffy and Xander. . . and Dawn. Especially Dawn. I’ll feel so bad if I never get to see her face to face again to tell her that I don’t blame her for anything – so you’ll have to help make sure she understands.

I know that things could go very wrong tomorrow. But – they could go very right. Ever since I was fifteen we’ve been fighting to make the world a better place – and this is the same thing. This guy needs to be brought down and I’m just the witch to do it.

You’re the best father a girl could have had, Giles. I hope to see you again one day – but if I don’t – remember me with kindness. I never meant to hurt anyone.

Love,

Willow~

~*~*~

She finished the last of the letters, tying them to the waiting owls she had selected with trembling hands. They would fly fast and true, but still would not reach Sunnydale for two days. In two days it would all be over.

Gathering a small pack of her things – some nightclothes and bathing items – the red haired witch left the room. Severus would be winding down from his day by now, and it was in his arms that she wanted to spend this night. If all Hell were to come tomorrow, at least tonight would feel like Heaven.

In the pack was her Dreamless Sleep potion, and a smaller vial filled with something so strong that she could only take a few drops without harming herself. These were the potions she would take before even trying to sleep. She would need all the help she could get, because she needed to be at full strength to go through with the plan for the next night.

She slipped into Severus’ room without a sound, dropping her pack by the door. He was sitting in a chair by the fire; face pensive and lined with worry. Tonight would be hard for him, too. Without a word he held out his arms, eyes never leaving the fire. Unquestioningly she went to him, easing into arms that would never harm her. She leaned back, his fingers toying with her hair, and closed her eyes.

For tonight, at least, she was safe. Tomorrow night be damned – tonight she would be warm and content. Tonight she would sleep well and dream the dreams of happiness.

~*~*~

"You shouldn’t be up here!"

Draco looked up at the distinctive female hiss coming from one corner of the tower he had chosen for his night’s solitude. It was far enough out of the way that he didn’t have to worry about getting caught by Filch, while still close enough to the main passages that he didn’t fear any odd creatures of ghosts getting to him on his way to it.

"Neither should you, I would say." He answered with a smirk. Stepping over to the figure he leaned against the wall she sat against, sliding down until he was sitting next to her.

"Yeah. . . Well. . ." She shrugged.

"C’mon, Weasley. Tell Draco what’s the matter," he taunted, only half-mocking.

"I –" Ginny began, before stopping herself with a violent shake of the head. "It’s happening soon, isn’t it? Everyone seems to be wound up – but they won’t say why. Hermione knows something. . . but she won’t say what."

Draco turned his head so that she wouldn’t see the pained fear that he was sure ran through his eyes as he answered, "Yeah – tomorrow night."

"Willow –"

"Will beat him!" Draco said forcefully, turning to the startled red head. "Don’t you worry about that, Virginia Weasley. She will beat him."

He didn’t add the silent ‘she has to’ that his heart was throbbing with. That painful realization that this could all fall apart if she didn’t make good with all of her promises to make everything okay again. If she failed he would very likely be dead before Dumbledore could do a thing to stop it.

Ginny nodded, red hair swaying a bit. "I hope so. I’m just so scared."

Draco didn’t need to think twice about what he did next. Just as he had done on a few occasions since they originally spoke of secrets too dark for the light of day, he pulled her into his arms, softly stroking her hair as she sobbed. He didn’t know what drew him to her, or her to him. It was the unlikeliest of pairings considering how awful he had been to her since day one. She seemed to understand, though; and gave of herself to him as she could, offering up her compassion as if it were a never-ending river of pure light. Tonight he comforted her, and gained some in return.

When she turned her head and soft pink lips sought his own, he didn’t fight the attraction. She was still too young for anything more than this innocent kiss, and he wouldn’t be the one to take her innocence for the sake of something so vile, releasing his own tensions. All rumors aside, he was not an insatiable sex-god with thoughts of nothing but his own pleasure. He would have her one day if she was willing. But not here. Not now. Not with this hanging over both their heads like a lead cloud.

But they could have this.

This. . .kissing. . .

This. . . comfort.

Tonight they had this soft desire and, if he lived through whatever happened tomorrow night, maybe one day they’d have something more.

~*~*~

She had told him.

She had to.

Otherwise he never would have known why she was crying when he found her in the back of the library. Why she was shaking like a leaf in the middle of a storm as he led her back to the common room and then, slowly, up to her bedroom.

So Hermione had broken down, told a secret that she had kept for months and months. She told her best friend about everything that had happened with Hogwarts newest red haired witch, everything that could happen, and what they wanted to happen when the plan went down the next night. She told him in shaking words, her normal eloquence escaping her as she sobbed brokenly.

And, when it was over, he pulled her into his arms without a word, kissing first her forehead, then each cheek. He kissed away the tears that had fallen, their salty crystalline drops dotting his lips as he pulled back.

She had a chance to murmur his name before those lips crashed into hers; expressing the things they had both been too shy, too stubborn to say for so long. It was now or never, their actions seemed to say. What was left but this, when everything they knew could end in the blink of an eye?

"Ron. . ."

~*~

"You will do fine."

Willow turned, knowing she was dreaming simply by the sight that greeted her eyes.

"I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to come around anymore." She laughed, teasingly. Her heart still broke to see this woman, this blonde angel, standing before her as if she had never left.

"I snuck out," Tara shrugged with a chuckle, closing the distance between herself and the woman she had loved in life. "I needed to tell you that it would all be okay. One way or another – everything will be fine."

"Promise?"

Tara smiled sadly, grabbing hold of Willow’s hands. She squeezed. "You know I can’t promise, sweetie. But I’ll be there, looking out for you. You’ll do your best."

Willow nodded. "Will it be enough, though? If I screw this up – they could die."

"I know. There is no other way left, though."

"I know," The red head echoed her lover’s words. She glanced around the lush green fields of her dreamscape, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall when she once again met Tara’s eyes. "Walk with me for a while?"

Tara nodded, already moving forwards through the grass at a slow pace. She exuded peace with every step she took, like a calming drought slipped into the drink that was her dreams.

"That’s what I’m here for."

~*~Part Thirty-Two~*~

The morning came despite all wishes from Willow that it would not. She lay awake in the bed she shared with Severus, staring up into the windowless darkness that was his room. Today was the day. The day when she would face the big bad of the wizarding world and hopefully retain the right to life not only for herself, but for Severus, Draco and Pansy as well.

And that wasn’t even to say anything about the countless other lives that would be saved if she could accomplish this; lives of wizards, witches, children and Muggles that would have otherwise been cut short by the Dark Lord’s reign.

She had come so far in those months since her own reign of terror. From wanting to end all life on the planet to wanting to save even one life – she had moved past that place of sorrow. That was thanks, in part, to both Severus and Tara. Tara for giving her Severus, a reason to live. And Severus for just being there when she needed someone to understand, someone who’s darkness was very near an equal to her own. He was, not an opposite, but a completion – just as Tara had promised he would be.

The last of the students would be gone by now, boarding the last train back to London and Hogsmeade to meet up with their families for the holidays. This left only the Professors, Dumbledore, and a handful of students that had no where else to go or otherwise wanted to stay at the school. Amongst them were Draco and Pansy. It was Dumbledore’s hope that, even if everything went wrong, he would still be able to protect them from their parents’ wrath. That said nothing of Voldemort’s ire, though. In a fight between the Dark Lord and Dumbledore, everyone liked to assume that the Headmaster would come out on top – but the truth was that there were no guarantees in life.

And there certainly were no guarantees tonight.

She fumbled in the darkness, finding her robe draped across the nightstand. Still in the dark, she pulled it on and slid down to the cold stone floor of Severus’ rooms. If she lived through this, perhaps she could convince him that a nice semi-permanent warming spell for the floor would be a pleasant addition to the suite of rooms.

Of course, if she didn’t live past tonight, that wouldn’t make any difference at all.

~*~*~

The day crept by, as if time itself seemed to know the doom that nightfall would inevitably bring to one inhabitant of Hogwarts. Willow spent her time doing the most mundane things she could – doing homework. She took lunch in the Great Hall, smiled at her teachers and fellow students, the ones that had no clue about her plans for the night. She made idle chatter with them all, Severus with his hand on her knee under the table. He was her lifeline in all of this, his touch bolstering the courage that she clung to – the thing that threatened to escape if she lost her grip on it even for one moment.

She could almost feel normal, she decided in between bites of the brothy chicken soup that was being served for the midday meal. This was what life was supposed to be like. This was what her life had been like at one time, complete with the threat of imminent danger hanging over her head. Back in high school, when her sorrows consisted of loving Xander and never being loved in return, they had had pending apocalypses to deal with, but together, as friends, they were strong.

It was the same thing she had now. She was surrounded by people that had slowly begun to accept her for who she was as well as what she had done.

She had just placed the last bite of soup in her mouth when the hooting, screeching cries of the mail owls came in through the rafters. She looked up, instinctively, though she had no one that would send her anything via this method of delivery.

Or so she thought.

Severus stiffened in his chair next to her at the sight of the bird that winged its way down towards her. The table was set up in a wide square, to give more of a community feeling to those individuals that had chosen to stay over the holidays. And, as Draco and Pansy were sitting only just across the way, Willow was also able to see their faces as the bird came to land on her shoulder, scroll tied to its leg. They looked horrified, and just a little scared.

"What is it?" She hissed under her breath to her lover, untying the scroll and feeding the bird and bit of bread before allowing it to fly off.

"That is His bird," Severus murmured, wiping his mouth to cover his lips, preventing any of the nosier students or Professors from being privy to what he said.

"Ah." She shivered, fingering the bit of parchment with apprehension. "Should I wait –"

"No, the others will wonder."

Biting her lip and putting on the sunniest disposition she could manage, the red head slid a finger under the heavy seal of the blood red wax. It gave way with a crack, the parchment unrolling in her hand. A medallion was strung on the inside by a thin black ribbon, dangling as she read.

~Dearest Willow,

This enclosed token will activate tonight at seven. Please make sure you are outside of the Hogwarts grounds and ready at that time.

We look forward to your presence.

T.R.~

She folded the letter back up, smiling at Severus with a levity she did not feel.

"Well, that’s that."

~*~

In retrospect, there was no way she could have known that her life would come to this point. That she would have, in the course of one year, lost one lover and gained another. Tried to end the world and tried to save it. Fate and destiny had gotten their lines crossed somewhere along the way, that was for certain. Her life was nothing more than one big confusing mess.

The only thing that still made sense was her duties.

To help the helpless.

To right the wrongs.

She had fallen from that path once, and even now the dark magics threatened to burst through her fragile defenses and overwhelm her again; but she would not allow it. She was Willow, the good witch. Not Willow Wicked Witch of the Western US.

Severus was in the other room, at her request, giving her these moments alone as she dressed. He had schooled her in what to wear tonight – a plain black robe. She should tie her hair back with a ribbon, leaving her face visible. The hood of her cloak would hide her face from the casual observer, but the Dark Lord would want to be able to look down upon her when she knelt at his feet.

Beneath that robe it was up to her to decide what she wanted to wear, what would make her the most comfortable for what was to come. If the truth had to be told, there was nothing that could truly make her comfortable. Not a single thing. She was going to face a Dark Lord for a fight to the death, though he didn’t know it yet.

She slid on a pair of stretchy black pants, something she had brought with her on the off chance she had felt like working out. It hadn’t happened, but now she was glad to have them. A black t-shirt was tossed on over that. If tonight was to be her death, she would be dressed for her own funeral in the pure blackness that reflected the sins on her soul.

On the inside of her right arm she strapped on the sheath that had been included in the case Buffy’s present had come in. Thin and supple leather wound snugly around her arm, and the blade slipped in without a hitch. She stepped in front of Severus’ floor-length mirror, admiring the picture she presented. A woman, no longer just a girl, dark and light mixed in a contrast even she could not fully understand. Her hair was bound back, exposing the angles of her face. She had lost weight since Tara’s death. Not too much, but just enough that now she looked honed down to the bare essence that was herself. She opted for no makeup tonight, no surprise really since she hardly wore any on a normal day. The knife on her arm made her look just a little bit dangerous, which was an understatement of her true power and the danger she represented to anyone that crossed her.

Like Voldemort.

She whispered his name under her breath, steeling her gaze in the mirror. This man – creature – that had haunted her dreams, created her nightmares, for so many nights. This evil thing that had tried to lure her to the dark side with all of his skill and power.

He would die tonight

Or she would die trying.

Failure, however, was not an option that she was willing to contemplate.

She picked up her robe, pulling it no and buttoning it from top to bottom. The only other thing that showed was a simple silver chain. It had been a present from Tara on her birthday their first year together. And tonight she would draw on its memories to help her get through this.

It would be enough, she told herself. The power of friends and family. The courage and strength she had worked so hard to gain back after her own transgressions. That would be enough to get her through this, or at least to make sure that, if she died, the Dark Lord went with her. No one else would die because of her inabilities. No one else would die because she was a ‘rank amateur’. Tonight she was Willow. She was blessed by the Powers and she would be their warrior.

It would be enough – because it had to be.

A hiss of pain from the next room drew her out of her thoughts and back to the reality. The clock on the wall had ticked to twenty to seven during the time she had been indulging in her innermost thoughts. The door to the bedroom opened, Severus a shadow against the light pouring in from his common room.

"He’s Calling."

She shut her eyes, slamming her hand into the wall. It had all come too soon! She wasn’t ready – was she?

"Be safe." She whispered, unable to meet his eyes. Her gaze was locked on the wall, the hard stones, the pain in her hand making it all that much more real.

"And you."

"I –" She turned, the words caught in her throat.

His lips curled in the slightest of smiles and he reached out, running his thumb down her cheek. "I know. I love you as well."

She nodded, whirling away. The sounds of robes and then the shutting of a door.

He was gone.

The minutes crept by as she waited for her own time to come, the hands on the clock moving with a slowness she would have attributed to cruelty had she not been of enough sane mind to know that they were moving neither quicker nor slower than usual. When the time read ten ‘til seven she moved again, grabbing up her wand and the Dark Lord’s token.

She was unhindered as she moved through the hallways, slipping from shadow to shadow until she reached a side exit. This would be the same side exit that Severus had taken only moments before. It led directly to the grounds and then, eventually, a gate off of the grounds. It was there that she hurried now, her feet gliding over grass slicked with a rain that had fallen earlier before the sun had set.

The token in her hand, she reached the outskirts of the school, darting out of the gate. It grew warm, ever more such when she left the sanctity of the anti-apparition wards. With a sigh of regret to what could have been, she closed her eyes and focused on apparating to the place that the token was now giving her a clear visual of.

And then, with no time for further prayers, she was gone.

~*~*~

Pansy whimpered, whirling away from the tower window, her face buried in Draco’s chest. She had watched as first their Potions Professor, and then Willow Rosenberg, had left the grounds and disappeared. This was the night of truth. Either she would win. . .

Or she would fail and they would all pay for it.

"They’re gone."

He nodded, running a hand along her back in the most comforting manner he could manage.

"It’ll be alright," he whispered.

"Do you really think that?" The moonlight that was their only source of illumination in the abandoned tower and it made the normally homely lines of her face even more sharp. She looked scared, and he wished that he could say what she wanted to hear, because it would mean that he actually believe it.

But he didn’t.

"I don’t know, Pans. Whatever happens – its me and you in this together."

She snorted, turning her head to look up into his face. "What about the Weasley girl? Isn’t she in this now? Doesn’t she have some stake in it all?"

"Ginny?" Draco smirked, but the cold gesture faded to a smile despite his better judgement. Pansy was the only one that knew about him and Ginny. He chuckled, remembering the last stolen kiss he had shared with the fiery bit of girl before she had raced off to join her brothers for the trip home. "She’s –"

"Special?"

"Yeah."

"Will you date her publicly – if we live through this?"

He shrugged. "Hard to think about that right now, when I don’t know if I’ll be living past midnight. I would like to. . . "

She nodded, but the silent wish for their happiness broadened to include the youngest of the Weasley children, the only one to see past a Slytherin’s colors to who he really was.

The only one willing to give a lonely dragon a chance.

Sighing, she leaned into his embrace. Ginny wouldn’t begrudge her this moment, the girl was too selfless for that. If she hadn’t been summoned home to be with her family for the holidays, Pansy had little doubt that she would have found a way to join them tonight.

"It’ll be okay." She whispered, both to herself and the man that held hers.

There was no other option.

Not for her.

Not for Draco.

Not for poor Virginia Weasley, the only female of the lot, and the one that had placed an emotional stake in Draco’s well being. Was she in her room right now, wondering if they would live? Or was she surrounded by friends and family, laughing and making merry as the season demanded?

Somehow she doubted either one.

Ginny would be with her friends and family – but she would be quiet and pensive. On edge and abrasive. They would wonder why, but the red haired girl would never say. Not until weeks or months, or maybe even years from now; when the memory of the night was far gone and the scenario had played itself out as it would.

If they didn’t live through this, Ginny would make sure everyone knew what they had tried. Dumbledore would keep it silent. Snape would be dead for his own involvement –

But Ginny would let everyone know.

Ginny wouldn’t let the wizarding world continue to believe that they were nothing more than the children of Death Eaters.

She would make sure that they all knew the truth.

And, if that was all she had to cling to, she would hold to it like a beacon in the darkness of this night.

~*~Part Thirty-Three~*~

Before her feet connected again with solid ground Willow had made the decision that she liked using portkeys even less than she liked apparating. They were both nauseating, as far as she was concerned, but at least she had control over the apparition. These little objects that were spelled with portal-like trapments she had no control over in the slightest. It was cold and dark during those few seconds as her body was transferred through space and time from one location to another. And during that time she felt the warmth leave her body, vanishing into the abyss. Whether due to the portkey travel or the monumental event she was about to play a rather vital role in – she wasn’t sure.

And it didn’t really matter.

The world sprang back into place with a sickening thrust of force that stole the breath from her lungs. Maybe if she had been prepared for it she could have braced herself. But she wasn’t. She gasped, eyes scrunched tight as she scrambled to gather her wits about herself again. There was a coldness inside of her that had nothing to do with the chill air surrounding her. It was the blackness left from the void she had just traveled through, and it left her longing for warmth and light. For anything other than that void again.

"Welcome to our circle, my dear."

That voice, so silky serpentine smooth with just a rustle beneath it, like scales over paper, brushed over her skin. Green eyes flew open to gaze for the first time in living color on the man of her dreams and nightmares. The one that had promised her the world if all she did was join his side, helped him fight against the light. He was dressed just as he had always appeared to her, clad from head to toe in a black robe, hood thrown up so that she couldn’t get a glimpse of his face. Only those red eyes, peering out with a demonic glow that symbolized everything wrong with the world, in her opinion. He was welcoming her to his circle, to his group. How ironic it was, to her, for him to give her a greeting such as that when she wanted nothing more than to see him dead. How was he to know, really, that she had forsaken the darkness for good?

He didn’t.

And for that reason Draco, Pansy and Severus were still alive.

If she had her way, they would still be alive come tomorrow.

And the day after.

And the day after that.

For the rest of their lives they would be safe from the worry that this vile creature inspired in them if only she succeeded in a mission that had been described as suicidal by some. If she could rid them of this pest of a man and wizard, then she would do so with a song in her heart and a smile on her lips, just as Buffy had always taught her. Those moments seemed so long ago at one point, in the depths of her own despair. The times when she had fought for the side of good and right, alongside Buffy and Xander.

But it was those moments that she drew on now for her strength, remembering Xander’s bumbling antics when slaying or Buffy’s witty remarks in the face of danger. Laugh in the face of danger, that was their motto; even if Xander did attach his own rider of ‘then run away’ to it. The idea remained true. Slay the baddies with joy. Kill them with happiness. Don’t show fear or despair.

Nothing the baddies did could earn them the right to see those emotions.

Nothing made them bad or scary enough to see that. Even when it was herself that was the bad guy, her friends hadn’t shown their sorrow or pain. They had bucked up to the challenge. Xander had been the one to come to her, she remembered. He had loved her even then. Maybe that made her not quite such a baddie, after all.

Because, the baddies also didn’t deserve love.

"Thank you for the invitation," she murmured softly, drawing herself up to her full height. There would be no slouching before the Dark Lord. Obeisance was one thing. Weakness, something else. And she was not weak. He wouldn’t want her if she was weak.

And he had to continue to want her. He had to see her as a prize to be secured. If he did not she would lose her chance at eradicating him. And that was not an option at this point. Not when she had come so far, done so much. This painful charade was almost at its conclusion – all she had to do was keep it up.

"You have come to us tonight of your own free will, correct? Free of all coercions, spells and potions?"

What if she had not – she wondered. What if she was actually under the Imperius? Would he kill her if she answered the wrong way? Had there been would-be initiates at some time before her that had actually been coerced into taking the Mark? Were they killed? Tortured? Maimed?

"Yes."

She was proud that her voice did not waiver; that it sounded just as filled with easy confidence as when she had practiced back in her dorm room, in front of the mirror.

"Would her sponsor please step forward – Severus?"

Willow took that moment to cast a covert glance to her left, to her right. She couldn’t turn to look behind her without noticeably taking her attention from the creature in front of her. But she didn’t need to. She could guess what she would see.

And, for the first time, she felt the very real sense that these were her last moments.

Death Eaters. All around her. Dozens of them. Even if she killed the Dark Lord, struck him down as he so rightly deserved, his followers would kill her before she could gather the concentration to apparate away.

She was doomed.

It hit her like a fist to the gut, though she kept a straight face as Severus stepped forward to stand next to her. There were words exchanged between him and the Dark Lord, tales of her instruction and progress. Things that would make her a worthy candidate to join their ranks. Was she progressing well in the Dark Arts? Did she show promise in the ways of the Dark? Was there any reason to believe that she may turn on them in the future?

But she couldn’t hear those words; they were beyond her mind now.

She was going to die.

How unfair was that? The Powers gave her someone to love again. A reason to live. And now. . .

But the world would be a better place both to have Voldemort out of it – and perhaps to have herself gone as well. Never again would anyone run a risk trusting her with magic. If she was gone the potential threat that she posed to the world would be gone, too.

Maybe that would be better.

Willow felt the cold certainty of that eventuality slide through her veins, like ice water on the heat of her blood. It passed through her body once, twice, until she was cold from head to toe. Her mind felt clear, unhindered. She would not waste this chance, this moment. She would die, but others would live. She would give up her own happiness to give everyone else a chance at their own.

And maybe Severus would understand.

‘Don’t let him go mad.’ She whispered silently, as the Dark Lord’s attention turned back to her, burning red eyes looking out from beneath the cloak’s hood. ‘Don’t let him do what I did when I lost Tara. He’s too important to this world.’

"Kneel, child. And take the Mark that shall admit you to the finest ranks known to the wizarding world."

Were her eyes as cold as her heart felt? Did they look as blank and empty as she felt on the inside. She wished with all of her heart that she could, one last time, tell Severus that she loved him.

He would know.

She held to that hope, that he would know, as she took her place on her knees, before the man that had caused so much pain and loss throughout a portion of the world that she had never even known existed before her own horrendous transgressions. Life, fate and destiny – it was all interwoven, she knew in a blinding flash. This was fated to happen, though the outcome still remained unclear. She knew that now. Tara dying, her own madness, coming to this school and falling for Severus. And now. . . this.

It was meant to be.

Those that looked towards Harry to be the savior of the wizarding world were in for a shock, she laughed silently, lacking the mirth that the irony presented. The boy who seemed to be destined to kill the Dark Lord would be safely ensconced with his friends and surrogate family, the Weasleys, when Voldemort finally fell for good.

If only she succeeded.

‘Goddess, forgive me my sins.’

She held out her left arm, shaking it so that the robe fell back and away from the smooth, white skin. Severus had gone over this part with her many times. The incantation that would be used. The gestures that would be made. This would link her to the Dark Lord – and thus he had to be the one to perform it. No one else could and only a small few even knew how the magics worked.

That alone would work to her advantage. Voldemort would have to let down his guard long enough to gather the concentration for the last part of the spell, as he burned the actual tattoo into her arm with the tip of his arm, transferring a part of his dark life essence into her for all of time.

‘Severus, I love you.’ Those words, so powerful in their own right, could not even be spoken aloud. He would hear them, one day in his dreams if she didn’t live through this. She’d get Tara to teach her the dream-walking thing for a one-time visit. Severus would deserve that much.

If not so much more.

She could hear the Death Eaters in the background, whispering amongst themselves as the rite was performed. It was odd, she noted absently, the detachment she felt from the situation. As if she wasn’t even a part of the proceedings, though she was. She could feel the knife strapped to her right arm, the easy release sheath ready and waiting for the movement that would release the knife into her hand.

The moment came too soon. When she had discussed the proceedings with Severus it had seemed as if the first three quarters of the ceremony would take longer. She almost wasn’t ready, too distracted by her own thoughts of mortality and death.

Almost.

But not quite.

The knife slipped into her hand with a jerk of her wrist. The handle was cold as it fell easily into her palm. She lifted her head as Voldemort’s wand came down, only a second ticking by as she gazed into those blood red glowing orbs.

"Shove your Mark up your ass, Voldie." She growled, throwing her right arm up before anyone could stop her, spells on her lips as the knife plunged home in a chest that had not been human for a long time. She was hexing him to Hell with her mouth, twisting the knife home with her hand – and watching as the light faded from his eyes.

It wasn’t spectacular when he died, his body crumpling slowly to the ground as the Death Eaters surrounding her began to shake from their shock to step forward, wands drawn. She had killed their Lord, and that alone was buying her valuable time. How powerful could she be to have killed the greatest wizard they had ever known?

Seconds crept by, mere seconds, as she pulled the knife from his chest, plunging it in one more time for effect. She stood, wiping the red-black blood that had gotten on her hand onto her robe; and turned to face the assembled Death Eaters. If she was going to make a bid for freedom, this was it. She needed to get out of there.

She groped blindly for the power to apparate, cursing herself for throwing so much into killing Voldemort. There was nothing left now. She was dried up, with not so much as a charm to defend herself from the horde of shocked Death Eaters that were surrounding her. Severus was too far away, even at a few steps. If he started towards her, or her to him, she would most certainly be killed and maybe him, too.

Then the seconds were over, the shock gone and replaced with fury – and all Hell broke loose.

~*~Part Thirty-Four~*~

A deep, gasping breath of air was all Willow had time for before the power
of the Death Eaters she had just royally screwed over fell upon her. She
yelped ducking behind the ornamental throne that had been set up for the
Dark Lord to sit upon during the ceremony. He would never again sit on a
throne, though. And it was all because of her. She had done it. At risk to
her own life she had ended the terrifying reign of one of the worst Dark
Wizards in all of wizarding history.

That made her feel tingly-good inside.

Even if she died right now she would have done something good. Maybe, just
maybe, her Goddess would be of the forgiving type when one of these Death
Eaters got lucky and sent her to the Havens to meet her maker in person.

Curses hit the chair, breaking off great chunks of the wood and stone
ornamentation. In only moments they would be coming around it, or breaking
through entirely, to curse her into the oblivion they felt she deserved. In
their eyes she was the scum of the earth, as they were in her own.

"Well self," she muttered, calling on the remaining reserves of her power,
struggling to grasp onto the wild magic of the earth. "If you're gonna go
out - do it in a blazing rush. And take as many of them with you as
possible."

It was the best pep talk she could remember ever giving to herself, even if
it did sound remotely suicidal, even to her own ears. She gripped the tiny
stick of a wand that she had been practicing with during her months at
Hogwarts and closed her eyes, hexes on her lips.

She whirled from behind the chair, firing off a curse at random before
ducking back behind the chair. If it hit its mark she didn't know, nor did
it matter. If she was fighting back maybe they would be a little more
hesitant about coming closer to her. Again she turned out from behind the
'throne', not even blinking as she screamed another hex into a clearing
filled with them. She ducked out of the way, narrowly missing a flash of
green light that looked too much like the tell-tale trail of the Killing
Curse for her own tastes. That was one curse she hadn't even thought about
casting. To just touch that was to stray closer to the Dark Arts than she
ever wanted to go again.

Was Severus out there still? Or had he gotten away? Was he safe?

She wanted desperately to cry out for him, to hear his snarky voice answer
back that 'of course he was okay' and would she please just 'keep the curses
coming'. But to do that would be to damn him if he was still out there and
unharmed. And that was the last thing on her mind at that point. They had
all come so far. If she were the only one to die that night then it would be
mission accomplished. Dying to save others was what she had spent all of her
adult life in fear of anyway. Now that it was a very real possibility, she
found that she wasn't afraid. Not at all. As long as Severus, Draco and
Pansy, not to mention the rest of the world, was safe - then she had done
her duty and could die happy.

Another piece of the throne went flying off, victim to a curse with an odd
sort of flamey red-orange tint. Willow gathered her wits about her again,
inching to the side of the throne to look out over the clearing. The Death
Eaters were close. Too close for her liking. Another fifteen feet or so and
they would be within easy distance to just reach out and yank her from
behind the throne. And then what? Not a quick death if they laid hands on
her, that was for sure. The tales she had heard of the things Death Eaters
did to their victims came rushing back. No, if she was going to die it would
be by curse. Not knife or raping. Not chains and shackles. She would not be
tortured if she had any say in the matter.

She would rather take her own life.

The curses had subsided for the moment, as the Death Eaters that had
remained in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's death plotted the best way to
get to her. She took that moment to shoot off a powerful sleeping curse at
the front most wizard, the blue light hitting him squarely in the chest and
sending him toppling to the ground.

"One down. . ." She muttered, popping back behind the throne before they
could start another volley of their own curses.

And then, as if sent by the Goddess herself, she heard the most glorious
sound in the entire world.

"THROW DOWN YOUR WANDS AT THE ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC! WE HAVE YOU
SURROUNDED!"

Willow bit back a sob of pure relief, that part of her that hadn't been
quite so willing to die that night coming forward in a great rush of
gratitude for the nameless aurors that were there, in the darkness,
surrounding her aggressors. Still she didn't stand, crouching low behind the
status lest -

The full out battle that had been itching to break out since the moment she
killed the Dark Lord began at that moment, though she could tell by the
sound of things that the Death Eaters were grossly out-numbered. Peering
around the throne she saw, at the very minimum, three dozen aurors flooding
the clearing, dodging the shaky curses of the Death Eaters that were left
standing.

Within moments it was over.

The nightmare was complete.

She broke down, hugging her knees to her chest. The adrenaline left her body
in a rush so powerful that she felt drained and weak, too much so to even
try standing on her own. So she sat. And cried.

It was over.

"I've got Malfoy."

"Parkinson is right here."

"Looks like Avery got one to the head. AK from the looks of it."

"His own people probably shot him by mistake."

The voices of the aurors, though she didn't know any of their names, was
comforting. They were her heroes. Her brave, courageous -

"Severus?" She whispered, the boots that appeared suddenly in front of her
seeming very familiar. She looked up tiredly into the worried lines of his
face, smiling.

"Why are you hiding over here? The aurors have captured the last of the
Death Eaters."

"Not," she shook her head in negation. "Too tired to move. That was some
serious mojo I was putting out there."

"And, to think, you kept your wits about you during the entire thing.
However will we live with the knowledge that you may be cured of your black
magic addiction?"

He was being snide, but she could see the playfulness lurking just under the
surface. He wanted to hug her just as much as she wanted to be hugged.

"You gonna help me up and kiss me breathless or what?"

Snape snorted, extending a hand to help lift his girlfriend from the ground.
"There will be no kissing, breathless or not -"

He was cut off by her lips latching quite insistently to his own. There were
catcalls and hoots all around and she blushed. But it was of the good. They
had lived. Both of them. And now Draco and Pansy would be free to live like
normal kids their age.

Well, like a normal witch and wizard their age, anyway. And maybe not so
much with the 'normal' part of it, either. They wouldn't have to worry about
their parents feeding them to the Dark Lord, at any rate.

And that was enough for her tonight.

"Are we through here?" She murmured, pulling back to stare into the dark
eyes of the man she wasn't afraid to say that she loved.

"I do believe the lead auror would like to have a few words with you."

"Right." She rolled her eyes. That was going to be the one hangup to all
this, she could tell already. Everyone was going to want to talk to her
about how she had done it - the whens and whys of it all. She stepped around
the crumbling remains of the throne, the body of the Dark Lord still lying
where she had left it. The knife Buffy gave her was imbedded to the hilt,
blood marring the surface she had admired so well the night before.

She knelt, gazing upon the features that, in death, were even more hideous
than they had been in life. Whatever power she had sent with her physical
blow to kill him had done the trick - he now looked like a corpse of at
least a week old, complete with smell and squishy-looking texture.

"Your aim was brilliant."

Willow looked up, flashing a queasy smile at the auror. "Can I take my knife
out?"

He nodded. "You're free to go when you like. We'll come up to the school
later this week to get your official statement. There's too much," he
gestured at the Death Eaters they currently had in custody, "for us to do it
all tonight."

"Thank you," she stated with heartfelt sincerity before twisting the knife
out of the body. It gave with a loud, wet popping noise, like suction
suddenly broken on a lollipop or Popsicle. It was nausea-inspiring, and she
was thankful for Severus' steady hand on her shoulder as she rose to her
feet.

"Well, that's that." Willow sighed, leaning into his arms. "Take me home
now? I need a bath."

"As you wish." Severus murmured, drawing his cloak around both of them. She
leaned into his warm embrace, enjoying the strong feel of his arms around
her, a sigh of relief finally escaping her lips as he apparated them out of
the clearing and back to the school.

It was finished.

~*~Part ThirtyFive~*~

"Are you nervous?"

Willow turned to face the girl that had grown to be one of her closest
friends during her years at Hogwarts, flashing her a bright smile that she
would have said was more reminiscent of the Willow she had been before the
weight of the world crashed into her than the Willow she had become after
Tara's death. She looked young and carefree, something her fellow soon-to-be
alumnis couldn't help but marvel at.

"Not nervous, no. Not really. It's not like when you graduate from high
school back home or anything," Willow shrugged.

"So what is it, then?"

"I dunno, 'Mione," Another shrug of the shoulders. "We get all of our final
marks right there, in front of everyone. And the Professors say things. . .
like compliments or criticism. . . what could I possibly be nervous about?"

Hermione giggled. Long gone was the fifth year girl that had been the first
to take a moment and befriend Willow when she first arrived at the school.
In her place stood a proud seventh year - a girl that had lived through
Voldemort's return and made it through unscathed. She had grown up
marvelously, as far as Willow was concerned. And the red head liked to think
she had something to do with that. Gone was the shyness, the reserved
quality that Willow had recognized all too well in the younger witch. She
had helped coax the girl out of her library-induced shell, slowly forcing
her to become a part of the world outside of books and research.

"Think we should go do this?" The older of the two sighed, glancing towards
their dorm room door and the school that lay beyond. It was now or never,
really. Neither of them would want to show up to the Leaving Feast late.

"Yes. Let's. After all, we don't want to miss hearing what Snape has to say
about his beloved." She batted her eyelashes, holding a hand to her heart
dramatically.

"Probably something along the lines of what a terrible Potions student I
am," Willow smirked, biting her tongue. There was news that she wanted to
share with Hermione so badly, but she had made promises. And the promise was
that no one could know.

Not yet.

But, tonight, all would be revealed.

~*~*~

The Great Hall had been decorated not in the colors of the House that won
the cup, but in the colors of all four Houses. They merged and twined
together in ways that their students staunchly refused to do. It would be
idealistic to say that after the fall of the Dark Lord everyone had made
nice with each other, Gryffindor and Slytherin resolving rivalries that had
been brewing and steeping for hundreds of years.

That wasn't the way it happened.

Things tapered off a bit, with students whose parents had been apprehended
dropping out in some cases to go home and put together the shambles of their
lives. Draco and Pansy had stayed at Hogwarts, though. They had no reason to
leave, to return to mothers that were heartbroken over their husbands facing
life in Azkaban. They stayed.

And became some of the few Slytherins to extend that olive branch towards
their red and gold counterparts.

Most noticeably in Draco's case, when he asked Ginny to the spring dance.

Willow smiled, remembering that dance with fondness. She had danced the
night away with Severus in between helping him catch some of the younger
students snogging in the gardens. Ron and Hermione had even been one of the
couples, much to her own amusement!

And now that was all ending. . . sort of.

"For every ending there is also a beginning," she reminded herself quietly,
taking her seat at the Gryffindor table. Only the seventh years were invited
to this informal get together that marked the last night most of them would
spend in Hogwarts. Harry and Ron were laughing and joking, as usual. This
was just another day for them - and a happy one at that. They would finally
be finished with school, ready to face the world as aurors or Quidditch
players or whatever it was that they had settled on this week.

"Here we go," Hermione muttered, nodding her head at the Head Table.

"Good evening, all of you," Headmaster Dumbledore smile benevolently at the
'graduating class'. "It is with great pleasure that I welcome each and every
one of you to this year's Seventh Year Leaving Feast. I trust that you're
all rested up and ready for a long night of reminiscing?"

Willow nodded, murmuring her 'mm hmm' along with the scattered 'yeses' and
groans of her classmates.

"But - before we can get to that, I have some very special guests here with
us this evening. You have heard of them in your Defense Against the Dark
Arts classes - and we were even lucky enough to have our very own Miss
Rosenberg provide a lecture on this band of modern day heroes -"

Willow didn't hear the rest of the introduction. The dull rush of blood
going straight to her head at once made her exhilarated and dizzy. They were
here? They -

"Without further ado - allow me to introduce, straight from Sunnydale -
Buffy and Dawn Summers, Xander Harris, Anya Emerson and Rupert Giles."

The applause that shook the room was thunderous. Of course they had heard of
the Scoobies; if not from Willow herself, then from someone who had heard
tell of the tales. There were even books in the library now, documenting the
history of the Slayer, with special inserts she had written regarding the
'Scoobies' involvement with the Slayer known as Buffy Summers.

She sat, shocked still, as they filed into the room through the side
entrance, grinning silly-like. How had they kept this from her? She had just
gotten owls from all of them last week and they hadn't mentioned a thing!
They caught her eye one by one, Dawn being the first to spot her. Willow
watched the smile break out across the young woman's face and felt her own
heart lighten. Dawn tugged on Buffy's sleeve, pointing excitedly to Willow -
and soon they all were waving her way and smiling.

"Yes, as you all can see - this was a surprise for Miss Rosenberg as well."
Dumbledore laughed, waiting until Buffy and the others took their seats at
the High Table amongst the teachers to continue. "There will be plenty of
time to speak with them all after the Feast - for now, shall we begin?"

~*~*~

Professor McGonagall rose from her seat, flashing her star pupil a smile.
"Hermione, you were the model of what a student should be. It will come as
no surprise to me one day when you change the course of wizarding life for
the better."

Snape rolled his eyes, not bothering to rise. "You were a passably fair
potions student."

Willow turned to Hermione, rolling her eyes. They both knew that the younger
witch had done far better than 'passably fair' - but what else was expected
from the man that hated Gryffindor?

~*~*~

"Mister Potter - it is with great relief that I see you off into the world.
. .whole and relatively unscathed."

The assembled Seventh years, minus the Slytherins, chuckled in appreciation
of McGonagall's apt words concerning the Boy Who Lived.

Which was immediately followed by groans when Professor Trelawney uttered
her words of encouragement. "Your inner eye was one of the best I've seen in
years. What a shame you will not be amongst the living much longer - I
foresaw it this very night, before coming to the ceremony. I -"

"Very good, Sybil." Dumbledore interrupting over the Divination Professor's
lucid chatter on Potter's impending doom and the snorting laughter coming
from students who knew all too well the raving prophecies of Professor
Trelawney.

Hermione leaned over the table, mock-whispering so that her fellow
Gryffindors could hear her, much to their amusement.

"If you die tonight, can I have your share of the butterbeer down at Madam
Rosmerta's?"

~*~

It was her turn. She was last, not by merit of alphabetical order, though
her last name would have placed her somewhere near fifth to last anyway. No,
this was by virtue of the fact that she wasn't a true seventh year to begin
with and there had been 'special circumstances' for her tenure at the
school.

So, it was with open curiosity, that Willow listened to her Professors tell
about their time with her.

"Willow was. . . timid at first," Professor McGonagall started slowly,
flashing the red haired witch a smile of encouragement. "We all know why, of
course. As she gained confidence I found her to be quite adept at whatever
she put her hand to, though sadly, I could tell that Transfiguration was not
to be her strong suit. She accomplished her animagus training within only
one short month, a new school record that beat out Mister Weasley's own
record of four and a half weeks."

After McGonagall came Trelawney, though Willow was happy to hear that there
were no impending bouts of death in her future - although a mention of a new
'dark swathed bundle of joy' made her give Severus a look of pure mirth.
Then came Professor Sprout, Professor Hagrid, and Professor Lupin.

Lastly, was Professor Snape, known to her and her alone as the cuddle-bunny
of the Slytherin dungeons.

"There are rare instances where the pupil shows the ability or desire to
outstrip the Master in his own area - teaching Willow was one of those
cases. Many of you would accuse me of being soft on her for reasons we do
not need to go into - and I would tell you just the opposite. I expected
more of her than I did of any other student not just because of her status
in my own life, but because of her age and experience. Though it pains me to
say, there is one Gryffindor worth their salt in Potions - and she is it."

Willow blinked back imaginary tears, smiling smugly at her classmates when
they turned to give her looks of shock and admiration. None of them would
ever accuse Snape of 'going easy' on Willow, not after the nights she had
spent crying and cursing his name over one assignment or another in their
common room. The red head caught Buffy's eye, a laugh escaping her lips as
the Slayer winked and gave her a thumbs up signal. She had done well, it
seemed.

"Well said, Severus," Dumbledore nodded, rising from his seat. "Therefore,
it is with great joy that I announce that Miss Rosenberg will be staying on
at Hogwarts to polish her own skills as she undergoes Apprenticeship under
Professor Snape."

That got her even greater looks of surprise - this time not just from her
own housemates, but from the other houses as well. She had been told the day
before, and hearing it aloud for the first time made her fill near to
bursting with happiness.

"So let us welcome our Junior Potions Mistress - Professor Rosenberg."

Willow stood at Dumbledore's prompting, threading her way through a sea of
congratulatory pats on the back to take her place in the sole empty chair at
the table, right between Professor Snape and Buffy.

"So - you're not coming back, huh?" Buffy looked sad as the feast began in
earnest, the food filling the table as she blinked in surprise.

"I can't," Willow shrugged. "But I think you guys already knew that."

"Yeah," Buffy sighed, forcing a smile on her face. "We did. Xander'd say he
'predicted' it if he wasn't too busy stuffing his face."

Willow laughed. "There'll be plenty of time for I told you so's later. I
hope. You're staying the night, right?"

"Better than that," Dawn chimed in, leaning around her sister to give Willow
a thousand watt smile. "We're here for two weeks. Faith's keeping a watch on
the Hellmouth for us. A whole two weeks in a real, enchanted castle!"

"Merlin help us," Willow heard Severus mutter under his breath. She elbowed
him lightly in the ribs. His hand squeezed her knee under the table gently,
a promise of things to come - his own version of a congratulatory 'feast',
as it were.

She blushed, her train of thought faltering.

"The hottie groping you under the table?" Buffy murmured, popping a piece of
bread into her mouth with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "He's not nearly as
stuffy as he looks, I take it."

Willow chuckled, giving Buffy a wink of her own.

"Oooo - we need to have a girls' night! I wanna hear all the juicy details."

That brought a smirk to the red head's lips as she realized this is what she
had been missing during her time studying and learning control - the
closeness of those friends that she considered to be a part of her family.

"A girls' night sounds great," she smiled broadly, glancing at Severus out
of the corner of her eyes before whispering to Buffy, "Just - not tonight. I
've already got plans of a more. . .stuffy nature."


~*~*~

"I hate you."

Severus arched an eyebrow at the normally sparkling woman he was proud to call his own.

"And what do you hate me for today, dearest?" The words were said with just the faintest edge of sarcasm, his lips curled in a partial sneer.

"This!" Willow screamed, stomping her foot and gesturing down at her swollen tummy. "It’s all your fault!"

He snorted, risking her wrath with his amusement. "I do recall that you were participating as well during the night in question. I hardly see how this can be *all* my fault."

Green eyes grew first wide, then narrow, as she alternated between bouts of anger and shock that he had dared to speak back to her like that. This wasn’t the way a man treated a pregnant witch!

"You --- You ---" She stammered, hands balling into fists.

Only then did Severus begin to realize the error of his cockiness. He had forgotten one key thing about Willow Rosenberg-Snape. Just because her wand was across the room didn’t mean that she couldn’t hex him.

"I believe I left something simmering in the portions lab," he demurred, rising quickly before she, too, remembered her wandless status.

He exited the room quickly, slowing his walk to a milder pace once he had turned the corner and was clear of his rooms. There were students still about, and it wouldn’t do to have them see their much-feared potions master running from his rooms in an obvious state of, well – fear. The Potions lab was on the opposite side of the dungeons, near his own classroom, and he reached them in record time despite his silent admonition to himself to take it slowly for appearance sake.

Willow was in a fine state today. First it had been breakfast this morning. She had wanted a disgustingly sweet Muggle cereal that her equally Muggle friends sometimes shipped to her. The only problem with that was that they hadn’t sent any for a while.

So she had done without.

Next had come the inevitable weekly crying spurt over her clothing. The things just seemed to get too small too quckly now that they had reached the final portion of this pregnancy. It was a simple enough fix seeing as how he had insisted to buy her magically crafted maternity clothes. A wave of her wand and they were the perfect size – again. But that didn’t stop her crying from ‘getting fat’. And, as he had learned early on, there was little use in telling her he didn’t see her that way.

Now it was this – the blame. The blame happened every day in one way or another. Only when she was truly in a good mood did she personally take any responsibility for her current state. And those times were, unfortunately, few and far between.

Luckily, for him at least, she only had three more weeks to go.

~*~*~

Three weeks turned into four. And then four and a half. Severus ground his teeth together in frustration, watching through hooded eyes as Poppy looked over Willow.

"He’s just a little late, dear," the mediwitch smiled, patting Willow’s arm in a motherly fashion. "Do you want to induce? It’s a small spell. Won’t hurt the baby at all."

"Yes!" Severus cried, jumping up. He shrank almost immediately under Willow’s withering look.

"No." She stated firmly, evenly, her eyes alone daring him to countermand her decision. "He’ll come out when he’s ready and not a moment before. I’m not going to force him out!"

And, before Severus could say or do another thing, she left the infirmary, leaving behind a very peevish Poppy Pomfrey.

"I –" Snape began, futilely thinking he could ward off the ire of the mediwitch.

It was for naught, though; because she, too, left the room. Leaving him to himself with thoughts of the angry witch that waited in his rooms for him.

~*~*~

"It’s time."

Severus rolled over, scrunching his eyes tight. What could possibly be waking him so early? Hadn’t they just gone to sleep a few minutes ago?

"Severus!"

He sat up straight, blinking warily in the room, one hand reaching for his wand only to find it batted away, pain-filled green eyes suddenly meeting his.

"We need to go – to Poppy. Now, please?"

The Potions Master understood that look, the tone of voice. It was the one she used when she was in pain and trying so hard to hide it.

"It’s time?"

"Yes!" She cried, falling backwards onto the bed, her belly stretching the cloth of her nightgown thin across its engorged girth. "Please?"

"Right."

And, just like that, he was awake and ready for it.

Or, he decided as he ushered her slowly from the room and towards the infirmary, as ready as he would ever be.

~*~*~

Six hours later he knew the meaning of fear and pain.

And he had met his son.

"Alexander, right?" Willow whispered, her fingers playing lightly with the downy fluff of black hair on the baby’s forehead.

"As we agreed. Alexander Severus Snape."

Willow smiled, staring into her son’s tiny face. He was a healthy baby, something all the magical prenatal tests had already told her. But it was different to know it, just looking at him. To see it with her own two eyes was the biggest miracle of all.

"He’s handsome," she cooed. "Just like his daddy."

"He appears to have inherited the Snape nose, as well," Dumbledore chuckled, appearing at the head of the bed.

"Nothing wrong with that," Willow smiled at the Headmaster. "It was one of the most charming parts of his father, after all."

Severus glowered between the two of them, finally throwing up his hands in defeat before turning back to his son.

"Well, I was just dropping by to make sure everything was going well for you three. Severus – I’ll be handling your classes for the rest of the week. Take some time off to get to know your son."

"Of course, Headmaster."

The aging wizard turned to leave, stilling before he reached the edge of the curtain that separated the bed from the rest of the infirmary.

"You do realize, of course, that this means Sybil got one right – again?"

Willow turned to her husband, her mouth falling open in shocked denial as memories of the nine-months old vision came back to her.

It was neither adult, but Alexander, who broke the silence, squealing just a bit as his mouth closed in a yawn.

"Well, I’ll be –" Willow breathed with a shake of her head. "She was right. You know what this means?"

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed I do – you should have been blaming this on *her* for the last few months."

~*~The End~*~