~*~Part Ten~*~

The train ride from London to the distant countryside where Hogwarts was located didn’t take very long at all, in Willow’s opinion, mostly since she had thought it may take most of the day. She occupied her time looking over the schoolbooks that she had stuffed into her carryon bag before boarding. The rest of her luggage had been taken away, stowed on another part of the train entirely, by a great giant of a man. Hagrid, she reminded herself. His name had been Hagrid. And he was half-giant, not a full giant. She hadn’t even realized that there were such things as giants. Shows how much she really knew about the world outside Sunnydale.

"You woulda thought Giles would have warned me." She muttered, rolling her eyes at the memory. Her mentor and surrogate father had seemed to know more about the whole wizarding world than she did. Which raised numerous questions – the first of which being why he hadn’t tried to get her into one of these schools that seemed oh so important for all good witches and wizards to attend. She hadn’t asked him that question, though; for fear mostly of getting an answer that she just couldn’t accept. It was nicer to make up theories and plots in her mind, things like Giles and Buffy just not being able to do the whole slayage thing without her hacker/Wiccan/magic skills and so, of course, Giles naturally would have kept her around, close by.

The schoolbooks that she had to while away the time were fascinating, though nothing too terribly difficult as far as she could tell. In fact, they seemed very simplistic. The only reason she found them even remotely entertaining was that they showed her a new way to do old spells. Wand in hand, she practiced the less dangerous ones, using objects out of her own bag when necessary for transmogrification type spells. Each and every one went off without a hitch, though the whole ‘swishing and flicking’ thing with the wand was a little difficult to get the hang of at first. She mastered it relatively quickly, she thought.

"Well, if this is all there is to it, I should hope that I get put in a higher level class." She giggled, watching as her hairbrush, now a spiny little beetle of some sort, tried to crawl away. She grabbed hold of its ‘leg’ and murmured the incantation to change it back, flicking her wand appropriately. The beetle twisted in her hand, morphing before her very eyes, to become her hairbrush again. She grinned, pushing the brush back into her bag.

There were some subjects, however, that she was unable to practice on the train. Flying, potions and a few others were simply not practical to attempt within the confines of the little cabin she had chosen as her own for the journey. That didn’t stop her from devouring each and every word in the books, however. She’d be ready for any tests or quizzes they may want to give her. Hopefully she’d wow them with the knowledge that she, someone who was raised in a completely muggle world for the first seventeen years of her life, had been able to acquire within such a short time.

"Either that or I’m going to fail everything horribly." She sighed. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the seat. "I could be doing things totally wrong. There’s no reason to believe otherwise. They’re going to take one look at me and declare that I’m hopless, a lost cause."

And that was the crux of her fears as the train chugged along its winding, countryside trail. She was scared that she had learned everything the wrong way or that the manner in which she had been doing things for so long would be labeled as a ‘bad’ way. What if old habits were so hard to break that they really –did- give up and send her home? Just like any school, she was sure that this one had rules and guidelines, ones that she could only hope that she would be able to live up to.

She placed her wand back in her bag, shoved the books in alongside it and stowed the little bits and pieces she had been using to practice her spells with, determined to not think on the reality that was about to crash down upon her in such a short time.

Instead she wanted to think of something much happier.

Something like – Oliver.

Just the thought of her boyfriend, now hours away, made her smile. It wasn’t just his eyes or his hair, or the tight body that he hid under those slacks and very stiff looking shirts. It wasn’t even about his accent, which was all that and then some, in her opinion. No, this was about him, as a person. She was beginning to realize that he was her counterpart in every way. He studied magic, just like she did, and could talk it over for hours. Intelligence was also a nice plus that she had found within him. They could talk for hours, and not just about magic, without her growing tired of what he was saying. Their interests, while not necessarily completely the same, were close enough to give them things in common, while not so similar that she felt like she had a twin following her around.

He gave her that warm, tingly feeling that she had couldn’t quite explain. It was like what she could only imagine paradise to feel like, all rolled up into a little ball of nervous energy in her stomach and heart.

"But in a good little ball of nervous energy way." She murmured to herself, looking out of the train window but not really seeing anything. She knew that if she just closed her eyes for a moment she would see Oliver. Her imagination was such that she could even picture him sitting across from her, laughing or just leaning forward to talk. If he were here, with her, would he be wearing those robe things that she had purchased in Diagon Alley? How would those look on him? Over gray slacks and a nice crisp white shirt, with one of those Hogwarts ties over the front. Deliciously yummy, she was sure.

She held onto that image, of Oliver there with her, for the rest of the train ride, a content smile on her pretty face and a warm spot in her heart.

~*~

The train station, at a place labeled quite quaintly with a wooden sign as ‘Hogsmeade Station’, was very much picturesque. She felt like she was stepping off, into some type of old-fashioned movie. Or maybe a fantasy film where any moment she was going to turn around and meet –

A cat?

Willow looked down at the gray cat that had taken up a position directly in her pathway. It was staring at her with wide, knowing eyes that made the young witch stop in her tracks. She got the feeling the cat being there was important, though she couldn’t put her finger quite on the ‘why’ of that feeling.

And then it happened.

The cat began to flow and shift, lengthening and elongating as it grew into the air. Its form was unrecognizable after only a second and, within another long moment the transformation was done and Willow found herself staring at a very imposing-looking woman.

"H-Hello." Willow stammered, unconsciously backing up a pace. What was next? A woman that turned into a Willow-eating tiger? Couldn’t Oliver have given her a rundown of all the hazards that awaited her at the train station?

"Do close your mouth, Miss Rosenberg." The woman snapped, somehow managing to seem kind at the same time. It could possibly have been the sparkle in her eye or the slight twitch of the corner of her mouth.

"Y-Yes Ma’m." Again, the stammering. The red head blushed, her eyes going downwards. Her fear had evaporated at the very mention of her name. No evil creature that was lurking around, hoping to much on a random traveler would know her name.

Right?

"Dear lord, child, haven’t you ever seen an Animagus before?"

That did it. The tone was awful, mean, spiteful; and a thousand other evil words she couldn’t think of right at that moment. Willow flushed, her crimson cheeks going to stark white with shocked embarrassment. She was a disgrace already, and she hadn’t even made it to the school. She felt her eyes fill with hot, burning tears that fell like molten lead down her cheeks. All of her insecurities came rushing to the surface at once, burning a twisted pathway through her heart and soul.

"I’m sorry." Willow sighed, shutting her eyes tight so that she didn’t have to look at the woman, the ground, or anything about this place. "I don’t know what I was thinking. Coming here, I mean. I can just get back on the train –"

A sigh snapped Willow out of her self-induced trance of self-recrimination and doubt. She glanced up and then back down quickly, her eyes fixing on a spot near the woman’s black, dressy boot.

"Child, I was not trying to seem harsh or condescending and I do apologize if that is what you got from me."

What?

An apology?

Willow dared to look up, noting that the kindly expression had changed to something closer to pity. Pity was good. She could handle that. As long as it wasn’t open-faced cruelty. That would be a very bad thing.

"It was wrong of me to assume that you knew what I was or even what an Animagus is. You aren’t from our world, after all." The older woman continued, shaking her head. This was going to be difficult for the girl. She decided to take it easy on the girl, for at least this one day, and just explain things as they went. There would be time for lecturing and teaching later. Not today, though. The tired look in the girl’s eyes spoke volumes for her fragile state of mind. "I do believe you’re going to be in for quite a few shocks this school year. I am Professor McGonagall and an Animagus is someone that can change from animal to human and back again. If they chose."

"Oh." Willow blinked, her eyes widening with surprise. "I didn’t even know that was possible."

Professor McGonagall chuckled. "You’ll find that a great deal of things that you never knew were possible – are. Come along. We have a carriage waiting to take us to the school. Unless you wish to ride in the boats?"

Willow followed the Professor’s hand to a small set of docks, not too terribly far away. There were dozens of little boats moored, waiting to be ridden across what appeared to be a large lake and to a –

"Oh Goddess, it’s a castle."

"That is Hogwarts." The Professor nodded, turning her head so that the new student wouldn’t see her smile. At that moment the red head looked so much like a child, not the young woman she really was. Castles had a way to do that to woman, young and old alike. They brought out the joy of childhood, when one longed to be a fairy princess living in a magical world. At least, here, the children did get the magical world, even if there were no fairy princes or princesses.

"I’m going to be going to school in a castle." Willow gushed, following along behind the Professor. "Buffy would be so green. Xander’d flip."

"Buffy? Xander?"

"Friends. From home." The red head paused in mid-step. "I’m going to miss them."

"You’ll make some new ones to keep you company, I’m sure." And with that the good Professor couldn’t help but tease the girl on some news she had heard trickle in with the first owl from Oliver’s parents not even three weeks before. "I hear you have already captured the heart of the Gryffendor Quidditch captain, for that matter."

Willow blushed. It seemed to be a theme for the day.

"News sure travels fast."

Professor McGonagall chuckled, thinking of how quick the owls could fly when they had messages to deliver. Especially juicy pieces of gossip. Not that she participated in such trivial pursuits. She was far more mature than that, much more subdued.

Still, though…

"You have no idea, child. No idea." She led the red head across the station, to the narrow dirt road that served as the only other method for getting to the school if one did not wish to either fly in or take the boats. She stopped outside of the carriage, opening the door for Willow. The carriage wasn’t what Willow had expected. There were no horses. Indeed, there didn’t appear to be anything at all to hitch the carriage itself to.

"My things – "

"Already in the carriage. Hagrid is most efficient at his tasks."

Willow looked in the back of the carriage and, yes, there were her things. She stepped into the carriage itself, settling on one of the cushiony benches and still wondering how the whole thing was going to move, with nothing to pull it. With the first smooth roll she realized something she should have realized all along.

"Magic." She breathed.

"You will find we do most of our tasks with the aid of magic." Professor McGonagall explained gently. They rode in silence; Willow looking out of the small window and into the forest as they passed alongside of it. Her mouth was open, eyes wide, for nearly the entire time. Just like an excited child. McGonagall was almost sad to see it end for her. But there were other wonders waiting. Larger ones than a simple carriage ride through the forest.

She placed a hand on the door of the carriage, turning to look at her newest charge. "Are you ready for this, my dear?"

Willow shook her head, her mouth opening and closing. Then she nodded.

"Ready as I’ll ever be."

~*~Part Eleven~*~

Stepping out of the carriage was like stepping into another world. A world of fantasy and magic that she could only have imagined in her wildest dreams. It was a far cry from the streets of Sunnydale with its large, majestic trees, and the lake right behind her. The sky overhead was fading to sunset, the colors so much more bright and beautiful than she ever remembered them being back home. She turned, looking now where the carriage had taken her to.

"A castle…" She breathed. The carriage had pulled directly up to what she could only assume were the front steps of the school. There certainly was a large set of doors up the steps, much like she would imagine the front doors of a castle to look like. The building itself was huge, just as a castle should be. A small castle was just unheard of in all of the fairy tales she had read as a child and, on television, they seemed just as larger than life as this one was. Though this castle was most undoubtedly real.

"Most impressive, is it not?"

Turning, Willow was greeted by the sight of a man that she knew right away must be a wizard. He definitely looked like a wizard. Long, graying hair with an equally long and gray beard. His robes were brightly colored and slightly outlandish, but fitted him just the same. And, when she looked into his eyes, she was met with the same mix of kindness tempered with wisdom that she saw in Giles at times. It was the same fatherly caring that had drawn her to the librarian from their first meeting. Behind her, Professor McGonagall was waiting patiently. This indicated to Willow that this was a man she should be taking the time to speak with – whoever he may be.

"It’s wonderful." She murmured, meeting his eyes steadily. "I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here."

And that was the truth. The more she thought about it, the more she realized exactly how lucky she was to be in this place, surrounded by people that could only help her with her powers and teach her even more control than she felt she already had. This was blessing, brought to her in the disguise of Oliver Wood.

"And we are most lucky to have you, young Miss Rosenberg." He extended a hand to her. "I am Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Ah!" She grinned, shaking his hand with just a touch of firmness. "Ollie mentioned you!"

"Ollie."

Willow turned, her hesitant smile turning into a bright grin when she saw the soft, teasing smile on Professor McGonagall face. She knew without a doubt that her boyfriend would be hearing that nickname on occasion from at least that member of the teaching staff, now.

"And did Mr. Wood have good things to say?" Dumbledore continued, conversationally. He stored the girl’s nickname for Oliver Wood away, intent on finding time to use it at least once on the young man. Never let it be said that he wasn’t a man of humor, at times.

"He had good things to say about the entire school and much of the staff." Willow nodded.

Dumbledore noted that she didn’t say ‘all of the staff’. In fact, it seemed like her words were chosen with great care, as though she would hate to say something untrue. He wondered idly who she could have been warned away from already. Professor Snape, no doubt; the Gryffindor house as a rule tended to dislike that particular member of his staff with a passion second only to their love of Quidditch and troublemaking. But – anyone else?  He supposed he’d have to wait and see who she took to and who she stayed far away from. It appeared that she had already won over Minerva, the woman couldn’t quit with her tiny little smile. He gestured for his old friend to proceed them into the school, waiting until after she had disappeared within its walls to continue.

"Glad to hear it." He smiled. "If you are ready, the others are waiting in the Great Hall to meet you."

The young witch nodded, blushing prettily when the Headmaster offered her his arm. She took it without a second thought, watching in amazement as the doors opened before them. The inside of the castle was just as marvelous as the outside, in her opinion, which she was gracious enough to share with Dumbledore.

"You will get a full tour later, do not worry."

She nodded, taking in as much as she could before they came to the Great Hall. It was a large room, she discovered, and filled with tables and benches. She realized with a start that this must be their dining room. There were four long rows of tables, each with different banners hanging over them. Four rows, four houses – it made sense. At the end of the room was a dais with another long table, though this one had much fewer chairs. This was the teacher’s table, of course. And, seated at the table, were her teachers.

"Willow Rosenberg." Professor Dumbledore began, stopping with her before the table. "Allow me to introduce Professor Flitwick, Professor Trelawney."

The red head smiled at the odd-looking man and the delicate woman in turn, nodding her head in greeting. A flash of black in the corner of her vision caught her eye and, turning her head, she knew without an introduction who this man was. He was evil personified – and this she knew without ever speaking with him. It was just the way he looked at her, the way his cold, dark eyes met hers without a hint of warmth or humanity. Here was a man that could have given Angelus a run for the money in the ‘cruel bastard’ category, she was pretty sure.

"Professor Snape." Dumbledore continued on, gesturing towards the man that had caught Willow’s eye.

Willow met the eyes of the oily looking Professor, tilting her chin up underneath his stern gaze, determined not to flinch beneath the thinly veiled contempt she saw in his eyes. After a moment it was –he- who broke the contact, turning his head from her with a sneer on his lips. She turned her attention back to Dumbledore, catching the laughing eyes of Professor McGonagall.

"And I believe you have already met Professors Hagrid and McGonagall." The Headmaster continued.

"Yes, sir." Willow murmured. Was this it? All of the professors? For such a large school it certainly didn’t seem like much.

"Our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor will be arriving on the first day of school." The Headmaster informed her, as if reading her mind. "And there are a handful of other professors, Madam Hooch among them, who were unable to come back this early before term. You will meet them in due course."

The young witch nodded. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and she could feel the eyes of all of the professors, including that sleazy Snape guy, on her. It was rather disconcerting.

"Your testing will begin tomorrow after breakfast." Dumbledore informed her. "Now, however, it is time for dinner. And then, after that, perhaps Hagrid can take you on a tour of the school and grounds?"

"I’d like that." She smiled, settling into the seat he indicated for her at the table, amongst the professors. The overwhelming sensation of unease that she had felt ever since learning she would be coming to the school doubled back on her, in full force. These were her teachers, the people that would evaluate her prowess and determine how many years she would be spending in this magical place. Though she wanted to get her schooling done with in as little time as possible, she couldn’t help but wish she’d get to spend quite a bit of time here, in this place of wonder

The food appearing on the empty plates in front of her, as if by magic, snapped her out of her morose thoughts. She blinked, shaking her head to clear the awe she was feeling.

Magic was all around her, and she’d have more than enough chance to fret over her status in this school tomorrow.

And the day after.

And after.

~*~

Hagrid watched as his young charge wandered up to a painting, staring at it for the longest of moments before she turned back to him, a confused frown on her face. He hid a smile, waiting for her to ask what was so clearly on her mind. That was the fun way to give a tour, he thought – just let the newcomer explore and ask questions, as they liked. It seemed to be working well so far

"I thought…" She stopped, shaking her head and giving him a rueful smile. "I think I’m more tired than I realize. I could’ve sworn that I saw that painting move."

The easy going giant of a man chuckled. "T’wasn’t your eyes playing tricks on you, young miss. The paintings here –do- move. And talk. Some of them a little more than others. That one there is a shy one. She don’t converse much. Keeps to herself."

"How lonely for her." Willow murmured, digesting this new information as her tour guide led her along yet another corridor. She cast one last glance over her shoulder at the painting, smiling kindly at the woman within it that was now staring her way.

"Each of the houses’ dormitories are guarded by a painting. You’ll need a password to get by them." He paused. "I don’t think you need to worry ‘bout that, though. For the summer you’ll be your own house, I’m guessin’. And then you can get sorted with the first years when school starts."

"Sorted?"

"They put the Sortin’ Hat on your head and it tells us which house you belong in. There’s Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin." He frowned with the last name, mouth tight with distaste.

"Slytherin is the one that Professor Snape is head of, right?"

Hagrid nodded. "An’ don’t let Wood be bad-mouthin’ the good Professor. Make your own opinions ‘bout him an’ all."

Willow nodded. It was sound advice. It wasn’t fair to judge someone without having spent time in their presence. Still… She could tell already that she wasn’t going to –want- to spend much time in his presence. He scared her; on levels she couldn’t even admit to herself, like darkness encroaching on the light. The goodness within her called out for her to vanquish him back to whatever level of Hell he had crawled out of.

"Ollie – er – Oliver, I mean – he’s in Gryffindor, right?"

The Keeper of the Grounds smiled down at her again. "Sure is. Most of the good students are. Harry, Hermione, Ron, George, Fred. The list goes on an’ on."

These were all names that Willow had heard from Oliver at one point or another, though she didn’t know much about any of them. She’d learn soon enough, she reasoned, when school started up. As Oliver had said, she’d be the girlfriend of the oh-so-popular Quidditch captain. That meant that she’d get a shot at including herself in his group of friends, something she was looking forward to more and more as her time. That was, as she saw it, her one good chance to fit in with these students who had known each other for years. Of course, she may also find friendship among the others in her house.

Which brought up another question in her ever inquisitive mind.

"What house do you think I’ll get sorted into?"

Hagrid raised an eyebrow at her.

"No one knows that ‘cept the Sortin’ Hat, I s’pose." He smiled. "Don’t you worry ‘bout it. That hat is smart. It’ll put you where you belong." And then he paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he beheld the petite red head walking beside him. "I can’t see as how you’ll get put in Slytherin, though. Not a sweet little slip of a girl like you."

Willow blushed at the ‘sweet’ comment and turned her attention back to the castle and its many marvels and wonders. There would be time to worry about getting Sorted later. Hagrid was right. Nothing about her would mesh with the Slytherin house, not after everything Oliver had told her.

She wasn’t even a pureblood, for Goddess’ sake.

~*~Part Twelve~*~

The next day dawned quick enough for a girl that had been up most of the night worrying anxiously about the ‘testing’ that would happen on the morrow. She dressed in a pair of casual khaki slacks with a thin, emerald colored sweater. Her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The glint in her eyes was half excitement and half nervousness. She was determined to do well enough in her testing that she wouldn’t be placed with the first or second years. She was praying not to get placed with the third or fourth years, either, of course. Anything beyond that would be merely hope and fancy. There was no way she would be able to test out of more than four years worth of material, if even that much.

Her green eyes flickered to the window, watching as the sun slowly began to rise above the horizon, the warm pink and orange tones of morning spreading out and driving back the midnight blue of the night. She didn’t know what time she was supposed to be ready, or if she needed to be anywhere in particular. Hagrid hadn’t mentioned anything when he had finally dropped her back off at her room the night before. He had merely said that she should ‘get some rest’ and ‘be ready’ for the next day.

Well, ready she was.

Willow’s eyes were drawn away from the window and to the door as a piece of parchment slid underneath of it. She walked over slowly and bent to retrieve the note that was so obviously meant for her. Her fingers slid under the edge of the folded note, breaking the thin, wax seal. Lips moving with the words, she read quietly.

Willow ~

When you are ready, please make your way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Afterwards one of the professors will be along to take you to your first assessment.

Good Luck,

Dumbledore~


She nodded to herself, folding the letter back up. There was only one more thing she wanted to do before she went for breakfast. Eyeing the owl she had purchased only the day before in Diagon Alley, the young witch sat down to compose a letter to Oliver.

~*~

As luck would have it, her first test of the morning was with Professor McGonagall. The kindly older woman ran her through the basics of Transfiguration, slowly moving through the lessons and topics until she got to a point where Willow was making more mistakes than actually accomplishing anything productive. She smiled encouragingly at the red head.

"Very good, my dear. That would easily place you well past third year, maybe more."

The disappointment on Willow’s face must have shown, because the professor continued on.

"Not to worry. I’m sure with an entire month ahead of us we will be able to get you a little more advanced than that."

"Thank the Goddess." Willow murmured, happy to have at least a little bright spot in her day.

~*~

The bright spot ended quickly enough as Professor McGonagall dropped her off with the next Professor of the morning.

Professor Snape.

She flushed under his hard gaze, slinking down into her seat as though she simply wanted to disappear. Here he was, the most feared professor in the entire school. And she was alone with him, in his classroom. She was to be the sole object of his admonitory gazes and punishing whims today.

What fun.

"Have you studied the texts?" He snapped. He hid a predatory smile at the slight jump of fear she gave, her eyes widening with anxious terror. Oliver Wood had apparently prepared her well for him and his class.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, then. Let’s see how much you learned."

He started slowly, with questions any beginning first year should be able to answer. She knew them, for the most part, stalling for only a few moments at times to apparently think on the best answer. That was his fault, as much as hers, he conceded grudgingly; for giving her questions with more than one answer. It was a testament to her intellect that she was able to think through the rapid-fire questions and still answer correctly.

‘Shame she’s destined for one of the other houses.’ He thought bitterly. She was not destined for Slytherin. For no other reason than the fact that she was born of two Muggles. Mudblood was the improper and rather rude term for it. There was something, though… Something in her eyes and the little he knew about her.  Something that made him wonder if she was really who he had been told she was, who she –thought- she was.

"Tell me about yourself." He murmured, taking a break from the questions he had been throwing at her.

Willow frowned. This was a surprise. Not even Professor McGonagall had asked her about herself and now this rude, cold man was asking? It was too much, she overloaded and just stared at him. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it, looking at Professor Snape in question.

"What do you want to know?"

"Tell. Me. About. You." He repeated, much slower and with a tone that brooked no measure for disagreement. There was spark in her eyes, something dangerous. It was there and then gone just as quickly, leaving him to wonder if he had ever really seen it in the first place. And there was something else; something he still couldn’t put his finger on.

Willow took a deep breath and began. She told him of her childhood growing up in a house where her parents were always gone. She told him of her school years, being teased for being too smart. And she told him about Buffy and Xander and the others that she had spent a good part of her high school career with. The Hellmouth was another story altogether, and one she offered to tell him at another time if he really wanted to know about it. He shook off the offer, the corner of his mouth twitching with what could possibly be a smile.

"Your parents," He began slowly, as her babbling came to a quite sudden close. "They are not of our world, correct?"

"No." Willow answered immediately. And then she did something that she would never quite understand – she told him something not even Buffy and Xander knew. "Well, actually….  If you mean by parents, the people that raised me, no – they are probably the worst kind of Muggles imaginable. My mother tried to burn me at the stake last year, even."

She shuddered, her eyes growing distant as the memory overcame her. She didn’t even notice that Snape had gotten closer to her. He sat on the edge of the desk, looking down at her with silent curiosity.

"However," She said after a long moment of introspection. "If by parents you mean the people that conceived me – then I can’t tell you. Ira and Sheila adopted me before I was even a year old. I never knew my biological parents."

Ah ha.

There it was.

The slight chance that she could, in fact, be pureblood. It would certainly explain away the fact that she was already so powerful at a young age. And the ability to do magic without a wand was a little known trait of those that would later favor the Dark Arts, something his House was known for. But it sparked something else in him, a memory he would have rather liked to forget entirely and had tried his best to put it behind him. A memory of a woman --

Willow sat quietly, watching the fearsome Potions teacher. He was obviously thinking about something and, though she was awfully curious, she didn’t dare ask him what it was. So far he had been decent to her, if not a little rough in conversation and mannerisms. He was cold, that was for sure; but no more cold than other people she had known and been forced to deal with in her life. Her own parents, meaning Ira and Sheila, were far more cold of individuals. So far this man hadn’t shown her any of the blatant hostility that Oliver had warned her about with numerous stories of injustices and point loss.

‘Then again, Oliver –did- say that he reserved a majority of his hated for Gryffindor,’ She reasoned silently. ‘And I’m not in Gryffindor. I’m not in any House. Maybe that makes it difficult for him to just be, well, evil.’

"Back to assessment." Snape muttered after what seemed, to Willow, like forever. She watched as he shook himself, quite forcibly it looked, from the thoughts that had been running through his mind. She gave him the barest of smiles, coupled with a nod, and braced herself for whatever was to come.

~*~

The next few weeks flew by in a haze of learning and memorizing for Willow. She felt, at times, like her brain was likely to burst from the wealth of knowledge that was being crammed into it. It couldn’t be healthy, she reasoned at times, to try to shove years worth of information into only a few short weeks. But that was just the hand she was dealt in life. Learn or get put in a class with people much younger than her. And that wasn’t something she wanted.

Not at all.

The Professors had all been wonderful. Especially Professor McGonagall. The woman was like a surrogate grandmother. Well, what a grandmother was supposed to be like. Willow could readily admit that she didn’t have any true experience with any other grandmothers in her life. Her parents’ parents were dead by the time she was adopted. She had grown up with only Ira and Sheila as her family. And then Xander and Buffy and even Giles. They were the closest thing she had to a real family.

Professor Snape had turned out to be absolutely nothing like Oliver had warned her. He was cold, sure, but that didn’t make him the son of Satan. He even had moments where he would, gasp, smile. It wasn’t a real smile, not like the ones she was used to, but the subtle quirking of the corner of his mouth was what passed as that happy expression for him. He talked to her as an adult, something the other professors seemed to struggle with at times, forgetting that she had spent a good majority of her life taking care of herself and teaching herself when there was no one else around to do it.

But Snape didn’t talk to her like she was just another student. He spoke to her like an adult would to another adult, and she found herself looking forward to the time they would have in class together. It wasn’t that she was getting a crush on him. Far from it, in fact. He was much more like a family member, her dad or uncle, than anyone she could ever think of having a single romantic notion about.

She smothered a giggle, putting down her quill and looking out of the window as she thought about what Oliver would say if she told him she was actually friends with the evil Professor Snape. It was completely possible that he would disown her as his girlfriend, though she knew that wasn’t likely. Her giggle was soon replaced by a frown, though, as she realized that she hadn’t heard from Oliver for most of the week. Usually, between their two owls, they were able to stay in contact every other day, if not every day period. But not this week. No, this week she had only received one letter from him and it had been short. With school coming up she knew he had to be busy. The letter had still been signed ‘Love’, so she didn’t see much cause to worry.

Though she did miss him terribly.

The young witch pushed aside her homework and pulled out the newspaper she had snagged earlier that day from the library. She hadn’t had a chance to look at it until that moment and was looking forward to the light reading. It was a Wizarding newspaper and had articles which she found to be amusing and highly entertaining at times. It was like reading a very short, very concise, fantasy novel.

Her eyes widened as she read the first page.

"Prisoner Escapes Azkaban." She read the title aloud, murmuring it to herself. She frowned. Wasn’t that the Wizard prison that was supposed to be un-escapable? So how did someone … ?

She read on, her eyes growing wide with horror at the information in the article. This man, this Sirius Black, was very dangerous. And he was on the loose. She shivered, folding the paper back up and pushing it aside. Best not to read those type of things so late at night, in a sometimes creepy castle. But, try as she might, the words could not leave her head.

He had murdered Muggles. Normal human beings. It was awful to think that a Wizard could just go crazy like that and kill ordinary people just for the fun of it. It wasn’t the first time she had heard of it happening. The books in the library were full of accounts of Dark Witches and Wizards of the past, with the most recent being a Lord Voldemort who was vanquished by one Harry Potter.

Oliver’s friend Harry Potter.

She had shaken her head at that and read on about the tale, amazed at the luck that he had had as a baby, to escape the Killing Curse. Yes, she knew about the Unforgivable Curses already. She had read up on those, in very vague terms, before asking Professor Snape outright about them.

She laughed out loud, remembering the look of complete and utter shock on his face as he had told her about them under the guise of ‘Defense Against the Dark Arts’. It was a subject that he was testing her in since that Professor wasn’t at the school yet, anyway. And it had proven to be an excellent lesson.

And this man, Sirius Black, was the type of man who would probably use those curses. The ones that caused so much awful pain or even death. He was a criminal, the type her own justice system would probably just put to death. And now he was on the loose, running free. No doubt thinking bigger and better ways to kill more Muggles.

She shivered again and pulled her homework back towards her, pushing thoughts of rogue wizards as far from her brain as she could and concentrating on the task at hand, her final exams for each of her Professors. The ones that would determine, once and for all, what year she would be placed in. It seemed almost too good to be true, she reflected. Her month was almost over and she’d be seeing Oliver again. Soon there would be other students walking the halls and she wouldn’t feel so alone or have to seek out one of the Professors for company. They didn’t mind, she knew, but they had lives of their own. Lives that surely didn’t involve a seventeen-year-old girl. All she had to do was test high enough to get into maybe fifth year. Then she’d only be older than her classmates by two years. That wouldn’t be –that- bad, she assured herself, believing it with every ounce of her being.

She smiled, bending to her homework with renewed effort, all thoughts of Sirius Black now pushed from her mind.

~*~Part Thirteen~*~

Severus Snape looked up as the brightest spot of his entire summer waltzed into his otherwise empty classroom, a peaceful smile upon her face. If questioned, he would never admit that she had been anything other than a student to him during this last month. But, the truth remained that she had managed to do something few others had ever done. She had become a cherished apprentice, of sorts, in the art of potion making. He enjoyed their time together if for no other reason than that.

Though, there were far more reasons.

Like the time they spent talking. Mostly it was her doing the talking, with him asking her little questions about what she said. Tales of the Hellmouth, rattled off of her tongue as though they were everyday occurrences instead of actual moments of apocalyptic doom. Which for her, he had to admit, may possibly have been everyday occurrences. She certainly seemed to have no end of stories to tell. Everything from vampires to werewolves – she had dated one for God’s sake! To demons and vampire slayers. He enjoyed listening to her talk and she quite obviously needed someone to confide in, someone to talk to about her life, past, present and future.

And that someone just so happened to be –him-.

He knew better than to openly pity her, instead choosing to keep that strong emotion inside himself. She didn’t want his pity, no matter how much the neglect of her adopted parents over the course of her short life warranted it. No, pity was the last thing she needed. What she –did- need was an adult figure that she could trust and rely on. Someone to talk to when she needed someone just to be there. That role had been filled by her school librarian back home, he had learned. And now that she was an entire continent and one ocean away from that man, Snape himself was playing the part.

"May I assume by the expression on your face that you have completed the final exam that I gave to you?" He arched an eyebrow, keeping his expression completely neutral. She had already turned in her assignments to the other professors and they had already marked them. They were unanimous so far on what year to place her in. All that was left was, of course, her Potions exam.

"Yep." She chirped, pulling the twenty-page test from her bag and placing it in his outstretched hand. "Didn’t cheat or anything."

Her face was practically beaming with pride, something he found rather amusing. He motioned for her to take a seat, shoving the test inside his own bag for grading later. Dumbledore would want an answer on his own suggestion of year assignment for her before the night was out. With only two days until classes started, she would be expected to go to Diagon Alley the next day and purchase the correct implements and resources for whatever year they placed her into. As soon as he was free to retire to his office for the day he would be grading her exam and trying to make the best determination of where she belonged.

As hard as that may be.

"Now, Miss Rosenberg." He began, standing from the desk and pacing to the front of the classroom, right in front of the red haired student. "This is our last informal class together before the term starts. Is there anything you would like to ask before we adjourn?"

Willow sat back in her chair, her brow furrowed in thought. Were there any questions she would like to ask him? Only a million about himself. That wouldn’t be proper, though. Not because he was a professor and she was a student, but because he was such a private individual. She would consider it to be very rude to ask him anything about himself. If he had wanted to share, after all, he would have done so during one of the many long cram sessions they had shared during the last month.

There were some things, however, that had been eating at her.

"Is it safe here? From that Sirius Black man? The one the paper said escaped from that Azkaban place?"

The question took Snape by surprise and, though he would have loved to regale her with tales of his immense hatred for Sirius Black, James Potter and their miscellaneous other cohorts; he thought it better just to answer the question at face value.

"There is no safer place on this Earth for you, child."

Willow nodded. That’s pretty much what she had thought anyway, but it hadn’t hurt to ask. It felt good to know that she was locked away safely with such a crazy man running loose.

And then she broke loose with the one question she really needed an answer to, praying that it wasn’t going to come out wrong.

"Will you still be nice to me if I get sorted into Gryffindor?"

If Severus had thought that her last question was shocking, this one certainly threw him for a loop. He leaned back against his desk and met her eyes with his own wide, surprised ones. There was such a look of fear in her eyes, something he hadn’t expected to see. Their time together, teacher to student, master to apprentice, was something that she had enjoyed just as much as he had. How could he –not- have expected this question? Especially taking into mind who she was currently dating. The Gryffindors had no love lost for him and vice versa, of course. There wasn’t a single one of them in the lot that he actually thought worth the effort of teaching. Except for perhaps Miss Granger, but she was something else entirely.

So why shouldn’t this fair red haired girl be asking him this question?

And, by the look on her face, she thought she already knew the answer.

"You silly girl." He sighed. "I think I shall still be able to remain civil with you no matter what House you get placed in. Even if it is the ever annoying Gryffindor."

Now it was Willow that was surprised. She blinked at him, waiting to see if there was a joke or something more that would negate everything that he had just said. But nothing further came and she looked relieved.

"That’s all the questions I had then, Sir." She murmured, giving him a look of pure gratitude. "Thank you for taking the time this summer to get me as caught up as possible."

"It was my pleasure." He assured her, the corner of his mouth twitching in what she knew was a smile. "You may be excused back to your rooms or wherever it is that you spend your days."

"The library." She told him, very matter-of-factly. "Still trying to get caught up on the whole of wizarding history, you know."

"The library?" He questioned. And then he rolled his eyes. "Best that you –do- get sorted into Gryffindor then. I would imagine you and Miss Granger will have much in common."

Willow just smiled, knowing this was a compliment as Oliver had told her about Hermione Granger. She was a very smart young woman. An exemplary student and top of her class. Willow could only hope to be the top in her –own- class.

"You know." Willow paused, pulling her book bag onto her shoulder. "This is going to start the rumors."

"Rumors?" Severus Snape asked, arching an eyebrow at her. "And what rumors would those be?"

She shrugged, her eyes teasing. "The kind that always get started whenever a feared or hated teacher is ‘civil’ to someone he would otherwise hate. Especially when it’s a mysterious new student that hardly anyone has ever met before. They’ll assume we’re sneaking off to supply closets together." Her soft laughter filled the room.

"I seriously doubt that any of my students will think any such thing." He grumbled, trying hard not to smile. She really was incorrigible sometimes.

"Oh. Of course they wouldn’t." She amended quickly, backing up towards the door, the teasing smile on her face saying more than anything that she wasn’t done yet. "They’ll probably just assume I’m your long lost love child from an illicit affair you had back when you went to school here yourself."

She didn’t get to see the look on Snape’s face because she chose that moment to leave the room, her laughter echoing through the deserted hallways of the school.

So she never saw that his normally bland countenance became ever so much paler or that his eyes grew that much wider, memories of a time in his life he had tried so hard to forget pummeling his brain.

Pieces of a larger puzzle slipping into place ever so slowly.

~*~

Dumbledore tapped his fork against his glass ever so lightly, signaling those seated at the table with him to cease talking. He turned his gentle eyes to Willow, smiling kindly. The gathered professors quieted, waiting for the Headmaster to speak.

"And now, for the moment you have waited this whole, long month for." He informed her.

"I have spoken with all of your professors and they speak very highly of you." He chuckled. "Very highly indeed. And so, it is with great pleasure, that I inform you that you have been granted the status of sixth year student. A list of required texts is in the envelope next to your plate."

Willow scarcely heard anything else she said. Her mind was on overload. Sixth year? She was really going to be sixth year? Why, that meant that she would only be taking classes with students that were one year younger than her. It was more than she had hoped for. She looked down next to her plate, noticing the plain envelope for the first time.

She turned smiling eyes to Dumbledore.

"Thank you Headmaster, Professors." She murmured. "Thank you ever so much!"

She felt like dancing, singing. Or maybe just owling Oliver to let him know.

No. She’d see him tomorrow in Diagon Alley. They’d already set up the time and place. It was definitely the type of surprise she wanted to deliver to him in person.

"If you are not too overwhelmed, Miss Rosenberg." Professor Snape murmured, on her left hand side. "Do you mind passing the tray of potatoes?"

The red head blushed, the color creeping across her face. She picked up the requested tray, handing it to him without a word, and began to work on finishing her own meal. Tomorrow would be a big day, the first day she would have seen Oliver in a month. And then day after that was the first day of the term.

And she had a feeling already that she was going to need all the rest she could get.

~*~

"Headmaster?"

Dumbledore turned in the hallway, eyeing the Professor that had called out to him in surprise.

"What can I do for you, Severus?"

The Potions professor stopped, staring at the Headmaster for a long moment, rethinking the entire reason he had wanted to speak with the older man in the first place. He had half decided to apologize and go back to his office when another thought intruded on him.

Didn’t he want to know?

Once and for all?

The same nagging thoughts had been plaguing him all day long, driving him into the desperation he was about to commit.

"I need to ask you a favor, Albus."

~*~

Willow wandered through Diagon Alley, stopping every so often to browse through the wares of one of the outside vendors. She smiled to herself, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest. Oliver would be here soon, if he wasn’t already here for that matter. She glanced down at her watch, her eyebrows raising in surprise. Time certainly had flown. She made her way through the street now without stopping; nearly jogging to reach the shop she had promised Oliver she would be waiting for him in…

Two minutes.

Not even a block from the shop they had agreed to meet at, she could already see him, his brown hair shining in the sun, a soft smile on his face. He was talking to someone, a few someones, for that matter. Two boys and a girl, probably more of his friends for school. She ran faster, jumping into his arms before he could even recognize who she was, her lips landing on his in a kiss that spoke volumes of how much she had missed him. She felt him relax, his arms tightening around her as their mouths made up for missed time. It was a moment she never wanted to end.

But breathing was, unfortunately, still a necessity.

"Ollie…" She murmured, breaking away from him.

"Willow." His response was nearly as breathless as hers had been. She stared into his eyes, loosing herself completely in their warmth and caring. This was what she had missed; just being near him and having him look at her like she was special. He was the only one who had ever made her feel like this. Not even Oz had made her feel like she was the most important thing in the world, no matter how had he had tried. And he really – had- tried.

"Aw. This is touching, really. But I think I’m going to be sick."

"Shhh, Ron. Can’t you see they’re having a reunion? It’s like something from a book. So romantic…"

"I’m with Ron on this one ‘Mione. Seeing Wood act like that is just not natural. The look in his eyes, well, makes me think he rates her above Quidditch. And that just can’t be true. It would shatter my world."

Willow broke the eyes contact; turning to her right to smile at the three she had just heard speak, the same group Oliver had been talking to before she had accosted him with kisses. They appeared to be a few years younger than her – maybe third or fourth years, she couldn’t really tell.

"Potter," Oliver smirked, discreetly lacing his fingers through Willow’s. He turned a stern, yet teasing glare to the dark haired boy that had spoken. "Just for that – six AM practices for you for the first month of school."

"Aw, Wood. You’re no fun." Harry grinned. He held out his hand to Willow. "I’m Harry. Harry Potter. Since this lout doesn’t seem to be up to introducing us today."

Willow smiled, shaking his hand. "Willow."

"Pleasure to meet you." The Boy-Who-Lived smiled. He gestured towards his friends. "This is Hermione Granger and that git over there that looks like he could be your cousin is Ron Weasley."

The two red heads’ eyes met and a silent communion passed between them. The bond of being someone with utterly flaming red hair, as it was. She smiled at him, and then Hermione, getting a good look at the girl she had been compared to all summer. She saw a lot of herself in there, a smart young woman who looked like she had quite a bit of shyness still to work through. "Nice to meet both of you."

"Enough of the chatter." Now Oliver was talking again. Willow turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

"And what would you rather do than ‘chatter’, Mr. Wood?" She winked at him, turning her head so that the younger students couldn’t see. The way she licked her lips made it very clear that there were other things –she’d- rather be doing with him at that moment. Like making up for some missed time?

Oliver flushed. He cleared his throat, giving her a meaningful look that clearly said he’d much rather be snogging that standing here ‘chattering’. But that wasn’t what he said.

"I was trying to ask what year they placed you in."

Willow’s face lit up like a child, all thoughts of dragging him off to the nearest secluded alleyway forced rapidly from her excitement laden brain. She bounced up and down, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

"You won’t believe it!"

Oliver waited a moment and then sighed, mock glaring at her. "Well?"

"C’mon, tell him already. He’s not known for his patience." Ron urged her.

"Six!" She cried happily, throwing her arms around her boyfriend’s neck and hugging him for all she was worth.

"Six?" He repeated, momentarily dumbfounded. "You were advanced to sixth year? You did six years worth of work in one summer?"

"One month." She corrected him primly, earning her an amazed gasp from Hermione.

"Only a month?" The Gryffindor girl muttered. There went her status as smartest girl in the school.

"Don’t worry, ‘Mione." Harry teased. "You’re still our favorite know-it-all."

Willow watched the exchange, bemused. She offered her arm to Oliver, deciding that now was as good a time as any to go get her school things. Then they could have a nice dinner in the Leaky Cauldron, where she had already secured a room for the night.

"You riding the train with us in the morning?"

"You must have just read my mind." The red haired witch teased. She pulled her list of supplies from her pocket, feeling that general air of anticipation that she always did at this time of year.

School was officially about to begin.

~*~

The next morning flew by and Willow discovered what it was like to truly have butterflies dancing the Mexican hat dance in her stomach. Before she knew it she was on the train to Hogwarts again, this time sharing a compartment with Oliver and some of his friends. They were all nice enough, she quickly found out. It settled her mind a little to know that at least that part of her new school career was going to be easy. Even Ron, Harry and Hermione had been nice enough, if not a little young.

And then, before she could even think about it, they were at the school, and she was walking into the Great Hall hand in hand with Oliver. It looked even more impressive like it was now, decorated for the beginning of school feast. She let go of Oliver’s hand to take a place off to one side of the Professors’ table, waiting for the moment when Professor McGonagall would call her up to be sorted once and for all.

She felt a moment of sick panic as the actual Sorting ceremony began. First years were called, one by one, up to the stool that sat at the front of the room. Sometimes they seemed happy to be called, others just seemed terrified. It didn’t seem too bad, or too scary.

‘Who am I to judge?’ She babbled nervously to herself. ‘I’m just as nervous, if not more nervous, than they are.’

And then it was time. She saw Dumbledore stand out of the corner of her eye and she turned, laying her eyes firmly upon him.

"We have a very special new student joining us as a sixth year for this new term." He began, his eyes meeting Willow’s and a small smile crossing her lips. "She is American and still somewhat unused to our ways, but that is her story to tell and I encourage you all to seek her out at some time and have her relate it to you, for it is most entertaining. Filled with all of the horrors and drama impressionable children your age seem to crave."

Willow giggled, her eyes meeting Professor Snape’s for a split second. He bent his head, nodding at her ever so slightly in his own silent reassurance. This was the moment she had feared all summer, of course. The moment that would shape the next two years of her life.

"Now, if you will, Professor McGonagall."

Minerva nodded, calling out.

"Rosenberg, Willow."

The red head stepped up to the stool, slowly. She wasn’t that far from it, however, and the movements didn’t take nearly as long as she would have liked them to. She sat down, staring out into the massive crowd of students. She found Oliver’s eyes and found herself praying, silently, to be placed in Gryffindor. There were others she recognized, sitting near him, all people she would like to be in a House with. Ron and his brothers, all looking like they were distant relations to herself, Hermione and a boy named Neville. Some others that were on the Quidditch team which, she had learned, was where a good majority of Oliver’s friends were to be found.

She felt the weight of the hat and then a voice, speaking as if only to her.

"Brave. Very brave. The type of bravery that would make one sacrifice themselves for another. An admirable quality to have."

And then…

"Still so very young despite the years you have. So naïve. So innocent. But innocence doesn’t make a witch of wizard great. But power does. And you’ve got the power, my dear. A wandless witch, you were. The most powerful of all. And something in your heart, a corner of it you haven’t even given light to. And with blood this pure and a heritage that brooks no deviation - There’s only one place for you."

Willow held her breath, closing her eyes and waiting for her fate to be pronounced just as it had for so many students before her. There were things the hat had said that made her curious, almost horrifically so, but that would have to wait. Right now she was waiting to be Sorted. She bit her lip, waiting for the hat to say –

"SLYTHERIN!"

~*~Part Fourteen~*~

"SLYTHERIN!"

The word rang out across the hall, starting many within it. The Slytherins had already heard of this girl, the Mudblood that was dating Oliver Wood, and their disgusted whispers could be heard echoing through the Hall. How had she managed to get into Slytherin? –Their- house? Didn’t the Sorting Hat know that she wasn’t even fit to kiss the ground they walked on? They didn’t notice the started gasps coming from the Gryffindor table or the way each and every Professor, with the exception of the ones who had never met her, was gaping in shock.

~*~

Oliver felt like a heavy weight had just fallen straight from the enchanted ceiling above and hit him right squarely on the head. Or perhaps a bludger had come out of nowhere and whacked him good. That was the only way he could sum up this feeling of detached horror that had overwhelmed him. He felt numb, cold. It was too unreal.

His girlfriend was a Slytherin.

She had been sorted into a house that was notorious for being the worst of the worst. It was where future Death Eaters came from and was filled with the children of current Death Eaters. All of the worst wizards and witches had come from Slytherin. Not to mention that Slytherin was the eternal hated rival of Gryffindor. Why couldn’t she have been put in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff? If she wasn’t destined for Gryffindor, couldn’t she at least have been put in a House he had mediocre relations with?

His eyes met hers across the distance and for once he felt uncertainty for the first time since meeting her. Was their relationship really all that made in heaven if this was the House for her? And what would his fellow Housemates have to say about this? It was a natural instinct on his part to think these things, he knew, though not the most tactful or even the right one for this situation.

But it was all he had.

~*~

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, mouth open, as the Sorting Hat’s booming voice receded, leaving murmurs of surprise and, on the part of the Slytherins, outrage. His heart had stopped the moment the crazy Hat had uttered the word ‘Slytherin’. He had been so sure she would go to Gryffindor. Why? He couldn’t answer that. But he had been sure, nonetheless.

"She’s –"

"Slytherin." Hermione finished Ron’s statement, her own eyes distant. This didn’t change how she felt about the new sixth year student; in fact it only reaffirmed her desire to make friends with the older girl. The time she had spent with Willow in Diagon Alley had been enough to at least begin a friendship. And she would need all the friends she could get, after all, being sorted into such an awful House.

And weren’t Willow’s parents Muggles? How had she managed to get into Slytherin?

"I can’t believe it." Harry whispered. "She seemed so nice… not at all snake-like."

Ron just shook his head, eyes already cold. It was easy to forget how nice she had been in light of this recent development. His hatred for all things Slytherin went far too deep at times.

And, unfortunately, this was going to be one of those times.

"Wonder if Wood’s still going to date her." Harry muttered. He couldn’t see the face of the Quidditch captain from where he was sitting, but he knew that the older boy had to be sharing a similar look of horrified disbelief, the same one that everyone who had already met Willow was sharing.

"Why shouldn’t he?" Hermione snapped, giving Harry a hard glare.

"Because she’s a Slytherin." Ron all but growled, rolling his eyes at the girl sitting across from him. "And that’s reason enough not to even go near her again."

Hermione shook her head, clamping her lips together to keep from blowing up at Ron right then and there. One way or another, she was still going to be friends with the new red head.

~*~

Severus Snape felt as though the Dark Lord himself had appeared in the middle of the Great Hall. That was the effect the Sorting Hat’s proclamation had on him. It shocked him to the core, shattering all the preconceived notions he had retained about the House he was a head of. But it also served to confirm one thing –

She was a pureblood.

There was no way the Sorting Hat would ever place someone that wasn’t a pureblood in Slytherin. Not a chance in the darkest depths of Hell. It just wasn’t possible. So that meant that the biological parents that Willow had never met had to have been members of the Community. Which, in turn, confirmed the frantic assumptions he had been going off of for more than forty-eight hours; the ones that had sent him to seek the help of the Headmaster. They were no closer to finding the answers he needed than the night he had stopped Dumbledore in the hallway, but this seemed to indicate that he was right track.

But what was he going to do about Willow? She had made it very clear through her actions and attitudes that she did not wish to be sorted into Slytherin, that she would rather anything happen than that.

And now that had happened, as if the Fates were mocking her.

It really was very cruel.

And, by the looks on the faces of those at his House’s table, she wasn’t going to have an easy time of things. They would have already assumed she wasn’t a pureblood, which was easy enough to remedy if she was willing to come clean about her adoptive past. Far worse than that, however, was the fact that she was dating a Gryffindor. And not just any Gryffindor, either. She was dating Oliver Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Though, by the looks on the faces of the students at the Gryffindor table, he had to wonder how long that relationship would last. Not even Mister Wood himself looked like he was too sure any longer.

Snape shook his head, silently vowing to deduct points from Gryffindor if Oliver Wood even –thought- about breaking Willow’s heart.

~*~

"Well." Minerva McGonagall managed to stammer, her own shock as apparent as that of any of the other professors at the table, including the Headmaster himself. None of them had seen this coming.

None of them!

"Go ahead, Miss Rosenberg." She smiled sadly, her tone apologetic as she pulled the now-silent Hat from Willow’s head. "Go join your new House."

Willow nodded, straightening her shoulders with an effort of will that was second to none. She was –not- going to let this get her down! She refused to! She felt all eyes in the Hall on her as she slowly walked over to the Slytherin table, taking one of the empty seats. There was no clapping for her, no cheering; instead the entire table grew quiet, with tittering whispers haunting her just outside of her hearing range. She felt her eyes grow hot with tears and bit them back, refusing to cry in front of students that she knew were already some of the cruelest, if not the most cruel entirely, in the school.

No, she wasn’t going to cry.

She scarcely heard the rest of Dumbledore’s beginning of year announcements. Her green eyes were fixed steadily on the plate in front of her, even as the start of term feast appeared in the serving platters already on the table. She reached blindly, helping herself to a small portion of something. What it was, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t care, either. This was too much like a horrible nightmare that she was expected to wake up from at any moment.

But she wasn’t going to be waking up from this… this….Hell. She was stuck in this House, with students that already had given her the cold shoulder, for the next two years. Two long years!

And what of Oliver, she wondered. What was he going to say about this? He had made his dislike of Slytherin and all they represented known in countless ways. They were, as she understood it, in the worst rivalry recorded to the school’s long history. Slytherin hated Gryffindor. Gryffindor hated Slytherin. And that’s just the way it was. There were no exceptions. Oliver had never mentioned having a ‘friend’ in Slytherin. The only time he had ever spoken about the House or its students was to degrade them or tell stories that were equally awful.

She wanted to get up and go to him, to sit down next to him and be comforted; but somehow she knew that the comforting would be a long time in coming. Certainly not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Risking a glance at the Professors’ table, Willow met Snape’s eyes. They held something that she could only define as pity. She felt her heart drop. Even he knew how horrible this was. –Him-! The school’s most hated professor. The one that favored Slytherin above all others. –He- knew that she didn’t belong in his House!

But that didn’t matter.

‘At least he won’t have to act like he hates me. I never quite made it to Gryffindor.’

She looked away from the Potions Professor, her eyes again tearing up. She heard someone at the table say something taunting regarding her obvious state of distress; she just brushed it off. She pushed her food around on her plate, fighting to keep the tears from falling. And she did, all the way until the end of the feast when Dumbledore told the Prefects to lead them to their rooms. There wasn’t even going to be a chance for her to speak to Oliver tonight, it seemed; and that just served to depress her even more.

Trailing along behind the rest of her House, Willow could hear them talking about her, saying things that were just plain awful and times and confusing at others. What was a Mudblood, for instance? It was insult, of that she was sure. She fought the urge to run off, run away. Back to Sunnydale and the Hellmouth where, though not safe, she at least hadn’t been the subject of such intense dislike. There she was just Willow, the nerdy Wiccan-hacker girl. Here she was Willow, the hated newest Slytherin.

She found her room with no problem, not even caring how her trunk was already within it. There were no other trunks, despite the fact that the room was obviously meant for three people. She didn’t ponder that either.

With movements that were mechanical, she changed into her nightgown and crawled under the covers, glancing at the schedule on her nightstand. Double Potions with Professor Snape in the morning. And with the Gryffindors.

Lovely.

She forced herself to think happier thoughts as she fell into sleep, knowing in her heart that they wouldn’t be. But still she repeated her silent mantra over and over again, until finally she was asleep -

Maybe things wouldn’t look so bad in the morning.

~*~

"I had her things moved to one of the empty dungeon rooms. So’s she won’t have to share with one of those prejudiced -- "

Dumbledore bent his head in acknowledgement, cutting his Professor off before the man could utter something that would force him to chastise him in any way. "Thank you Hagrid, that was most kind of you."

Hagrid nodded, unspeaking. He stood with the Headmaster, staring out across the school grounds, with both of them wondering how things had gotten so mixed up for the red head they had gotten to know quite well.

And if there was any hope of ever making it right.

~*~Part Fifteen~*~

Morning dawned all too quickly for Willow’s tastes, breaking her free from the half-dreams, half-nightmares, that had plagued her throughout the night. She chose an emerald green sweater from her clothes, matching it with a pair of black jeans, and then slipped her school robe on overtop of it. Looking in the mirror, she had to admit that she looked good. The hint of green peeking out from beneath her black robe helped to offset her own delicate colorings and bring out the color in her eyes. She brushed her hair, smoothing away all the tangles and frizzles from the night before and then applied just the barest minimal amount of makeup. Enough to give her a little color without making it appear that she had put on ‘too much’.

She grabbed her bag and made sure that there were enough supplies and that she had the proper books for the day before leaving her room. The hallway from her room to the Slytherin common room was darker than other parts of the castle and she shivered despite herself. How had she ended up in this mess? Sure, there were cases of non-purebloods getting into this House, but it was a very rare thing and usually signaled something awful. Knowing fully well that she wasn’t the next Voldemort, Willow couldn’t make heads or tails of what her being sorted into this House really meant.

But she knew she wasn’t welcome.

That was reinforced as she stepped into her House common room. There were a few students already up and awake, chatting with each other before they would head to breakfast or getting the last of their summer work done before the start of class. Their talking ceased as she set foot in the room, however. She hid the pained grimace that threatened to creep out across her face and turned instead towards the portrait hole, intending to just leave as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t how things worked out.

"Oh look, poor little Mudblood, creeping out of here like the trash she is."

Willow stopped in her tracks, a chill going down her spine at the sound of a girl’s voice, so snotty and cold that it reminded her of Cordelia on her worst days. This was what she had been afraid of the night before, when she had chosen to go directly to her room rather than converse with her new housemates. She turned slowly, steeling her expression as best she could.

"At least she isn’t completely stupid." A young boy drawled, his cold gray eyes roaming over her unabashedly with a look of distaste on his cruel face. "She knew we were talking about her, after all."

The red head opened her mouth to retort and then shut it again. She shook her head and turned back to the portrait hole. Neither the Billy Idol wannabe nor his little pug-faced girlfriend was worth her time. They were just bullies, and she had dealt with plenty of bullies in her lifetime. She ignored their stinging barbs as she pushed open the portrait and climbed through. The closing of the hole brought an end to their less than witty insults and she sighed in relief.

A month spent in the school had, at the least, given her a sure sense of the direction from the Slytherin dorms back to the Great Hall, and she all but ran to get back that place of light and happiness.

‘Maybe Ollie will be there.’ She thought hopefully, her face lighting up with a smile for the first time since she had woken that morning.

He was, she found as she entered the Great Hall, already eating. She smiled, coming up behind him and covering his eyes with her hands. She noted some disapproving looks coming from those seated around him but shrugged it off. They were probably just confused about who she was, after all.

"Guess who." She whispered into his ear, tickling the appendage with her breath.

"Willow."

The red head frowned at the tone of his voice, releasing him immediately. He didn’t sound at all pleased to see her. Rather, he sounded as if he had just been confronted with something he had been dreading.

"What’s wrong?" She whispered as he turned to face her.

"Nothing." Oliver lied, his eyes pulling away from hers. He couldn’t stand to look into her face and openly lie to her. Not that he really wanted to lie –at all-. It would be one hundred percent better to just tell her that the members of his House were prejudiced little gits who didn’t want him seeing her anymore. But how could he do that without breaking off a relationship that he didn’t want to break off in the first place. Even now he could feel the glares coming from all around him, from those same Gryffindors that had made it clear how much they disapproved of his relationship with one of Slytherin’s newest ‘sluts’.

Oh, he had tried to defend her. He really had. Harry had even been forced to hold him back lest he flat out attack Ron and start a fight right there in their common room. But nothing he said would make any difference. Gryffindor and Slytherin just didn’t’ mix. That was the way of it and it had been going on for far longer than he had even been born. He sighed and stood from the table.

Without a word Willow followed behind Oliver, her hand grasped tightly in his as he led her from the hall and into the hallways. He pulled her down a side walkway, near some of the classrooms, before stopping. She felt her heart catch in her throat at the look on his face and knew without a doubt that this wasn’t going to be the type of conversation she wanted.

"Willow…" He began, his voice tinged with regret and sadness beyond measure.

"No, don’t." She pleaded, backing away from him. The cold stone of the wall pressed into her robes and she could hear her own, gasping breaths. This was like a bad movie. Romeo and Juliet if Romeo had just given up and broke it all off.

"Please, listen to me." He pleaded with her, grabbing her arm. He longed to reach down and kiss her trembling lips but knew that that was just cruel. Maybe when he was finished with this year and out of Hogwarts they could start over again, if she would have him. But it just wasn’t possible right now.

Not possible at all.

"Listen to –what-?" She snapped, her eyes clouding with tears. "I think I already know what you’re going to say, Ollie. You’re a proud little Gryffindor and can’t be seen associating with the likes of me, Slytherin slime that I am." Her voice was bordering on hysterical now as she glared at him with all of the hate that she could muster.

And how he longed to stop her and say that that wasn’t it, to give her a better reason that just simple prejudice against her House, but it wasn’t possible. She had hit it right on the head. He couldn’t date her because of one stupid Sorting Hat and a hatred that spanned back through the centuries.

"Will – "

"Go away!" She growled, burying her head in her hands.

"Please – "

"I SAID GO AWAY." The red head screamed, not caring who heard her. She didn’t lift her head from her hands, but the footsteps walking away from her and then the silence told her all she needed to know. He had listened, he had walked away. She leaned back against the wall, sobbing.

And that’s how Hermione found her, nearly twenty minutes later.

~*~

The rumors of Willow and Oliver’s breakup had spread like wildfire through the Gryffindor House, disturbing the most conscientious member of the House during one of her many private study sessions with herself. Hermione had, at that moment, taken it upon herself to seek out the red haired newcomer and see if there was anything she could do to help her, even if it was only be a listening ear.

A perfunctory search down near the dungeons had given her no clue as to where Willow was so she was forced to try somewhere else. Breakfast was still going on in the Great Hall and that was as good of a place as any. It was only in passing two talkative Hufflepuff fifth years in the hall that she got her first real clue as to the location of the older witch.

"She’s over there crying her eyes out." Hufflepuff number one murmured to Hufflepuff number two, oblivious to the fact that Hermione was now listening in very attentively to their conversation.

"Wouldn’t you? It’s not like she had a choice about her House and now her boyfriend dumped her. Its scandalous. I would have thought better of Oliver Wood." Hufflepuff number two muttered, shaking her head angrily.

‘So why didn’t the two of you stop and see if she needed someone to talk to?’ Hermione thought scathingly, moving past the two girls and further down the hall. She walked past the doors to the Great Hall, her ears intent for any sounds that would give away where Willow was –

Ah ha!

There, in the hall leading back towards the Professors’ offices.

Turning the corner, Hermione felt as though her own heart would break. Willow was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest. Her head was down and she was sobbing uncontrollably, though she was trying her best to smother the sounds and not draw any more attention to herself than was necessary, apparently. The other witch’s bag was lying on the floor next to her feet, forgotten in the despair she was feeling.

Without uttering a word Hermione sat on the ground next to her, wrapping a comforting arm around the girl’s shoulders. She felt Willow stiffen and saw her peer out from beneath a curtain of red hair, before the crying continued. Apparently she felt safe near Hermione, though God only knew why. It was her House, after all, that had brought down such misery upon the newest sixth year in the school.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione asked at last, when it appeared that the tears were tapering off a bit.

Willow shook her head. "Not right now."

The younger girl nodded.

"You shouldn’t be here." The red head whispered. "You’ll be outed as the Gryffindor that dared to have feelings for someone other than herself, you know."

Hermione snorted, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

"We’re not all that bad." She said finally. "But some of us have got our priorities rather mixed up and prejudices run deep. Not that I’m making an excuse for any of them." She hastened to add.

Willow laughed hollowly.

"No excuses need to be made." She whispered. "Oliver broke up with me simply because of what one stupid hat said. He ditched me on the first day of classes because of what I can only –assume- is peer pressure." She shook her head, suddenly furious about the whole thing. "I never wanted to be in Slytherin, you know. I didn’t ask that batty old hat for this. But, you know, I’m sorta glad I didn’t get in Gryffindor either, now."

Hermione nodded in understanding. How could she argue with the first true impression Willow had gotten of a House that was –supposed- to be all noble and brave. They were, she realized, cowards hiding behind years of prejudice and hatred.

"I’m starting to wish that –I- had gotten put in another House, now." The brunette muttered. "Sort of tiresome to be associated with that bunch of gits. Oh well. Nothing that can be done now. Except," She paused. "Still want to be friends with me? Can’t say as how I’ll blame you if you don’t."

Willow, never the one to blame an individual for the actions of an entire group, giggled.

"I think we can manage that. I heard you’re the smartest girl in the school anyway – never know when I might need your help."

"And I’ll have lots of time for giving that help once Ron and Harry hear that I’ve made all nicey nice with you. They’re forever wanting me to help them with their Herbology homework."

She paused then, her face scrunching up. And then she remembered –

"Herbology! I’m going to be late!" She scrambled to her feet, holding her hand out to Willow. "You’re going to be late for your first class, too, unless you hurry. Where’s it at?"

"Dungeons." Willow stated simply. "Double Potions with Snape."

"How fun." Hermione drawled, rolling her eyes. "No need to worry about being late, then. He adores his Slytherins."

Willow hid a smile. She wasn’t about to reveal that the hard, cold Professor that most of the students knew was only a good front for the man that lay underneath, someone she had the honor of calling a friend after this past summer. So, instead, she nodded to Hermione and replied.

"I still better go. Don’t want to try his patience. It was nice talking with you."

Hermione smiled, backing down the hallway towards a shortcut to the greenhouses.

"Same. Owl me whenever you want to talk again!"

Willow watched the younger girl run off, amazed at the little bundle of maturity she was. At least there was one person in this school that didn’t seem to hate her. Well, two if she counted Professor Snape. She sighed and grabbed her bag from the floor, making her way towards the dungeons with a heavy heart and a quick step. Like she had said –

No sense testing her luck just yet.

~*~Part Sixteen~*~

Severus Snape watched from under his lashes as his star summer pupil darted into class at the last possible moment. He didn’t move a muscle to indicate that he had seen her, didn’t even look up from the notes he was reviewing for this, his first class of the new term. It was apparent, however, from her last minute entrance, that something was wrong.

And that assumption was only given further weight when he looked up, glancing around the classroom with his hawkish eyes like he normally did before the start of each class, as if assessing who had showed and who hadn’t. Who was late and who wasn’t. He paused ever so briefly, not even noticeably, over Willow. Her face was pale and there were faint, but evident, tear streaks across her cheeks. Her normally sparkling green eyes were dulled and bloodshot. She looked as though she had cried her heart out, though for what reason he wasn’t sure. No news had reached him concerning her, not even the slightest whisper.

‘Perhaps a rough first night in Slytherin House?’ He concluded, making a mental note to somehow speak with her at the end of class. It was his duty as Head of the House to know if there were problems with any of his charges. But this was personal as well. She had been a friend over the summer, though he could never openly admit to such for risk of shattering his façade of uncaring.

He opened his mouth and began speaking, his eyes discreetly passing over the red head as he went through his opening speech to the students.

"There will be no silly wand waving…"

~*~

It was evident as class went on that things were not all well within Slytherin House. The other sixth years, most notably Nadie Parkinson, Pansy’s older sister, were ignoring Willow at best, and being openly hostile at worst. The little snips and slights were done at the edge of his hearing, at the verge of his sight, so that he couldn’t openly call them on it. And even if they had done it to his face what could he do? Detention? Loss of House points? And what then? They were the children of Death Eaters, the lowest of the low. If he punished them they would run back to their mommies and daddies and whine and cry.

And those parents, in turn, would turn their troubles over to Voldemort himself. The Dark Lord would not be happy to know that he was favoring a ‘Mudblood’ over a pureblooded Slytherin prince or princess. And that would undoubtedly hurt the cover he had so carefully worked up during his years spying for Dumbledore. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

So he took note of the ones that were making trouble for her. They would get what they deserved one way or another. Maybe a carefully placed word to Minerva could get her in the mood to assign a little more detention than normal. She still held a soft spot for Willow, after all, despite the mess the Sorting Hat had made of things. Yes, she would be the one to mete out the vengeance he so rightfully wanted to give.

He sighed in closed relief as the class came to a close, watching the students file out of the room with haste in their steps. Except for Willow. She was putting her books back into her bag as if she didn’t care that class was over, that she was free. And, while he knew that she enjoyed potions, he doubted she was lingering for the sake of the class alone. It did, however, give him the perfect chance to speak with her.

"Miss Rosenberg, a word?"

Willow’s head shot up and her eyes widened. What could she have possibly done already to warrant being spoken to after class by Professor Snape? Even the last departing students, mostly Gryffindor, shot her looks of sympathy. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and shoved her last book back into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, before approaching Snape’s desk.

"Yes, Sir?"

He nearly rolled his eyes at the timid tone of her voice, knowing fully well that she had long since moved past her fear of him.

Or had she?

He sighed and reached out to tilt her head up so that she was looking into his face.

"What happened?"

Green eyes grew wide and frantic, a tinge of desperation coming to them almost immediately with his question.

"N-nothing." She stammered, tearing her chin from his grasp so that she didn’t have to look him in the eyes as she flat out lied.

"Miss Rosenberg, at least do me the honor of being truthful. If you do not wish to discuss with me whatever has upset you, just say it."

Willow sighed, shaking her head. She pulled one of the stools near the desk and sat down, her bag dropping to the floor. What would Oliver say now? If he knew she was about to pour her heart out to the Professor that he hated more than anything? He’d probably think he’d done the right thing. Slytherin conversing with Slytherin. Nothing wrong with that.

She licked her lips, searching silently for not the words, but the strength, to say what had happened. It still ached within her like a fresh wound.

"He did it." She whispered at last, looking back up into the dark eyes of the man across the desk. "He broke up with me."

"He –" Snape began in confusion. And then it hit him. Oliver Wood. He had actually done it. He had broken up with her. The Professor’s voice clouded with barely leashed anger. "Dare I ask why?"

The red head snorted once, a tear falling from her eye to roll down her cheek.

"Something about it would never work – me and him. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor." She frowned. "He came off sounding so bigoted. It’s not like I’m a bad person just because I got sorted into that House. I’m still me. I’m still the girl he spent time with in Sunnydale."

Snape nodded, filing his anger away for later – when one Mister Oliver Wood would be showing up for his seventh year Potions class. There would be Hell to pay for this, make no doubt. But that was for later, and he certainly didn’t want Willow to worry about it right now.

"House rivalries are wonderful things at some times and cruel at others."

‘This would be one of the cruel moments.’ He thought acerbically, the silently spoken words grating against him despite his own reservations against everything that Gryffindor stood for.

"Cruel?" Willow smirked, the cold light of pain in her eyes. "This is beyond cruel. He was all I had here. The only friend I had. Well, except that Hermione girl, now. She’s determined to be damned with me."

"Miss Granger?" He raised an eyebrow. "Mister Potter and Mister Weasley will not be happy about that. They are some of our House’s most vocal decriers."

Willow nodded. "She said they’d be less than thrilled. I’m just happy she’s willing to take the chance. Not like I’m making any friends inside this House."

Snape turned his head so that she wouldn’t see the scowl on his face. He certainly didn’t want her to think it was directed towards her in any way.

"They don’t like me because my parents weren’t all wizard-like, huh?"

He nodded once, slowly, and turned eyes back to her that were as sympathetic as he could still manage after so many years guarding his emotions.

"They are a very prejudiced lot." He admitted.

"Not their fault I didn’t have the good sense to get Sorted into another House." She muttered, dejected.

"You could always make mention that you were adopted. That may start rumors that you are a pureblood in disguise." Severus suggested gently.

"I don’t care what they think." Willow sighed. "I really don’t." She graced him with a small smile. "Don’t worry about me, k? I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with meanies."

He hid a smile at her choice of words. It was hard to remember at times that she was still only seventeen, still a few weeks shy of her eighteenth birthday. She certainly carried herself with all of the maturity of a young adult. There were other time, though, like these, when it was quite obvious that she was still a child.

"Some of those ‘meanies’ are dangerous." He reminded her. "Do try to be careful around them." He waited until she nodded to continue, a flash of brilliance streaking through his mind. The easiest way to help her get through her pain would be to give her something to do other than think about it.

And he –did- have that little project still to work on. The one that Dumbledore had been too busy to help with so far.

"I have an outside project I need help with, Miss Rosenberg. Would you be interested in assisting with those research skills you bragged about so many afternoons this summer?"

The red head lit up at that, a sunny smile stealing across her face.

"Research I can handle. Just give me the info and set me to it."

He nearly laughed out loud at the confidence in her voice. It was refreshing to see her cheer up so dramatically at the mere mention of needing to search and hunt for information.

"There was this girl during my sixth year." He began slowly, intending to tell her only the bare minimum. He didn’t want to burden her research with his own thoughts or suppositions. She could come to whatever conclusions there were to be drawn on her own.

"Her name was Virginia Bloom."

~*~

Seventh year Potions class was in mid-afternoon, somewhat of a blessing to those that had faithfully stuck with the class over the course of their time at Hogwarts and had faced many a morning class with the stern, always cruel, Professor Snape. Having the class in the afternoon did little to wear away the annoyance and aggravation that the class always brought with it, however.

And so it was with the heavy hearts that the seventh year Gryffindors trudged their way into the classroom. They took their seats, ignoring the sneers and jeers of the seventh year Slytherins they were being forced to take lessons with yet again. By now they all knew that there was no coincidence that the Houses that hated each other the most were always paired together for lessons. In fact, it was rumored that Dumbledore did it for the pure purpose of trying to foster harmony between the two Houses.

Not that it had done any good before.

Snape breezed into the classroom, smirking slightly at the chill between the two sides of the room. They had divided themselves up nicely, per the usual. His cold gaze sought out the one person he had been waiting all day to… teach, and a cruel smile curled at the corner of his mouth. First, though, he needed a good reason to imagine possible infractions against the sandy haired Quidditch captain.

And what better way than mixing things up a bit?

"We will start off today with a simple Sleeping draught. You will partner with a member of another House. Listen closely as I call your names.

"Oliver Wood – Marcus Flint."

~*~

Hermione wasn’t used to hearing the sounds of someone else in the library, especially this late in the evening. It wasn’t past curfew or anything of that nature, but it was still pretty late for someone to be perusing the stacks. She walked to the back, towards the sounds of turning pages, her face blank yet inquisitive. Rounding a corner, the brunette third year was pleased to see someone she recognized sitting at a table, alone.

"You!"

Willow looked up, grinning when she saw who was standing there. "Hey, Hermione."

The Gryffindor girl sat down at the table, sliding her bag onto the empty chair next to her.

"Mind if I join you?"

The red head shook her head, little wisps of hair falling loose with the motion. "Go ahead, I could use the company."

Hermione nodded and pulled her homework from her bag. She intended to get some of it done before it was due next week, but her unending curiosity got the better of her, especially as Willow shifted from book to book, intent on, well, something.

"What’re you studying?"

Willow looked up from the book in her lap and shook her head with a slight smile.

"Not studying. Just doing some side research for one of my Professors."

"Oh really?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. Which Professor had asked Willow to do their research instead of asking –her-? It felt vaguely like an insult and only piqued her curiosity even further. "Which Professor?"

Willow bit her lip, her eyes distant as she debated internally whether or not to let Hermione in on the research and who it was for. Snape hadn’t said that it was a secret, but he –was- a very private man. She sighed, her eyes meeting Hermione’s pleadingly.

"If I tell you, do you promise to keep it secret? Just between me and you?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course. You can trust me, you know."

The older witch smiled. "I hope so." She pulled a piece of parchment from beneath a book and passed it across the table.

"It’s for Professor Snape. He wants me to find out what happened to this girl, one of his classmates from back in the day."

If she hadn’t already been thoroughly intrigued, Hermione certainly was now. A research project for Professor Snape? So Willow was already on good terms with the broodingly cold Head of Slytherin? She read over the little that was on the paper, whispering as she went. "Virginia Bloom. Didn’t graduate. Left during sixth year." She lifted her eyes from the slip of paper. "That’s it? That’s all he gave you?"

Willow nodded, grinning. "That’s it. I guess he wanted to either make it more challenging for me or not influence me. Somehow I’m thinking it was influence more than the challenge, though. This is challenging enough with just the information he gave." She gestured to all the books that littered the table. "I haven’t been able to find anything about her so far."

Hermione’s eyes lit up from the inside with a fierce joy that could only be brought on by a true challenge. She looked at Willow and their expressions were identical – those of people who truly loved learning and all it entailed. The kind of look someone hot on the trail of a research mystery would have. She just –knew- it was going to mean hours of time spent in the library, late nights pouring over notes and tracking down clues. And, in the end, it might shed a little light on the elusive past of their very own Professor Snape. The younger witch grinned even wider, offering with all sincerity -

"Want some help?"

~*~

Oliver Wood rubbed at his arms, trying to shake the chill that had already settled upon him. The sun had gone down nearly an hour before, leaving the Hogswart’s grounds already covered in dew and slightly cold. Snape had said to be out here on time.

So why wasn’t he on time himself?

The Quidditch captain shook his head, marveling at the luck that had landed him detention on the first night of school. It was a bad omen for things to come, he was sure.

And he had a frightening notion that it had something to do with Willow.

He shook his head, trying to get thoughts of the red head out of his mind. It was nothing short of torture to even allow her into his head. Not when he couldn’t be with her. It just wasn’t meant to be, he told himself.

No matter how much he wanted to just take her in his arms, apologize for what he had done, and beg for her forgiveness.

That could never be, he knew. His Housemates would not allow it. They had made it quite clear that dating a Slytherin would be an end to him. No, they hadn’t threatened to throw an Unforgivable at him, but they –did- have the power to strip him of his Quidditch captaincy, to snub him for the rest of his last year. They could, in effect, make his life a royal Hell if he didn’t just cave in to their wishes.

So he had. He had broken her heart, and quite possibly his own.

He was weak.

Yes, he could admit to that.

The great Oliver Wood, future Quidditch star, was a failure in the game of courage.

Footsteps echoed on the flagstones behind him, coming down the walk. He forced thoughts of Willow and what could have been out of his head, turning to greet his Jailor for the night.

"Nice to know you are prompt, Mister Wood."

Oliver winced at the tone of Snape’s voice. He was in a fine mood today. Had been in class, even. To the point that Oliver –still- wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done to end up here, serving detention after sunset, with the most feared Professor in the entire school.

"Follow me." Snape snapped. He didn’t look back to see if Oliver was following him. He would either follow or face more punishment, more loss of House points. Snape’s mouth curled into a cruel smile at the thought of that. Because of Mister Wood and one Potions class, Gryffindor was already negative in points for the year. They would need to work extra hard if they even hoped to balance out at this rate.

They reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest in a matter of ten minutes. Snape stopped, his back to Oliver.

"You will be collecting a variety of night-blooming flowers and fungi. See that you are careful." He pulled a list and a small bag from one of his robe pockets and turned to Oliver at last, a sneer on his face. "I will wait here."

"Wh-What?" Oliver managed to squeak out, looking at the Professor as though he’d lost his mind. "You want me to go in –there-? At night? By myself?"

"I believe those were my directions, yes."

"But – That’s not fair –"

"FAIR?" Snape roared, taking a step closer. It was difficult to maintain a mask of cold anger when Oliver took a step back to regain the distance between them. So the little prat was scared of him. Good. And now for the trump card, his killing move on the young man’s emotions.

"Who said anything about ‘fair’, Mister Wood? Was it fair what you did to Miss Rosenberg?"

Oliver backed up another step, the rebuke coming from the least person he had ever expected it to. And so he had been right, hadn’t he? Willow –was- the cause of his detention tonight, whether she knew it or not. She had already found a protector. That was good. At least now he didn’t need to worry about her. No one would dare cross Snape. He licked his lips, prepared to defend his actions as best as he was able.

"Don’t bother." Snape hissed, his black eyes flashing with further anger. He threw the items in his hands to the ground at Oliver’s feet. "You were never good enough for her, anyway."

Oliver sighed and bent over to retrieve the bag that Snape had flung at him. When he righted himself he knew he looked pathetic and could see the Potion Professor’s eyes grow dark with disgust.

"I know, Sir." He murmured, moving past him and into the Forest. Braving the dangers of the Forest was definitely an improvement over anything else Snape might have to say to him. He had heard it enough, from his own conscience, and it was growing old both with his mind and his emotions. He sighed, glancing at the list and then looking around for the first item, his next words practically unheard.

"I’m not good enough for her. Not by a long shot."

~*~Part Seventeen~*~

Two weeks’ time didn’t make life any easier for Willow, though she had managed to even more securely form a lasting friendship with Hermione Granger, despite the odds sometimes seemingly insurmountable odds such a friendship could have. She hid a smile in the book she was reading, recalling the way the brunette Gryffindor was ever ready to be her shoulder to cry on, her buddy to study with, or a helpful hand an eye when it came to the private research she was doing for Professor Snape.

‘Shame all the Gryffindors aren’t like her. Bunch of stuck up, holier than thou, jerks.’

The rest of the Gryffindor house, as far as Willow could tell, was about the biggest group of snotty pricks she had ever met – and that was saying something considering her experience with Cordelia. That was aside from those despicable students in her own beloved Slytherin house, of course. She snorted at the thought of comparing Gryffindor to Slytherin in the areas of backstabbing, manipulation, downright cruelty and other such distasteful matters. How would they like it if they knew they were so much alike, with only a few key differences separating the two? Sure, Gryffindors prided themselves on nobility, but it seemed that nobility only extended to anyone that was –not- Sorted into Slytherin.

One of these differences however, she had found, was not a matter of pureblood versus being Muggle born.

Hermione had set her straight the first time that erroneous thought had crossed her lips. The look of pure all-knowingness the younger girl had given her, while mildly insulting, had been amusing as well.

"Tom Riddle," Hermione had told her, hands on hips as they stood between two shelves of old yearbooks they had been searching through. "Also known as ‘You-Know-Who’…"

"Who? Voldemort?" Willow had asked, blinking in surprise when the other girl had shushed her none-too-pleasantly. It was awfully amusing, to an outsider, to see the wizards and witches scurry around, trying so hard not to say one little name. Didn’t they know that giving in to fear, such as they were doing, only gave the one that they feared more power?

"Anyway," Hermione had went on, feeling safe in the assumption that Willow wouldn’t be screaming out the Dark Lord’s name again. "He wasn’t a pureblood and *he* was in Slytherin."

"Do you know of any others?" Willow had prompted, curious. But Hermione’s answer was far from being the reassurance the red head had hoped for.

"No." She had admitted. "He’s the only one I’ve really ever heard of."

Willow brought her thoughts back to the present with that little bit of information trailing along like a fish on a hook. She sighed. It hadn’t been at all reassuring to find out that the only other non-pureblood Hermione knew of that had gotten into Slytherin was one of the worst evils ever to grace the wizarding world. So – the one person she had something in common with, as far as her House was concerned, was, by all standards, someone that didn’t deserve to have ever been born.

She sighed.

Things just kept getting better.

Footsteps echoing across the library, getting decidedly more pronounced in volume, was her first indication that she was no longer alone. She pulled her book down, smiling warmly when she saw Hermione. That smile soon faded, however, when her eyes landed without ceremony on the black haired boy behind her.

Why was Hermione bringing Harry Potter over to her table? Was the day not going bad enough without a stuck up Gryffindor brat like him coming to grace her with his company?

‘Probably just passing through and stopping to say hello,’ Willow reasoned. She squashed the frown that threatened to break through her look of utter neutrality, waiting silently for Hermione to say whatever it was she had come to say and then be on her way, the illustrious Harry Potter in tow.

But Hermione didn’t appear to be coming over just to say ‘Hi’. In fact, all hopes of that were wiped clean away when the brunette girl took a seat across from her, Harry doing the same.

"Hey." Willow muttered weakly, silently asking her Goddess what she had done to deserve this.

"You didn’t come for lunch."

It was a statement; a mere observation. In reality, it didn’t even require a response. But Willow felt the need to explain herself anyway.

"Didn’t feel like sitting with those slimy bastards and saccharine sweet whores right now."

Hermione nodded understandingly. Willow could hardly bear the look of pure pity that was in the warm brown eyes of the girl sitting across from her. Hermione was the only one that knew of the troubles she was having in her House. The little pranks that were being pulled, the open threats, the snide remarks. She was the only one Willow had to confide in. Sure, Buffy and Xander were only an owl away, but that just wasn’t the same. And she had felt as if she were drifting away from her two Sunnydale friends since before she had even left the States.

"Wouldn’t want to sit with them myself, either."

Willow turned to look at the person that had spoken, giving Harry a tight smile. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had been hurt before, by someone with an equally charming and innocent face, she might not have been so hesitant with him. But the truth was that she had. Oliver had looked just as friendly – right up to the point he had broken things off for the sake of keeping ‘peace in Gryffindor’.

"Look, Willow." Harry sighed, as if reading her mind. He leaned on the table, hands clasped in front of him, looking for the entire world like some child about to pray. "I know that what my House did was wrong. I’ve come to apologize."

Well, she certainly hadn’t seen that coming.

The red head swallowed, fighting back the urge to throw his apology in his face, like she would do if any other Gryffindor came up to her at that moment, even Oliver. But he looked so repentant, so guileless; and he had never actually openly said anything mean to her, after all. She glanced across the table and found that Hermione was looking at her with that pleading expression, the one that said ‘just go along with it, he means well’.

And so Willow sighed, offering the Boy Who Lived the best smile she could manage.

"Apology accepted." She murmured, hastening to add. "But only for you. Those other asses don’t deserve it."

There was nothing Harry could say to argue. She was right. Even Ron was being an undeniable prat whenever it came to the subject of Willow. He had gone as far as to even start a fight with Hermione one night over the friendship she had developed with the red head. As far as Harry knew, the two were *still* fighting; he wasn’t about to get caught up in the middle of it. Though making friends with Willow on his own was bound to start some bad blood between himself and the youngest male Weasley.

He’d deal with it in stride – it definitely wouldn’t be the first time he and Ron had gotten into an argument, even though the idea of fighting, with the whole Sirius Black thing going on, didn’t seem like the best of ideas. He needed all the support he could get with that madman out to get him.

But, on the other hand, Willow needed friends too.

"What’s up with him?" Willow murmured to Hermione. Harry had completed zoned out during the minute of silence since he had last spoken. There was a far away look on his face, his eyes distant. "Is he sick?"

Hermione shook her head, brown locks bouncing.

"No. He just has a lot on his mind. What with Sirius Black being on the loose and all."

"Sirius Black?" The name sounded familiar to Willow and she pursed her lips together, thinking for a moment. An image of a headline flashed through her mind and it hit her. "Oh! I remember reading about him in the paper. That guy that escaped from Azkaban, right?"

Hermione nodded.

"He was put there for giving Harry’s parents over to You-Know-Who. He betrayed them and then You-Know-Who…" She didn’t have to finish the sentence; the look of horror on Willow’s face said all too accurately that the older girl understood.

The red head’s eyes widened with surprised shock and she glanced cautiously at Harry. He was still lost in his thoughts and had no idea they were even speaking about him, though.

"Wow." Willow breathed. "That’s awful."

Another nod from Hermione.

"Word is that Sirius blames Harry for You-Know-Who’s downfall and is out to get him."

"You mean he’s going to try to kill Harry?" A sense of irate indignation filled Willow at the mere thought. He may have only *just* taken the steps to forming a friendship between them, but that didn’t that he hadn’t already earned his place as ‘off limits’ to the bad guys. Didn’t the evil things of the world ever take a break? First in Sunnydale, now in this magical place? It was like bad stuff followed her wherever she went, with misery coming right behind it, even though she knew that wasn’t the truth. This evil had been here far, far before she had set foot in Hogwarts.

"Someone’s been trying to kill me off and on since I was a baby." Harry murmured. His eyes came back into focus as he joined them in the real world, picking up on their conversation. There was a sad, resigned smile on his face, hiding the grief that shone brilliantly in his eyes. He had lived while his mother and father had died and that was a grief unlike any others in the end. "I’m practically used to it by now."

Willow shook her head, a wry smile on her face as she reached over to ruffle his hair playfully.

"You’re a brave man, Harry Potter."

The blush that spread across his face was reward enough for the compliment she had given him and she made a mental note to do whatever she could to keep him safe.

The feeling of something being tugged from beneath her elbow brought the red head’s attention back to Hermione. The younger girl was busily trying to extricate their research folder from underneath the pile of books that Willow had been leaning on. Muttering an apology, Willow let Hermione take the folder. Her green eyes flickered from Hermione to Harry, but the brunette just shrugged as if to say ‘it’s up to you’. Willow bit her lower lip, debating internally on bringing Harry into their little research group. It was apparent that he wasn’t going anywhere, and she had things that she wanted to discuss with Hermione concerning their efforts. But she couldn’t do that with Harry sitting there unless –

"Harry, if we tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone else? It’s a matter of confidentiality." She asked, her eyes meeting his unflinchingly, searching for even the remotest trace of insincerity.

But she found none when he spoke.

"As long as it has nothing to do with hurting someone else." Harry nodded. "I promise."

Willow took a deep breath and began the tale of ‘The Research Project’ and their progress on it.

~*~

Harry smothered a look of complete confusion as Willow finished her introduction to their research work, her papers spread out in front of him – row after row of hints and clues they had come across, some crossed off after having proved to be dead ends. He shook his head.

"You mean you two have been working on this project for Snape for two full weeks? Slimy, greasy, nasty Snape, Hermione? The one that takes perverse joy in taking away all of our House points?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry was, as usual, over exaggerating. Snape was an evil git, true. But he wasn’t –that- bad. The few times he had come to check on their progress he had actually seemed almost decent, if not still exceptionally scary and, yes, still greasy. A good hair washing would do him no small amount of good, she decided, but kept the thought to herself.

"Yes, Harry." She said patiently.

"He’s not that bad." Willow muttered, unknowingly echoing the thoughts Hermione had just been having.

"I’ll have to take your word for that." Harry smirked. He had absolutely no intention of staying around Snape at any time for long enough to find out whether he was ‘that bad’ or not.

Willow giggled at the petulant look on Harry’s face before turning back to her notes. She pointed at the last set of entries made, two days before, her quill ready to jump right back in to the work that Snape had felt fit to entrust her with.

"Here’s what we’re doing right now."

~*~

The door to the Potions classroom eased open, Remus Lupin peering in nervously. It was that time of the month again and he needed his potion. But that wasn’t his only reason for seeking out the ever irritating Severus Snape. Three weeks of classes had already gone by. Three weeks and three total classes with one Miss Willow Rosenberg. His eyes pierced the gloom of the dungeon room, finding Snape almost instantly. He was, as normal, behind his desk, glaring at the open doorway, and Remus, with open hostility.

"Are you going to come in or not?"

Remus sighed and slipped inside the class, shutting the door behind him. He ambled over to the desk, the bottom of his shabby robe dragging along the floor.

"The potion is there." Severus snapped, not bothering to look up from the stack of papers he had gone back to grading. Did fourth years really still believe this rubbish? He frowned, quill scratching angrily across the parchment, leaving behind disapproving red marks for the unfortunate student that would be receiving the paper back in her next class.

"Severus?"

The Potions Master looked up, disdain clouding an already sneering face.

"You’re still here? Pity. Were you unable to find the potion? It’s there, next to your hand."

The DADA teacher shook his head.

"I wanted to talk to you about Miss Rosenberg."

Now *that* got Snape’s attention. He placed his quill on his desk slowly, staring at Remus with open hostility, mixed with a small measure of curiosity. What could his star pupil have gotten into that was so bad that Remus Lupin of all people was down here, in the dungeons, trying to have a one on one conversation with him?

"What did she do and what would you like her punishment to be?" Severus growled, intending to mete out a punishment completely opposite of whatever the ragbag in front of him suggested.

"She hasn’t done anything wrong, Severus."

The dark haired Professor raised an eyebrow.

"Then what are we speaking for?"

"Do you have to make everything so bloody difficult?" Lupin snarled suddenly, sitting on the edge of the desk nearest Snape’s own. He frowned at the other man and then sighed, tired of the bickering.

"You realize who she is, don’t you?"

Snape’s head snapped around to stare Lupin in the eyes, his own black orbs narrowing suspiciously. Denial leapt to the fore as a viable method of dealing with the accusation burning in Lupin’s eyes until he actually –thought- about it. If Remus was here, braving his ire just to confront him, he must have found a very good reason for his suspicions.

"Of course I do! But how do you --?"

Remus tapped his nose.

"Curse of being a werewolf, enhanced smell. Everyone has their own unique scent, you know. And children tend to take after their parents. And she also looks like –"

"I get your point." Snape sneered. "It’s obvious even without an overactive olfactory gland at your disposal. She looks just like Virginia did back then. Right down to the red oh-so-Weasley hair and those emerald green eyes. Do you think I do not see *her* every single time I look into that girl’s face?"

Lupin snorted, smiling ever so slightly; while it was true that Willow *did* have some startling resemblances to her mother, it had been her paternal resemblances that he had been about to point out to Snape. But if Severus wanted to avoid it, so be it. Then –

"Does she know?"

"No." Snape frowned, his fingers plucking absently at the edge of the parchment in front of him. "We’re still researching to be sure. Checking what happened after –"

He trailed off, leaving the DADA Professor to pick up the thread of conversation again.

"You and Albus are researching?" It was the only likely combination he could think of. Who else would Snape possibly trust with this task.

"Willow, Miss Granger and myself." Snape admitted. "Mostly Willow and the Granger girl, though."

"But you just said that she doesn’t know –"

"I am well aware of what I said, Professor." The title was sneered, more of an insult than a gesture of respect. "At this moment they are merely researching all known information on Virginia Bloom and the events after she left Hogwarts."

How well Lupin remembered the day that the pretty red head had announced, without preamble, that she would not be returning to Hogwarts. She had never been part of his little group, but he had been casual friends with her nonetheless. Not nearly so much as Severus had been, though. It was common belief that the disappearance of Virginia was the one thing that pushed Severus over the edge and into the arms of the waiting Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. But that was all hearsay and had nothing to do with what they were currently discussing.

His knowing eyes turned back to Snape, a measure of sadness filling them.

"She’s going to figure it out eventually, you know."

Severus nodded, gracing his colleague with a sad, brief smile.

"I’m counting on it."

~*~Part Eighteen~*~

Oliver Wood was miserable.

Absolutely.

Positively.

Undeniably.

Miserable.

He watched through lowered lashes, feigning as though he was looking at the food on his plate, as the object of his misery made her way into the Great Hall. She was the last one to arrive for dinner tonight, just as she was every night. Her steps indicated unlike anything else that she was loath to go sit at the table with the rest of her housemates. They were slow, short, and took no small amount of time for her to reach the spot at which she would sit. The look on her face was clear enough in her feelings towards them – they were vile to her, despicable. She neither smiled nor greeted any of them, taking a seat at the fartherest end of the table, nearest the staff; as though by doing so she could avoid a good portion of the painful commentary she would need to endure during her dinner.

Oliver wanted nothing more than to comfort her, to invite her to sit at the table with him and the rest of the Gryffindors so that she wouldn’t need to face the hostility of her own house. He wanted to bring her over here and introduce her around as the girl that he, if not loved, cared for deeply.

But he didn’t dare do that.

Even Hermione, who had openly made friends with the girl, didn’t dare invite her to sit with them. The book-wormish third year was finding it difficult enough to cohabitate with her own housemates considering her decision to play missionary to the lone Slytherin girl.

Slytherin.

How in Merlin’s name did she get Sorted into Slytherin? She was light and innocence – not darkness and impurity. Sure, she may not have been a lion, but she wasn’t necessarily a snake, either.

Then again, he reasoned, it was possible he had never really known her that well at all. The Sorting Hat always made the best choice for the student. Perhaps there was something about his red haired angel that he wasn’t aware of. Something deep and dark, hidden far below the surface so that it had never shown during all those summer nights they had spent together.

"What are you smiling about, Wood?"

Oliver blinked rapidly, turning his attention to Harry and realizing for the first time that he had been thinking in quite detailed memory of those moments he had spent with Willow over the summer. Their times in each others arms. Teaching her structured magic. Taking her home to meet his parents and how much they had adored her.

"Nothing." Oliver muttered, turning his full attention back to his food and missing the knowing quirk of Harry’s lips or the pity in the young man’s eyes. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had seen it, anyway. Harry and Hermione alone wouldn’t be enough to keep every Gryffindor in the tower off of his back if he so much as spoke another word to his former girl.

And then there was what Snape had told him, during detention on his first day of school. He wasn’t good enough for Willow. And wasn’t that the truth? He had abandoned her during a time when she needed him the most, left her to fend for herself because he wasn’t strong or brave enough to stand up to the prejudices of his own House. How ironic was it that Hermione could do what he himself could not? She was a far better specimen of everything a Gryffindor should be than he could ever be.

Willow’s red hair flashed in the corner of his eye as she rose from the table, leaving before anyone else did. Her face was set in a mask of stony indifference, as if to show the world that she didn’t care about the lot that she had been dealt. This was her life, now – the life he had taken her into and then abandoned her, forgetting his promises of ‘being there’ when she needed him or helping her make new friends. He frowned, pushing his plate aside and rising himself. The dorms would be empty right now, he could wallow in his misery without fear of anyone trying to talk to him or chastise him.

To hell with what kind of Gryffindor he was –

What kind of –man- could he possibly be?

The answer, his brain railed at him – not a very good one.

Maybe not one at all.

~*~

Willow trudged back from the library, books in the crook of her arm, her eyes watering from exhaustion. She had stayed in that center of peace for as long as was possible before leaving for her dorm; all in the hopes of not having to speak with or interact with any of her beloved housemates.

Beloved housemates?

She snorted at that impossible thought. Those convicts in training would never be beloved to her. They were nothing more to her than girls like Harmony had been back in Sunnydale – just plain old bullies.

Another turn in the cold halls brought her into sight of the dungeons. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Why was it that she had never once thought that she would be staying in the dungeons when she had imagined her life at Hogwarts? Hadn’t she truly believed she would be staying with Oliver – in the wonderful Gryffindor tower?

"Funny how things change so quickly." She murmured to herself, rounding another corner.

And slamming into a hard body.

She stumbled back, shifting the books in her arms reflexively before she looked up into the eyes of the person she had ran into, her mouth already open to apologize. She bit back her apology at the sight before her. Draco. And his goons, Crabbe and Goyle. She shivered at the look of pure hatred in his eyes.

"Filthy little Mudblood. Can’t even watch where you’re going now?"

Willow took a step backwards, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the person in front of her. They were only third years – but they were very vicious and strong third years.

"I’m sorry, Draco." She muttered, eyes down.

"Draco?" He sneered, stepping forward until he was almost touching her. "Who gave you permission to be that familiar with me? It’s Malfoy to you. Master Malfoy."

Willow bit back the urge to roll her eyes, her free hand fumbling towards her pocket for her wand, hoping Draco wouldn’t notice. Luck was fickle, though. Draco didn’t notice her attempt, but his goons did; and before she knew it, Willow was short one wand.

"What are you gonna do now?" Draco leered, pressing her against the wall. "Face it, Mudblood. You’re screwed. We have your wand. Now just scream like a good little girl."

The red head felt a cool fire start in the pit of her stomach, filling her mind and body with the clear ice of power. She met Draco’s eyes straight on and heard him gasp. She knew what she looked like at that moment; eyes dark with unleashed power. She licked her lips, her voice cold when she spoke again.

"Who said I needed a wand to hurt you?"

~*~

On a normal night Professor Severus Snape would have been out, patrolling the halls of the school, searching for any signs of students making trouble. But tonight was not an ordinary night. He had been plagued with a headache for a majority of the day and had decided to take some time to just rest, to relax in his rooms and read one of his latest book acquisitions, a wonderful treatise on poisons. He had just managed to get into the first chapter of the book when he felt something, like a stirring in his soul.

It was an odd feeling, he decided almost at once. Not painful and certainly not pleasurable; and it was urging him to get out of his chair and enter the dungeons.

He stood, tossing the book onto a small wooden table. His robes flapped about him as he pushed open his door. The dungeon hallways were dark when he stepped out, only the flickering torches along the walls giving off any light at all. He tilted his head to the side, listening carefully. There were no footsteps, not that he expected any. If a student was out of their dorm at this time of night they certainly wouldn’t be foolish enough to be caught because they were walking too heavily.

The nagging feeling in the back of his head was beginning to turn into a very real compulsion. Something, somewhere, was very wrong.

And he had a feeling whatever it was that was happening was taking place right in this very dungeon.

He set out at a brisk stride, looking to his left and right as he came to a junction in the hall. Nothing. Not a student, not even a stray pet that made its way out of a student’s room. He frowned, choosing the left hall and continuing on.

Then he heard it.

"Who said I needed a wand to hurt you?"

The voice was cold, calculating.

But, above all else, he recognized it as being the voice of his star pupil, Willow Rosenberg.

He was running now, in the direction the voice had echoed in from, his wand already out and at the ready. He saw a bright burst of light come from one of the side halls ahead and increased his pace, rounding the corner of the hall at a speed that sent him skidding to a stop. His eyes widened at the sight that greeted him.

Draco Malfoy and his partners in crime, lying on the floor, trussed from head to toe in some type of spidery looking cords.

And a very pleased with herself Willow Rosenberg standing off to one side, her eyes darkened with the power she was wielding.

This was bad.

Very bad.

"Miss Rosenberg!" He snapped, drawing on all of his authority as a Professor and throwing it into the command. He waited for any sign from her that she was listening, that she was –

"I’m not going to flip out, you know." Willow sighed, shaking her head in amusement. "Just channeling a little more magic than I usually do."

"Psychotic girl attacked us!" Draco screamed at Snape, his face a mask of wary fury.

Snape turned to look at the red head, a question in his eyes.

"No, that’s not the truth." She frowned down at Draco. "You’re not terrified enough, yet, Drakie." Her pretty lips twisted up into a sneer. "Rule number one – never lie about me or to me."

She flicked her hand towards his mouth, covering it with more of the same ropes that were binding the rest of his body.

"What is going on here, Miss Rosenberg?"

Willow shrugged.

"Not really sure myself, Professor. One minute I’m on my way back from the library – I got that essay done by the way – and the next thing I know Draco here is telling me I’m not ‘allowed’ to call him by his first name and to refer to him as Master. His little stooges took my wand." She snorted. "As if I need a wand to deal with scum like this."

Severus Snape hid a smile. The girl had spunk. Just what he would have expected from someone of her lineage. And her power was unbelievable – exactly what a witch that had lived on the Hellmouth should have. He stifled his own urge to cause very real physical pain to Draco and his friends for the harm they had been trying to do to Willow. These were new feelings for him. Feelings of protectiveness that he wasn’t sure he had within him.

"Oh – and Draco?" Willow murmured, her voice full of false concern. "Stop calling me a Mudblood if you know what’s good for you. I was adopted. Neither you nor I know who my parents are and I –really- don’t like someone insulting me for my heritage."

Draco went white as Willow’s eyes again glazed over with that unseeing blackness that she had first shown to him only moments before. This was a threat. She was actually threatening him in front of a Professor.

A Professor that wasn’t doing a bloody thing to stop her, for that matter.

In fact, Draco realized, Snape almost looked amused.

‘Wait until Father hears about this.’ The platinum haired Slytherin fumed, careful to mask his feelings lest Willow decide to do away with threats altogether and just set to killing him. He had no doubt, looking into her eyes, that she was very capable of doing just that. ‘The Dark Lord may be interested in someone like her. A wandless witch. A powerful wandless witch.’

"Twenty points from Slytherin for the actions of Mister Malfoy and company." Snape intoned, glaring at the bound and gagged boys that were lying at his feet. He didn’t miss the spark of anger in the grey eyes of the child nearest him, Mister Malfoy himself, but at that moment Severus Snape couldn’t care less what the little prat thought of him.

"Twenty points –to- Slytherin, however." Snape continued. "For Miss Rosenberg’s cool thinking in the face of aversion. You three," He gestured at the miscreants he had the ‘pleasure’ of calling his students. "Will meet me in the classroom tomorrow night at eight for detention."

Draco growled wordlessly, earning himself a slightly raised eyebrow from Snape.

"For the next month, Malfoy." The Potions Master sneered. "And maybe next time you will see fit not to accost your fellow housemates in the hallway? Or anywhere else for that matter."

"You may release them now, Miss Rosenberg." Professor Snape smirked, turning his back on the bound students. "I will make sure you reach your dormitory unmolested."

Willow nodded and, with a mere wave of her hand, the ropes disappeared. She risked a glance at Draco, chilled by the fact that she still didn’t see an appropriate level of fear in him. Hadn’t her demonstration been impressive enough? It certainly had cowed his two friends. She shrugged internally and turned back to Snape, giving him a smile. She levitated her books back into her arms with another flick of her wrist and then removed her wand from Goyle’s pocket in the same manner.

"They’re scared of you." Snape murmured, leading her off down the hallway.

"No." Willow shook her head. "The two idiots are scared of me. Draco isn’t."

Snape paused, thinking on what she had said. He opened his mouth to argue and then closed it again, images of what had just transpired flashing through his head. She was right, of course, Draco hadn’t seemed afraid of her at all.

No, he had seemed intrigued.

Part Twenty-One~*~

Willow went to sleep that first night after what she came to refer to in her head as the Revelation with a head full of information and a smile on her lips. She had spoken at length with her cousins in the Great Hall, slowly warming up to them. All in all, they really weren’t that bad, if not just as bigoted and biased in their own way as the Slytherins were in theirs. She felt like screaming at them for the torment they had put her through, for helping to take Oliver from her or, if they weren’t a part of that, for not helping him stand up for himself. And, when they had asked if they were forgiven, she had told them quite honestly that no, they weren’t, although they were welcome to keep trying.

And they had promised that they would do just that, complete with beating off any Slytherin nasties that got in her way again. Rumor had spread quickly about Draco’s attempt with her in the hallway, it seemed, and not quite so quickly about her borderline Dark Arts activities when getting him off of her. She felt comforted knowing that she would have a family to keep her ‘out of trouble’ and friends, like Harry and Hermione, to help her through the tough times when she just felt like screaming.

But, still, as her head hit the pillow, the excitement of the day finally catching up with her, numbing her senses, she found that she was dreading the next day.

~*~

Severus Snape eased out of his robes, hanging them within the sturdy oak armoire he kept off to one side of his bedroom. He closed his eyes, sighing loudly. How was it that he had suspected all this time that she was his daughter, yet when the time came to finally own up to the situation he had been just as dumbstruck as she? Their talk had been nice. Informative. But there was still much more to be said between them. Like the inevitable talk about his own past, and hers. The stories of what she had done for all those years on the Hellmouth. He shuddered to think of all the trouble she could have gotten into during that time.

Or caused.

Hadn’t she mentioned something about her and her friends –

Well, that was a thought for another day, a story she had yet to tell, he reasoned. Though, he had to admit, he was looking forward to it.

He shrugged out of his black sweater, pulling it up and over his head before tossing it unceremoniously to the floor. Not his normal modus operandi, but he’d live. He was too world weary to fold it and place it in his drawers. His pants quickly joined the shirt, leaving him clad only in the black, silk boxers he so favored simply for the way they felt on his skin.

Crawling into bed, Snape extinguished the flickering candles with a wave of his wand, letting the rowan length clatter to the top of his nightstand. He closed his eyes, praying for strength to deal with the day ahead, a day in which he would have classes for the first time since his talk with his daughter.

Yes, he would need all the strength he could get.

~*~

Thankfully, the next day blossomed bright and wonderful – and with the perfect distraction for the revelations of the day before.

Quidditch.

The first Quidditch game of the season, to be exact –and- it was between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Willow could actually feel the air sparkling with excitement, much like static electricity, as she made her way down the halls, Hermione at her side. She shook her head, giving the brunette a wry grin.

"I still can’t figure out how I let you talk me into this."

Hermione felt her mouth quirk up in a grin.

"It couldn’t possibly have been the fact that I pointed out that not one, but two of your cousins are on the Gryffindor team. Not to mention Harry? You owe them your support."

Willow grinned.

"Yeah – and then they can escort me back to my common room afterwards and make sure none of my Housemates decide to get revenge on the ‘traitor’?"

"Of course." The younger witch nodded primly, her mouth giving away the humor she felt at the entire situation. Her eyes scanned over the hallway as they slowly made their way to the pitch. Wherever they had gone that day students had stopped and stared; and Hermione held little hope that it was because she had finally done something right with her makeup. No, this little bit of notoriety was completely due to Willow.

Willow Rosenberg-Bloom-Snape.

The daughter of two Slytherins, one currently the Potions Master of the school. It was almost funny, in a way. Snape had a child and it had turned out to be someone like Willow, who was so entirely un-Snape-like that it was difficult to believe that she was even remotely related to that distinguished Professor. Then there was the fact that Snape had been romantically involved with a woman that was only one step away from being a Weasley. Virginia Bloom – sister to Molly Weasley. If the two of them had ever actually made a go at a real relationship he very well could have ended up being Ron’s uncle.

She choked back a chuckle.

Yes, life certainly was ironic at times.

Hermione glanced over at the witch walking next to her, a frown creasing her lips when she saw the look on Willow’s face.

Sadness.

"You okay?"

Willow sighed, shaking her head.

"Not really." She shrugged. "I can remember listening to Oliver talk about Quidditch over the summer. He was so passionate about it. I couldn’t wait to see it played for the first time, to cheer for him for the first time. And now –"

She didn’t need to say anything else, Hermione understood completely. Quidditch did nothing but remind Willow about Oliver. It was obvious just from the way the red head still spoke his name that she was totally head over heels for him.

But what about Oliver?

That was a mystery that Hermione hadn’t been able to puzzle through, yet. His casual friends said he was fine, never better, but those that were on the team with him knew that he had lost something special inside of him. That spark that had once shone so brightly in his eyes was gone. She saw it for herself on those rare occasions when he would lift his eyes from his food in the Great Hall. Something was missing in Oliver Wood’s life.

And Hermione had a sneaky suspicion that it was Willow.

~*~

The Gryffindor stands were loud, noisy, and altogether much too crowded for Willow’s tastes. Especially seeing as how each and every Gryffindor student stopped talking and just stared as Hermione led her into their ranks. She put on a brave smile, feeling like a sheep in the middle of the lions, instead of the snake she was supposed to be.

"Am I the first Slytherin student to ever sit on this side?"

Hermione nodded.

"Most definitely."

"That’s just peachy." The red head muttered, her eyes set firmly on the field in front of her. She shivered as a cool breeze picked up, regretting for the first time whatever had made her decide to leave her cloak in her room. There were only a few more days until Halloween and already the air was cold throughout the day, not once warming up under the sun. Where were Ginny and Ron? Hadn’t they said they would meet them here? At least with them sitting close to her she wouldn’t feel quite as much of a bite from the wind. Percy was sitting with his girlfriend, a girl who Willow couldn’t remember the name of to save her life.

Her eyes scanned over the field, taking note of the multiple hoops at either end. Those were the places where what passed for goals in this sport would be scored. With that quaffle thing that Oliver had always rambled on about. She bit her lip, fighting back the feelings of sadness that always accompanied a simple thought about the Boy-Who-Had-No-Balls. Yes, he had earned his own legendary title, one she felt like shouting to the world during moments like this.

Luckily, for him at least, she was too much of a lady to do that.

The Slytherin team was already out on the field, flying in circles in a manner which she could only assume was ‘warming up’. Even from this distance she could see Draco, his white-blonde hair shining in the sunlight. He was currently making a lap around the pitch and she followed him with her eyes, unintentionally enjoying the way that he flew, the quiet grace of it all. He was a natural on that broom, flitting about as though he owned the place.

She didn’t even think about what she was doing until he was nearly in front of her; didn’t even contemplate the fact that she had been watching him fly, rather intently, for the past two minutes. But then, when his eyes met hers, a sly smirk curling up his lips, she growled at herself in frustration. He was a delight to look at, sure. But that was beside the point. He was too young for her, too cruel for her, and much too Slytherin for her. Not to mention the whole ‘accosting her in the hallway’ thing. Unconsciously, though, she found her eyes drifting back to him.

Unfortunately, he was still looking her way, his head turned so that he was staring over his shoulder as he completed his trip around the pitch. She felt a queasiness in her stomach as he slowly closed one eye in what was a very unmistakable wink. Dear Goddess. Was Draco actually flirting with her? She shivered now, and it was more than just cold that was eating at her. This was the chill of disgusted fear. How dare that little toad presume to wink at her?!? After all the Hell he had caused her. She had little hope that his newfound ‘friendliness’ had to do with anything other than the Revelation.

Thankfully, at that moment, Ron and Ginny chose to make their appearance and idle chatter broke out amongst herself, them and Hermione. Slowly other Gryffindors nearby began to join in and Willow felt, for one second, like she was a part of their camaraderie. But, only for a moment, because she could still see the Slytherins in the stands across from her, many of their angry glares being thrown her way. 

She sighed, settling in for a cold day.

~*~

"She seems to have made some friends."

Severus raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore and then glanced across the way at where his daughter was sitting in the Gryffindor stands, surrounded by those infuriatingly noble students. No doubt they would now take her on as a pet project, to liberate her from the bowels of the dungeons and make her feel ‘cared for’.

"She must be ecstatic." He replied dryly.

"Actually, I was thinking that she looked cold." The Headmaster murmured, his eyes twinkling with silent laughter that was directed at not Willow and not Snape either – but everything in general.

Severus watched Willow for a moment, noting the way she was rubbing her arms, ever so slightly. He sighed. Silly girl didn’t have the common sense to bring a cloak with her? Then again, she was from the insufferably warm climate of southern California. Perhaps she just had not realized how cold it would be out here. And the game hadn’t even started yet. She’d be frozen through before the Snitch was even sighted for the first time.

"Accio cloak." He muttered, flicking his wand in the general direction of the school and his own private rooms. Within moments just the cloak he had wanted was flying into his hands. He stood, not sparing a glance at Dumbledore, whom he knew would be smiling indulgently as usual, and wove his way down through the staff box. It took him much longer than he would have like to get from his own side of the field to that which Willow was sitting on, during which time he was able to scare numerous students out of his way with mere glares.

At least something productive had come of this little venture.

He stalked up the stairs and into the Gryffindor bleachers, a swift glare silencing the whispers that immediately begun. Dark eyes scanned the students relentlessly until he found her, surrounded by her newest ‘friends’ and ‘family’. Pushing past the students that were crowding behind her, he gently draped the cloak around her shoulders. He hid the smile that threatened to creep out at the looks of shock he had caused on many of the Gryffindor students that were sitting close enough by to witness his little gesture.

"Thank you." Willow smiled, looking up into her father’s face. She recognized that gleam in his eyes and knew he was laughing on the inside even if he couldn’t on the surface.

"You are welcome." He murmured. "In the future, do try to remember that you are not still in California?"

And with that he was gone, leaving her giggling and the Gryffindors gaping.

~*~

Willow had just gotten herself comfortable amidst the luxuriously soft folds of the cloak Snape had draped around her when the Gryffindor team took the field. She found herself clapping and cheering as they looped around, evidently already warmed up from perhaps one of the fields off to the other side of the castle. She waved at Harry and then Fred and George, delighted when they waved back.

And then she saw Oliver and felt as though the world were caving in on her all over again. He was so handsome still, despite the fact that she felt like his heart had to be made of pure ice. Goddess, even Draco had to be more of a human being than Oliver.

But, still, he was gorgeous to behold. Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met, green to brown. It was just fleeting, but when he looked away it was in a moment she would have called ‘shame’ more than anything else. She felt a warm rush begin in her toes and work its way to her head. It had only been a brief meeting of eyes, face to face, but still -

At least it was something.

~*~

Quidditch, Willow found, was an awfully enthralling sport to watch. Whether she was focusing her attention on the beaters and the bludgers, or watching the keepers guard their goals, she was thoroughly entranced. Now she understood why Oliver had spoken so passionately about this. It was definitely a sight to behold.

She felt her brow crease in confusion, black shapes pooling from one side of the field, coming to a stop directly below –

Harry!

He was falling, toppling, his broom still in the air, to the ground below. Those things she recognized now – Dementors. They had been all over school ever since the first day, keeping lookout for Sirius Black. She jumped up, racing after Hermione and Ron as they barreled through the tunnels and out onto the pitch. The Professors were already there, her father among them, levitating Harry up from the ground. She followed along behind them, her heart in her throat. Harry looked so pale. He had fallen from so high. She sniffled.

The warmth of the castle hit her like a slap in the face, yet she was still chilled inside. Harry had gotten hurt. Those awful Dementor things had done, well, -something- to him and he had fallen. Next to her Hermione was equally quiet. And, when they made a motion to enter the infirmary after Harry, they were stopped by a stern looking Poppy.

"No visitors." She snapped.

The girls blinked at each other, each looking terrified of what had happened to their friend. Hermione’s shoulders began to shake and Willow felt herself almost smile when Ron put an arm around the brunette’s shoulders. So Hermione was being comforted. What about –her-? She was Harry’s friend, too. She stepped back, closing her eyes and leaning into the wall across from the infirmary door. Harry would be all right. He –had- to be.

Or else she would be out there dealing some very hard, very real death to those Dementors.

She was so lost in thoughts of bitter vengeance that she didn’t immediately hear the sound of shoes on the stone hall, or voices talking nearby. She definitely didn’t notice when one of those sets of footsteps came to stand right next to her. In fact, it wasn’t until she felt a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her, that she opened her eyes and came back to the real world at all.

And who she saw waiting for her came as so much of a shock that she slid the rest of the way down the wall, staring up at him with confusion and pain.

"Are you alright?"

There it was. That voice. The one she had dreamed longingly of since the start of term. It had been a hallway just like this where he had –

"Willow?"

She closed her eyes, shaking her head at him as if to say ‘I can’t do this right now’. Just the way he said her name made her shiver in response, that strong accent that she couldn’t quite place. It sent goosebumps up and down her arms. She pulled her father’s cloak tighter around her, praying he would just go away.

Fortunately for everyone involved, Oliver just couldn’t take a hint.

She heard him slide down the wall, felt a whoosh of air as he took a spot next to her. And then he was putting an arm around her shoulders and she was crying, sobbing. And if anyone asked her at that moment why she wouldn’t have been able to say if it was more for Harry or for the boy sitting next to her.

"Shh." Oliver whispered, leaning his head on hers. "It’ll be okay. Harry’s a tough one."

The hallway was quiet but Willow knew without opening her eyes that they were the center of attention at that moment. She both wanted to tell him that she wasn’t crying just for Harry and not tell him all at the same time. But either way, she didn’t want to do it here. She needed to be away from Ron and Hermione. And was that Fred and George she heard. Probably Angelina, too. She sighed, and opened her eyes.

Her Goddess was looking out for her, apparently, because the second she met his eyes he tilted his head to the side.

"You want to go for a walk?"

She nodded and let him pull her to her feet. With detachment she noted that he was still in his Quidditch robes and had his broom in his hand. He looked good. Very good.

"Willow –"

She raised an eyebrow, wondering at the fact that he had hardly been able to wait until they cleared the school’s door to start talking.

"I –"

The minutes dragged by, but he didn’t finish whatever it was he had been going to say. But it didn’t matter. Not really. She knew what he was going to say. She met his eyes unflinchingly, nodding.

"Yes, -you-."

"I’ve been a prat."

"Is that the word for it?" She smirked.

"Don’t do that." Oliver grimaced.

"What?" Now she was confused and it showed.

"Smirk." He smiled just a little. "Reminds me who your dad is."

"Ah." She shook her head, chuckling. "Glad someone can see that family resemblance thing, ‘cause I can’t. I look more like my mother’s side of the family, I guess. Except the nose and I guess the smirk and maybe more stuff that I just haven’t figure out yet. And –"

Oliver laid a finger across her lips, his eyes twinkling.

"I’ve missed that. The babbling."

Willow blushed, averting her eyes. Just a few minutes with him and already she was willing to melt into his arms, to forget and forgive. Time for a change of topic.

"Nice broom." She gestured at the article, not knowing whether it was ‘nice’ or not. It could have been the worst model ever and she would have said what she said just to get away from these squirmy feelings he was bringing out in her. "Can I touch it?"

Oliver choked on the breath he had been drawing in, blushing a bright scarlet as her eyes found his in confusion. The euphemism for touching his ‘broom’ was completely lost on her and he found himself struggling for words.

"Sure." He managed to gasp out, proffering the bit of wood at her, his face still flaming red.

"Remind me to ask you later exactly what you took that to mean." She muttered, hefting the broom in her hands. She looked over it, for no other reason that to buy time between now and when they would begin ‘talking’ about ‘them’ again.

"Want to try it out?" He offered, the heat finally fading from his face. Though, on second thought, maybe offering to let her take his broom for a test drive wasn’t a completely innocent thing.

"I – can’t." She stammered, thrusting the broom back at him. He raised an eyebrow at her and now she was the one that was blushing.

"Can’t?"

Willow sighed, her eyes fixated on the blades of grass next to her shoes.

"I haven’t quite gotten up the courage to let Madam Hooch teach me yet." Her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment, her broom fear almost overwhelming.

"Doesn’t take courage." He smiled at her gently. "Just the right teacher."

Willow watched as he levitated the broom with a gentle ‘up’. It seemed like second nature to him as he swung one leg over it, sitting astride without hardly a thought. Then his hand lifted and –

"Ride with me?"

She blinked and shook her head ‘no’. But he kept his hand out there and she felt her resolve melting away. He was as close to a ‘professional’ as she’d ever seen, after all. She took a step forward, her hand closing on his.

"It’ll be fun." He murmured. "I promise."

Willow nodded, mute, and settled behind him, her hands wrapping instinctively around his waist.

"Now just hold on."

Before she could even ponder what else she’d do rather than ‘hold on’, they were in the air. She looked down, her eyes going wide with wonder. This was so much smoother than she had thought possible. Of course, that was just the way magic was, she knew. She leaned against Oliver’s back, her eyes looking out over the school and then forest, as they flew high in the air. The sun was setting already. That game had gone on longer than she had thought, after all. The crimson fingers of the sun’s last rays were spreading out into the darkening sky, creating purple streaks in the heavens themselves. She sighed in pleasure.

Time flew by as they raced above the ground and trees. She saw the lake and, in the distance, the station she had originally rode into. Just as she was starting to believe that maybe she could stand to get her own flying lessons, they began to drift back to the ground, coming to a stop exactly where they had taken off from.

"How was that?" Oliver queried, helping her off of the broom.

"Heavenly." She admitted. The night air was growing cooler and she tugged on the cloak.

"You should go on inside." Oliver motioned her towards the doors. "Check on Harry. I’ve got things to do. Put away the equipment from the game."

She nodded, words she wanted to say catching in her throat.

"We’ll talk later." And then he kissed her forehead, oh so chaste. But she felt the same thing she always had with him – that spark of something special; that same something she had been missing for weeks and weeks. "Meet me for breakfast in the morning?"

Willow’s only reply was to nod and then he was walking away to take care of his chores. She felt a slow smile creep across her face as she turned back to the school and the doors that would lead her back to the infirmary. Hopefully there would be news of Harry. If something bad had happened she was sure someone would have found her, so the only news there could be would be good news or no news at all.

With a much, much lighter heart, Willow wandered back into the school.

Completely unaware of the irate Slytherin that had witnessed her private moment from an upstairs window.

Part 22:

~~Draco~

I was not aware that Severus had a child, much less a grown daughter. Neither was Our Lord. Are you positive that this is correct? Be very careful, my son. If he has kept her knowledge from us for this many years then he cannot be the ally we once thought him to be.

                                                                        Take Care,

                                                                                    Lucius~
~*~

~~Father,

She is most definitely his daughter, the whole school is talking about it. He brought her a cloak at the Quidditch game today. She sat on the Gryffindor side. It was well and truly disgusting. Someone like her deserves so much better, father. So much better than those Muggle loving pieces of trash. They might as well be Mudbloods themselves. Wait – most of them are. Worthless! But she’s a pureblood. And a Slytherin. Definitely something worth looking into. I will keep a watch on her and let you know how things progress.

                                                                        Your Son,

                                                                                    Draco~

~*~

Remembering her promise to meet Oliver for breakfast, Willow rose early. She walked to the Slytherin girls’ bathrooms, opening the doors and peering inside hesitantly. Good. She was the first one up. Maybe she’d have a chance to bathe and get out of there before any of the other girls came in for their morning bathing. She didn’t want to be around any of them, not with the way they were treating her now. Like she was some object to be won. A prize. When not only a week before she had been nothing to them, not even ranking above a speck of dirt on the bottom of their shoes. Now she was something special? Just because of who her father and mother were? Most especially her father?

She snorted, shaking her head. Prejudiced little bastards. Not unlike the Gryffindors, though at least the Lions of the school were open with how they felt and what their motives were. The slimy Snakes were just the opposite. They wanted her to befriend them, yes, but it was only because of what she could bring to them in the way of social status or power, and none of them were very open about which they were looking for. Her blood was no more red than anyone else’s, yet because of her father and mother she was suddenly a well sought after Slytherin.

Willow dropped her nightgown to the floor, next to the bathtub, and crawled into the warm water she had been running as she thought about her House politics. She sank down deep, letting the water drift up to her chest, the sudsy bubbles smelled of flowers. The bathing room was one of the few in all of the Slytherin dungeons that was actually warm, something she cherished. Many a night had she come in here to take an extra long bath simply to escape the coldness of her rooms.

Did the Gryffindors have to deal with this? Up in their tower? Were they cold in their rooms, only gaining warmth when they entered their bathing chambers? Somehow she doubted it. Coldness was something associated with snakes like Slytherins. The Gryffindors probably had a roaring fireplace in their common room with warm, inviting chairs. Not like the nearly dead fireplace in her own common room that served as more of a cold, marble decoration than an actual method of heating anything.

The young witch soaped up a washrag, running it over her face before tackling the rest of her body. The scrubbing felt good, the hot water easing its way into muscles that needed a bit of relaxing. She found peace here, in the rhythmic washing of her skin, scrubbing away dirt and sweat, leaving only clean, pale skin. She had never liked her skin. It was much too pale for the climes of southern California. But here, at Hogwarts, she didn’t seem so pale, especially down in the dungeons where there were students that could give Angel a run for his money in the white and pasty department.

Oliver hadn’t thought she was too pale.

A slow smile curled across her lips.

Oliver.

He had been so kind to her the night before. Holding her while she cried, talking with her afterwards, and then that marvelous ride on his broom. She blushed, remembering her own comment about touching his broom. She had figured out right before bed that the broom served as a really obvious phallic symbol, sending her into an intense fit of giggles and making her very happy that she didn’t have a roommate to share her embarrassing revelation with.

Almost unconsciously her hands strayed in the water, her fingertips running down through the valley between her breasts and over her taut stomach. She missed him. Missed Oliver. They had spent such a heated summer together. A month of unrequited passion. To have a chance just to eat breakfast with him again was almost enough to make her moan in pleasure.

She finished her bath quickly and drained the tub, watching the water disappear as she dried herself off with one of the thick green towels the school supplied to her House. She dropped the towel in the bin the house elves emptied each evening and slipped on her robe. The halls of the dorm were still quiet when she padded softly to her room, and she made it there without having to greet any of her Housemates. All the better.

‘Maybe they won’t want to talk to me anymore after I sit with the Gryffindors this morning.’ She pondered as she tugged on a thigh-length black skirt and white button-up blouse. Pantyhose and shoes with just a touch of heel followed. She glanced in the mirror. Yep. That was the Willow Rosenberg she knew. The one that rarely ever wore clothes such as the ones she was wearing right at that moment.

But, damn, she looked good.

The young witch shrugged on her school robes, admiring the way they fell on her body, allowing glimpses of what she wore beneath at the proper moments. But that was all, just glimpses. Nothing too daring or risqué. Her father would likely kill her if she wore something like that.

By the time she was through fixing her hair and applying just a touch of makeup, Slytherin House was in full morning swing. Doors opened and shut and the dim monotony of many voices, mostly female, filtered through her closed door and into her room. She had hoped to get out of the dungeons before things got too busy, to avoid the majority of her House if at all possible, but that didn’t seem like it was going to be an option. She sighed, grabbing her book bag.

She eased into the hallway, dodging a very cranky looking Millicent Bulstrode, and shut the door tight behind her. A few whispered words and a flick of her wrist left the door locked and warded. Let any of her Housemates try to get through those and they’d find themselves very quickly looking down the end of her wand. Or her father’s. He was, after all, the one who had shown her the advanced charms needed to keep her privacy intact.

Before stepping from the stairs and into the common room, Willow took a long, bracing breath. Already she could hear voices of students she wanted nothing more than to avoid. Draco. Goyle. Crabbe. The diabolic trio. The ones that had tried to have their way with her in the hallway and ended up trussed like pigs. She bit back a laugh at the image that created in her mind. Those three had, of course, turned into her biggest fans when they found out she was a pureblood –and- daughter to their Head of House. They were such little suck-ups. Especially Draco. He was too young for her, but no one had apparently told him that yet. In fact, he seemed to have set his sights on seducing her, much to her displeasure and overall disgust.

She nearly flew down the stairs, head down, eager to avoid being spotted as she passed those few short feet form the bottom of the stairs to ---

"Rosenberg! Leaving already."

Willow winced, turning to the chairs near the fireplace. By the time she completed her turn she was in full control of her emotions and was quite annoyed. She regarded Draco coolly.

"That’s what it looked like, right?"

Draco tilted his head to the side, the corners of his mouth lifting just a little in a mock smile. This was all a game to him, she knew. The seduction of the Potion Master’s daughter. She meant nothing to him and vice versa.

"Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" He teased at last, though it was obvious that she had struck a nerve with her cool handling of the situation.

"Same side I always wake up on." She smirked. "So – today isn’t a good day and tomorrow isn’t looking pleasant for you, either."

With that the shy girl from Sunnydale turned, flouncing out of the room in a way that would even make Buffy proud of her. Buffy. Xander. They would be coming in less than two months, arriving midway through December and not leaving again until after the new year. Her friends were coming to Hogwarts. She grinned, nearly skipping down the dungeon hallways.

And right into someone very tall and dark.

"Of course its you!" She chirped, happily, looking up into her father’s face as she bent to retrieve her books. "Who else would be stalking through the dungeons wearing all black?"

"Indeed." Severus fought the urge to smile, choosing instead to sigh in frustration as she fumbled with her book gathering. "Do you forget that you are a witch, Willow?"

"Huh?"

Groaning in long-suffering frustration, the Potions Master flicked his wand, a first year charm gathering her things into a nice, neat pile in front of her.

"Ah." Willow smirked, lifting the books back into her arms, her bag over her shoulder. "Do it the easy way, why don’t you."

"Oh yes. Let’s use a spell since we are witches and wizards instead of crawling on our hands and knees and let us then call that the ‘easy’ way because we did not dirty our knees." Professor Snape scoffed, raising his eyebrows in mockery.

"OoooOO. And here Draco said –I- got up on the wrong side of the bed today." Willow giggled, winking at her father conspiratorially. "Just imagine what he’s going to think of you."

"Nothing more than he normally does, I assure you." Severus drawled. "Will you still be coming by to talk later?"

Willow nodded. This was to be the first of their ‘my life’ talks. The ones where they would explore all the awful things they had each done. It would be a valuable learning experience for both herself and him.

"Right after dinner. Your rooms. I bring the chocolate. You bring the – tea?" She guessed, shrugging, earning herself another sigh from the man that had fathered her. "Anyway. I gotta run. Meeting someone for breakfast."

She leaned up, kissing him lightly on the cheek, and then skipped off down the hall, her heart too full of happiness to note the shocked, yet pleased, look on her father’s face.

Upon entering the Great Hall Willow could see Oliver, already seated, with her cousins around him. She forced a smile onto her face, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. There he was. Oh so perfect, just as he had been so long ago, when they had kissed in his parents’ backyard, when he had called her his girlfriend.

"Room for one more?" She queried softly, her eyes sparkling in amusement when Fred and George practically knocked Ron off the end of the bench in their over exuberance to make room for her next to Oliver. She sat gingerly down, waiting to see if there would be any harsh words thrown her way from any of the other Gryffindors sitting at the table. But they were quiet. Even Seamus who had been one of her more vocal detractors.

"Hungry?"

Before Willow could answer Oliver he was piling food on her plate, ordering her to ‘eat up’ because she was even thinner than he had remembered her being. She blushed, nibbling on a piece of toast and just enjoying the easygoing conversation around her.

"Did you like the game yesterday?" Oliver asked quietly, a gentle smile on his face.

"Very much so. It was every bit as exciting as you described it." She nodded vigorously. "Though the part at the end, with Harry. That was awful."

Oliver frowned.

"Dementors are nasty buggers. Professor Dumbledore was furious with them for coming that close to the students. I heard he threatened to have them all sent back to Azkaban."

"Good place for them." Willow muttered. "Any news about Harry."

"He should be out of the infirmary by tonight."

"Oh good."

The silence spread between them, no where near as comfortable as it had been during their summer together. There were so many things to say and not nearly enough privacy to say them. Though, there was one thing she kept hoping to hear, especially if Oliver was going to be making an honest effort to get her back.

The Halloween Ball.

Or, more accurately, the asking of her to the Halloween Ball. The one that was happening the next night.

But he didn’t ask her. They plowed on through polite conversation, and even some more familiar topics that reminded her of afternoons in his arms, back in her parents’ living room. He squeezed her hand, under the table, at different points.

But not once did he mention the Ball or dating her again.

When she stood to leave at last, claiming that she had some homework to finish up before her first class, he caught her hand and pulled her down, his lips grazing her forehead just as he had done the night before.

But he didn’t ask her to the Ball.

And he didn’t ask her to be his girlfriend again.

In fact, he seemed to be taking the getting to know her all over again thing way too seriously.

She gathered her things and fled the Great Hall, feeling all too disappointed in the outcome of her breakfast. Sure, it had showed promise for what may possibly come at a later date, but it wasn’t everything she had been hoping for.

And now she was still dateless for the dance.

She was so eager, in fact, to get away from the Great Hall, that she nearly ran into the threesome that was turning the corner, on their way to the place from which she had fled. She stopped, her green eyes meeting the grey ones of Draco Malfoy.

"Feelings better yet, Rosenberg? Or do you still have an overwhelming urge to bite my head off?"

Willow shrugged, completely at a loss.

"I’m fine." She muttered.

"You don’t look fine." Draco flicked his eyes from Crabbe to Goyle and then a spot further down the hall. They took the hint, walking a far enough distance away to give their leader some privacy.

"Impressive." Willow smirked sadly. "They follow orders so nicely. Just like trained dogs. What a shame they aren’t as smart as dogs."

Draco snorted in amusement.

"They’re good for some things."

"Lurking, brooding and hulking?" She joked, warming up to the conversation. At least she knew what to expect from Draco, unlike Oliver who seemed content to confuse and confuddle her.

"And glaring. Don’t forget the glaring. Its one of their best traits."

Willow sneaked a glance behind her, laughing out loud. They were definitely glaring, arms crossed, in her direction, though not directly at her.

"Listen – Rosenberg." Draco began, encouraged by the admitted beauty that had decided to finally grace him with a real conversation. "I was wondering, if no one has asked you yet –"

Willow felt blood rush to her head, sending her ears ringing and her head pounding in foggy confusion. Draco was asking her to the Ball. Oh dear Goddess. She wanted to go with Oliver and she was being handed Draco instead.

‘Get back at Oliver.’ Her inner mischief maker ordered imperiously. ‘Go with Draco. Have fun. Show that idiot what he’s missing out on.’

The other part of her conscience was wailing, though, arguing that this was not the way to make Oliver see reason, that this would only hurt him.

‘Good.’ The mischief maker smirked. ‘Let him hurt. He deserves it. Draco may be a scoundrel, but he’s a handsome one, even if he is a bit young. And at least you know what you’re getting into with him.’

"Yes." She forced out from behind a false smile, before her conscience could lay into her again. "I would –love- to go to the Ball with you, Draco."

"I would just adore it."

~*~Part Twenty-Three: The Hell-o-Ween Ball~*~

"Nice to see that you finally decided to keep things within your own House, Rosenberg."

Willow arched an eyebrow at her Potions partner, unknowingly doing a fair impression of her father. The Nadie had been uncommonly nice to her ever since the true nature of her parentage had come out into the open, as had many of the other Slytherins. None of them wanted to get on the bad side of their Head of House by upsetting his daughter. Willow continued to slowly stir the milky-white potion in her cauldron, counter-clockwise, as she waited for the other girl to speak. When nothing else came, she was forced to inquire about the nature of the statement.

"And what is that supposed to mean, Parkinson?"

Nadie shrugged, a knowing smile on her face.

"Nothing really. I just heard that you’ll be going to the Ball with our resident heartthrob. Even if he is a little young, I must say that he’s a great catch. Powerful family. Money. Pureblooded. The perfect match for you, of course, given who your father is."

The red haired witch swallowed hard, her face flaming, well aware that the entire class was now obviously or obliquely paying their attention to her and not the assignment that her father had given them. Potions work played second to gossip in the hearts of any year students, after all. Especially when it was the gossipy talk about her love life, or lack thereof. Did the Gryffindor side of the room assume that she was back with Oliver, she wondered? Despite the fact that he had never said anything of the sort? She sighed. Draco had only asked her to the dance a few hours before and already it was the talk of the classroom? Man, he had a big mouth!

"If you are speaking of Draco – then yes, I will be in attendance with him tomorrow night." She admitted slowly to her partner.

The sharp intake of breath from the front of the classroom made Willow wince. She turned, meeting her father’s dark eyes steadily.

"Miss Parkinson, Miss Rosenberg." He began slowly, scathingly. "Kindly continue with your conversation *after* you leave my class. This is not the place for such idle gossip."

Willow shivered, nodding her head. She had heard of her father’s legendary temper, of course. She had even seen him use it on other students before. But never had she been the recipient of such open hostility. And there was something else in his eyes. Something that was even harder to bear.

Disappointment.

She sighed, pursing her lips together and scowling down at the cauldron. He had been destined to find out, of course. And what had she really expected his reaction to be when he did? Happiness that she was going to the Ball with the one student in all of Hogwarts that she should hate more than any other? No. This was exactly what she should have expected.

And it was what she was getting.

But she would still be going through with it.

Oliver needed to hurt.

Oliver needed to pay.

And he would. Both.

The rest of the class was passed in near silence between herself and her partner, neither being willing to risk losing points or gaining a detention. Snape, notorious for favoring Slytherins, appeared to be at the end of his rope today, and they didn’t want to be the ones to push him.

Unfortunately, Willow knew she was going to have to deal with him eventually. He was her father, after all. There was no way to get past the fact that they would have to speak again, sooner rather than later.

And it proved to be much, much sooner, she found.

"Miss Rosenberg – a word after class?" His voice cut through the chatter as students packed away their things and cleaned out their cauldrons. She nodded tersely, gathering her things into her bag, her green eyes wide with apprehension. One by one the other students left the class until it was only her.

And Him.

"You are going to the Halloween Ball with Mister Malfoy?"

"Yes." She whispered, flinching as her father’s jaw tightened quite noticeably. The silence stretched out between them to the point that she wondered if he was through with her completely before he finally spoke again.

"And why, pray tell, are you going with someone who has already tried to attack you and has been nothing but a complete arse to you?"

Willow shrugged, her eyes meeting his for the first time. She reached down deep inside of herself; to that anger she was feeling for the boy that had hurt her so badly during the year. She still cared for him, perhaps loved him, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t earned her wrath or that he didn’t deserve a little payback.

"Oliver didn’t ask me. He never even mentioned the damn Ball. So much for caring about me, right? So much for wanting ‘us’ to have a second chance." She snorted angrily. "And Draco asked. It’s the perfect chance –"

"Perfect chance for –what-?" Snape frowned, raising his eyebrows.

"To get back at Oliver." She murmured contritely. "The perfect chance to make him jealous. If he cares, he’ll hate that I actually have –any- date, much more so that its a Slytherin and even doubly more that its Malfoy!"

Severus nodded, understanding blossoming in his mind. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile.

"You truly were meant for Slytherin, with that devious mind."

Heavy praise indeed, coming from the Head of her House; Willow blushed.

"Must run in the family or something." She muttered self-consciously, tossing him a playfully innocent wink.

"Agreed." His tone was much softer now, almost filled with what others might recognize as pride for the girl standing in front of him. That was gone almost immediately, though, the situation at hand requiring far less levity than compliments would allow for. "However – please remember that Mister Malfoy is nothing more than a snake in the grass – a very poisonous, slippery snake."

Willow already knew that, though.

"Don’t worry. I dealt with his scrawny albino butt once when he got out of line. I can do it again. I’ve dealt with far worse than Draco in my life, you know."

"Very well." The Potions Master sighed, waving a hand towards the door. "Go on to lunch." He paused, almost unsure of himself after reprimanding her so fiercely during class and then after as well. "I will still see you tonight for dinner?"

"Your room at seven." She nodded, flashing him a grin before scampering off into the hallway. She could see Hermione and Harry already waiting for her, a little down the hall. They turned, identical expressions of stunned disbelief on their faces.

"You heard too, huh?" Willow sighed as she reached them.

"About you and Malfoy?" Hermione sighed. "Your cousins are having a fit, you know. And your aunt very well may have a Howler to you by tomorrow morning."

"Nothing that can be done about it now." Willow shrugged. "Oliver didn’t ask me and I’m not going to go alone unless I have no other choice. Which isn’t the case."

"Man." Harry shook his head. "It’s going to eat Oliver up that you’re going with Malfoy."

Willow smiled wickedly at her two friends.

"Don’t I know it."

~*~

Thankfully the Ball was the next day, leaving Willow to only deal with the stares and whispers, the rumors and gossip; for a short time before it was Time.

Hermione snuck into the Slytherin dormitories with Willow’s aid and they spent a blissful hour getting ready for the Ball. With the help of some rather complicated makeup and hair charms, all thanks to Hermione, the two girls barely recognized themselves by the time it was ready to go.

"Draco is going to think he fell straight into heaven." Hermione murmured appreciatively, her eyes raking thoughtfully over Willow’s costume. She had chosen to go as a medieval princess, complete with an enchanted sparkling tiara. The dress was in Slytherin green and silver, with faint accents of black and gold worked in. She had a black cape drawn over her shoulder, the clasp a delicate silver snake. Her hair was piled on top of her head and had been charmed to a darker shade of red for the night, almost a blood color, with ringlets falling down around her face. The tiara sparkled with faux emeralds and diamonds, completing the ensemble perfectly. She was, in effect, a Slytherin Princess.

"So is my cousin." Willow snickered, indication Hermione’s own costume and her date with Ron that night. The Gryffindor girl had chosen to go as a belly-dancer, complete with henna tattoos on her hands and feet. The costume itself was in red and gold, very Gryffindor of her, with the veil being gold silk. Wisps of gold beads had been threaded through her upbound hair. She was stunning.

"Ron’s going to be speechless." Hermione agreed, glancing one last time in the mirror at herself. That was how she wanted him, of course. Speechless and ready to see what had been in front of his face for years. "Are we ready?"

Willow nodded, smoothing down her dress one last time. She wondered briefly what Draco would be wearing. He hadn’t made mention of it in the slightest and wouldn’t even see her costume until she met him at the entrance to the Great Hall. She had mentioned, in fleeting detail, to him the night before bed that she was to be a princess. Whether he chose to match her or not, that was his choice. It didn’t matter to her. She was going with him simply to have a date that would irritate and inspire jealousy in Oliver.

And, Goddess help her, she was ready to get it started.

"Okay. Let’s go."

~*~

Draco waited outside the doors of the Great Hall, arms crossed and scowling. Beside him Pansy was hanging on Blaise’s arm, twittering about something or another her father had done the weekend before to a house full of Muggles. Something involving a knife, some rope, Avery and Goyle. If he wanted to know about it, he was sure he could ask his own father. No doubt Lucius was the one that would have organized the raid in the first place. Parkinson wasn’t a leader. No, like his daughter, he was just a follower. A sheep.

He sighed, smoothing out the front of the tunic he was wearing. Green and silver. His House colors. Willow had said she was going to be attending the Ball as a princess – well he’d be her Prince. It wasn’t the costume he had planned, but it was easy enough to pull off with a few emergency owls to his mother. She was pleased, as usual, to help him with his ‘project’. Especially since said project happened to be the daughter of Severus Snape.

Snape.

Draco’s carefully placed mask of cool arrogance hid the fury that lurked beneath. Snape was a traitor, there was no way around it. He had hidden the existence of his daughter for nearly eighteen years. The Dark Lord didn’t even know of her existence according to his father. Voldemort was, as his father had told him, currently waiting and biding his time. A time that could very well come tonight of all nights, as far as the youngest Malfoy new.

He was looking forward to it.

‘If only I could be there, in person, when the traitor gets what he deserves. And then he’ll be dead. And Willow will need comfort. Lucius will invite her to our Manor for the winter holidays for comfort and consolation and then … ‘

And then he would slowly mold her to their whims. Convenient stories about how Aurors had ‘probably’ killed her father or other such garbage. Things meant to turn her from the Light and straight into the waiting arms of the Dark. A cold smile curled one corner of his mouth.

"Oh. Wow."

Draco’s attention snapped Pansy’s breathless face, mirrored by that of Blaise, and then to the spot where their eyes were staring so intently. His heart skipped a beat, probably for the first time in his life, at the sight that waited there for him.

Willow.

She was gorgeous, but in a deliciously House conscious, evil-looking way. Did she realize what she had done with her hair made her look even more like her father, thus making her look like a prime candidate for villain of the year? That dark color in her hair accented her sharp features so perfectly, making her almost impossibly more pale, like fine porcelain. He swallowed hard. Her eyes were painted dark with those girly makeup charms, her lips a delicate red. As she said goodbye to her Mudblood friend and turned to walk the last few steps to meet up with him, her head was held high and haughty.

A true Princess.

"You look stunning." He murmured to her, his hand bringing hers to his mouth for a sensual brush of his lips across her knuckles.

"And you look handsome yourself." She murmured to him.

Though – was that a hint of disgust in her eyes, in her tone?

No.

Why would she even agree to this if she wasn’t interested?

"Ready to make an entrance?"

~*~

Willow nodded at his words, her breath catching in her throat. They would definitely be making an entrance, she thought, dressed as they were. Truly the Prince and Princess of Slytherin House if only for tonight. She allowed his arm to slip through his, heard Blaise and Pansy take their places behind them, and as one they stepped to the doors of the Great Hall. Draco paused, as if to look out over the crowd, but Willow knew that wasn’t it. Here, in the doorway of the Great Hall, they were undoubtedly framed beautifully, a stunning couple.

Slowly eyes turned to them, the members of their House smirking in appreciation, while other Houses looked on in varying forms of shock or envy. Hermione was near the front of the Hall, Ron on her arm. He was scowling, Willow noted. As were her other cousins, at varying places around the room. She hid a smile. They deserved this night of irritation just as much as Oliver did, after all. They had treated her just as awfully.

"Care to dance?" Draco murmured in her ear. She hid her disgust behind a cool smile and nodded, allowing him to lead her out to the very center of the dance floor. There were still a few other couples out there, ones that hadn’t felt the need to stop and stare at her entrance with the Malfoy heir. She felt his thin arms encircle her and tried to just relax, to seem as if she was having fun. This entire ruse was for nothing if she didn’t at least look like she was enjoying herself.

~*~

"She’s here."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, trying to hide his pain with a look of contempt; his hand fiddling absently with the glass of punch in front of him, one elbow propped on the table, holding his head up.

"And I care?"

Angelina shrugged.

"Just thought you might like to know. She –" His fellow Quidditch enthusiast bit back whatever else she was going to say and shook her head sadly, offering him a wave as her date pulled her onto the dance floor.

Oliver stood up from the table he had been commiserating at, his eyes scanning the ever crowding dance floor for Willow. It was all fine and good to act like he didn’t care, like the fact that she had chosen to go to the Ball with Malfoy didn’t hurt – but that wasn’t the case. It hurt.

A lot.

‘It’s my own fault, though.’ He chided himself. Hermione had already railed on him, as had Harry. And Ron and the other Weasleys had joined in just for the Hell of it, it seemed. They all knew what he had done wrong, all of Gryffindor knew, but of course by that point there was no way to fix it. He had never asked her again to be his girlfriend nor had he bothered to ask her to the dance, even though he himself was dateless.

Ah.

There she was.

He felt his heart stop beating at the sight of her. She was gorgeous. Beautiful. Stunning. A true goddess. There just weren’t enough words to describe how he felt when he looked at her.

And she was dancing with Draco.

Oliver bit back a growl, sitting heavily in the seat he had only recently vacated. Anger coursed through his veins at the slimy little Slytherin brat that was dancing with his girl.

‘Not my girl.’ He reminded himself, the anger turning inwards at the reminder that it was his own actions, or inactions, that had landed him in this position.

He sighed, laying his arms and head on the table and preparing himself for a night from Hell itself.

~*~

"Want something to drink?"

Willow nodded, feigning a smile at her date. She breathed a sigh of relief as he wandered away, thanking her Goddess for a chance to have just a moment without him. It was so hot in here, with all the dancing bodies, she just wanted to get away from him, get out of the hot air, and make with the apologies to Oliver and her family for such a rotten, no-good idea.

She forced a tight smile back to her face when Draco returned with her drink. He pressed it into her hand, kissing her cheek lightly, a display she could have done without. There was only one person she wanted to kiss her cheek, or anywhere for that matter – and Draco most definitely was not that person.

"Are you okay?"

Willow shook her head without thinking.

"Hot."

"Let’s go outside then."

The red haired witch didn’t realize her mistake until she stepped out into the cool night air, the twinkling stars and moon overhead giving the only light there was to see by. The gardens were right there, secluded.

And the last thing she wanted was to be secluded with Draco, who was steadily leading her into the gardens.

~*~

Severus Snape frowned, his eyes watching hawkishly the spot where his daughter had just disappeared with her ‘date’; hoping that any second now she would just come back inside, fresh air achieved.

But she did not.

He sighed, rising from his position next to the Headmaster without a word and stalking out one of the side doors. He lifted his wand, a murmured ‘lumos’ illuminating the tip of it. Just enough light to see by. How many dances had he been forced into this role in the past? He was the one that roamed the gardens, ferreting out would-be lovers and breaking up trysts that were doomed from the very beginning.

But he had never thought he would need to come out here in search of his own daughter.

He wandered into the rose gardens, stopping to listen for the sound of voices, the murmured words of lovers. Willow wouldn’t be that stupid, would she? To bed Draco? It was a distasteful thought, to say the least; and he found himself grimacing with furied disgust.

"No."

The word came out of the darkness and he stilled again, tilting his head in the direction he thought it came from. That was most definitely Willow’s voice.s

"Draco. C’mon."

"Rosenberg. You know you want me. Why else would you have come –"

"To make Oliver jealous, you twit."

Severus smirked and shook his head. So scathing, his daughter was, so cold.

"Is that all?"

Time to step in, the Potions Master decided, continuing along the path that would inevitable lead to a very secluded little bench. Perfect for a trysting couple. Or a fighting one, as this was turning out.

"Yes, that’s it. You are far too young and snakey for me. Now kindly get your slimy little hands off of me. Our date is over." He heard her say as he cleared the final rose bush.

"You little –"

"Language, Mister Malfoy." Snape sneered, stepping into view. He saw Willow’s eyes light up, a smile curling her painted lips.

"Sir." Draco grumbled with only the barest minimum of respect. He stood from the bench, releasing Willow’s hand. "We were just getting some fresh air."

Severus Snape shook his head.

"I am well aware of what you came out here to do with my *daughter*," He growled. "However let it be known, just as she said to you only moments before, that this date is at an end. I will escort you back to your common room. Miss Rosenberg – back inside, please."

Draco turned, shooting Willow a deadly look, before following after his Professor.

Only then did Willow breathe a sigh of relief.

~*~

Oliver saw Willow enter the Great Hall again – alone; her date no where in sight. And it only took a few minutes for rumors to reach his ear.

" – Draco got caught trying to –"

" – Back to the his room –"

" – Poor girl –"

" – With a father like that, I wouldn’t dance with her –"

The Quidditch captain scowled at the mere idea that Draco had tried to get his hands on Willow. At least Snape had showed up in time, if rumors were to be believed. His eyes landed on Willow again. She was sitting by herself, watching the rest of the student body dance. Every minute or so one of her cousins would come up to her, lay a hand on her shoulder, and whisper into her ear. And each time it made her smile.

"Probably telling her all the ways they plan to harm Malfoy." He muttered quietly, taking a sip of his punch.

But no one was asking her to dance, and Oliver knew why. Her father was Severus Snape, Potion Master of Hogwarts. No one was stupid enough to ask her to dance for fear it would bring down his wrath upon them. No one except her family, that was, and each of them had their own dates to play up to.

There was one other idiot that he knew of, though. One that would leap into the fires of Hell to make things better for her. One that owed her so much and would do anything for a second – or third, as it was – chance to be in her life.

Himself.

And so that idiot got out of his chair and crossed the room slowly, gathering up his courage as the space between them slowly diminished down to nothing.

"Would you like to dance."

At first he thought she was just going to ignore him. Those green eyes he had fallen head over heels for so cool and calculating. But then her smile came out, like the sun on a cloudy day, and she accepted the hand he found himself holding out to her.

"Sure."

~*~

Willow felt like she had died and gone straight to heaven. She laid her head on Oliver’s shoulder, enjoying the feeling of just swaying to the music with him. Her hand traced over his back, weaving little patterns of snuggly nothingness.

"Willow." She heard him murmur after a minute or two of just dancing together. "I was a complete moron. Again."

She hid a smile and nodded her head.

"Mmm Hmmm."

"And – I was just wondering if you would still like to be my girlfriend. Not that I won’t understand if you say no. I deserve it."

"You do, don’t you." She giggled, leading him on.

"Yes." He said it with so much conviction that Willow snorted.

"I never stopped being your girlfriend in my heart, Oliver." She whispered, pulling back to look into his eyes. "I was only waiting for you to make it right again."

"So – that’s a yes, right?"

Willow nodded, laying her head on his shoulder again.

"That’s a most definite yes."

~*~

"Thank Merlin." Ron grumbled good-naturedly.

"What?" Hermione questioned, turning this way and that in his arms to see what had caused her date to smile.

"Oliver and Willow. Looks like they made up. Again."

Hermione snickered.

"Hope he did it right this time."

Ron shrugged.

"If not Fred and George have already volunteered to help me kick his arse – after Quidditch season, of course."

The brunette in his arms hid a smile, answering his statement with all the sincerity she could muster.

"Of course, Ron. Couldn’t have anything interrupt Quidditch season, could we?"

~*~Part Twenty-Four~*~

The dungeons were dark, quite chilled, and thoroughly empty as Severus Snape led a scowling Draco Malfoy back towards the Slytherin common room. It took all of the patience he had not to turn on the boy and soundly berate, or completely hex, him for even attempting to get familiar with Willow. This was what it felt like to be a father, he decided. This unholy rage that burned within him, furious that anyone had dared to even try to touch his daughter in any way.

And then there was the fury within him that Draco was even putting him in this delicate position. This was now to be the second time he had been forced to separate the Malfoy heir from Willow in some fashion. The second time he put his role as spy on the line by crossing the lines that had been drawn in the proverbial sand. He was supposed to favor Draco. He was supposed to favor all Slytherins. And, had it been Draco and any other female, he would have had no choice but to punish the girl in some way and let the Slytherin Prince go free of even the mildest rebuke.

But the girl in this case hadn’t been ‘just another girl’. It had been a Slytherin and his daughter, thus making it doubly unacceptable. But Draco didn’t seem to care. He was pushing him, Snape was sure of it. But at least Willow was back in the Great Hall, safe with her friends, and out of Draco’s clutches for this night, at least.

It was as he came to this conclusion that he heard Draco whisper behind him, the sound chilling him to his heart as he was once again reminded of the double life he led. One a lie and one the absolute truth.

"My father is going to be furious. You will hear about this."

Snape whirled, causing Draco to walk into him. This only further deepened the cold sneer on the Potion Master’s face.

"Be that as it may, Mister Malfoy. I cannot tolerate you, or anyone else, laying a single unwanted finger on her."

Draco recovered from his momentary lapse of walking skills to glare at his Professor. Like the perfect little Lucius Malfoy copy he was, Draco curled his lip into a sneer of contempt, trusting that he would not be punished for it too harshly. Snape hadn’t cast off his vain attempts at spying, yet. He couldn’t risk doing anything to Draco.

And Draco was well aware of it.

"Oh yes. Your precious daughter." The Slytherin student snorted under his breath. "So precious to you that you have hid her from Our Lord for her entire life – when she should have been standing there right at your side as of the time she turned sixteen. She doesn’t even appear to be trained *properly*. Befriending Mudbloods. She doesn’t know her place."

Time slowed to a crawl then, as Severus stared down into the emotionless silver eyes of the student he was forced to show favor to in an effort to maintain an illusion of being loyal to the Dark Lord for his efforts as a spy. But to have his supposed allegiances shoved in his face by the utter prat standing before him was nearly too much. These were very valid, entirely real points that Draco was bringing up. Things that Severus had attempted to find a solution to for that time in which he was Called again. He had yet to decide how best to handle the situation, and was thankful to whatever Gods were looking out for him that Voldemort had chosen not to ‘grace’ him with his presence in the recent future. The Potions Master took a deep breath, his dark eyes never once wavering from the boy’s face.

"What I do and do not do is my own business, Mister Malfoy." Snape hissed at long last, his eyes cold and furious for the reminder of things that he had tried so hard to work through in his own mind. "You would do well to stay out of it."

Almost as if the muses of his life were mocking him, the warning seemed to have little effect on the student.

"Your business?" Draco laughed. It was devoid of humor, though; filled only with the darkness that Snape recognized all too clearly. "Your *business*," the platinum haired boy spat, all feigned humor gone from his eyes. "Is only what Our Lord tells you your business *is*. And your daughter will very soon be His business."

"You are crossing the line –"

"So?" Draco sneered. "What are you going to do about it? Hmm? I’ll tell you what you’ll do – nothing. You’ll walk me back to my common room no matter how insolent I am. Maybe you’ll take off some House points. Maybe you won’t. You don’t want to see Slytherin lose any more than I do, after all. Really. What are you going to do? Detention is pointless because you can’t make me do anything too horrible or my father will come down on your head."

He smiled coldly.

"And then you’ll go about this like nothing ever happened and I will continue trying to get under your precious daughter’s skin. You can’t expel me. My father --"

"Your father –" Snape began, intending to tell the youth exactly what he thought of Lucius Malfoy; he snapped his mouth shut almost immediately, however, higher reasoning taking over at the last moment.

"Go on, then." Draco smirked. He leaned back against the dungeon wall, opposite Snape, and crossed his arms. His entire face was a mask of outright arrogance. " ‘My father –‘ *what*."

Professor Snape opened his mouth to fob off on him some inane response, something that wouldn’t harm his current standing with Lucius Malfoy more than it already would be by the end of the night, or his position in the Inner Circle.

But Fate had other plans for him that evening, it would seem.

His left forearm began to burn, the pain nearly enough to make him cry out. He unthinkingly clutched at the skin and the Mark thereon, a million thoughts going through his mind. This was the first time he had been Called since the beginning of the school year. Since the end of the last school year, for that matter. And, while it was a known fact that even Death Eaters took something of a summer holiday, it was definitely unusual for his first Calling to come so late in the year. He had almost hoped that the Dark Lord had forgotten about him entirely, thus ending his career as a spy without him having to make the conscious decision to do so.

Unfortunately, that did not seem to be the case.

The smug look on his student’s face was enough to let him know that Draco was well aware of what was happening.

"You should answer that." Draco smirked coldly. "Never know what He may want."

Snape watched, his mouth parted just slightly with the pain of the Call burning through the Mark on his arm, as Draco wandered off into the dungeons on his own. There was no time to walk him back to the common room. Voldemort was Calling and any hesitation or indecision on his part could very well make the difference between life and death. He shook his head, as if that simple gesture could clear away the pain he was feeling. The longer he waited, the worse it would get, of course. He needed to go.

Even as he ran to his rooms, pulling out his robes and mask and slipping them on, Severus Snape wondered if this was it. Draco had certainly seemed more cocky than usual, as though he knew something that the Potions Master did not. And, now that he thought about it more, it was definitely odd that he had not been Called in so long. Tonight being Halloween just made things that much more suspicious. The Dark Lord liked drama and Calling him on Halloween, of all nights, was definitely the epitome of drama, especially if He was seeking retribution or looking to mete out punishment.

Or death.

He stopped long enough to write a hasty note, scribbled onto a piece of parchment that he left conveniently on his desk. It wasn’t much but it was all that he had time to leave. Normally he would leave nothing. But tonight he felt the need. Tonight felt different. He glanced over it one last time, his silky voice breaking as he whispered it to himself.

"Been Called. If I’m not back in a reasonable amount of time, assume the worst. Tell Willow she was the best daughter I could have hoped for."

And then he was gone. Out of the school then past school grounds. To the edge of Hogsmeade village itself, the border of the anti-apparition wards. He took one long look at the school and then Apparated away, whispering a goodbye to everything he held dear, just in case.

And arrived promptly in front of Malfoy Manor, the huge gothic expanse rising up out of the darkness, flanked overhead by a full moon. It looked terribly impressive, and would be an awfully frightening sight to those that were not used to it. He, however, was far too used to it for his own tastes. He swallowed hard. Being here was never good. Malfoy Manor was only used for the Darkest of Revels. Which, of course, took place on –

"Bloody hell." Severus muttered to himself, following along behind a large group of Death Eaters making their way into the Manor. Tonight, of course, would be a Grand Dark Revel in honor of Halloween. There would be rape and torture with some murder thrown in for good effect.

He could only guess how things could get worse.

~*~Part Twenty-Five~*~

Willow at first dismissed the nervous restlessness she was feeling as a part of the anxiety she felt just being in Oliver’s arms again. She laid her head on his shoulder and breathed in deeply, enjoying that musky scent of his that was one hundred percent masculine. It was the subtle perfume of the opposite sex, the one that made her body tighten in all the right places, bringing promises of pleasures she had yet to experience in her short life.

But the subtle thread of nervousness that was weaving its way ever so seductively through her body had little to do with Oliver, she realized at last. Something was wrong. Very wrong, if the cold sweat that had broken out across her arms was any indication.

"You okay?" Oliver looked worriedly at Willow’s face, his eyes locking with hers. It only took that look for him to know that no, she was not okay, and something needed to be done about it.

"Something –" Willow began, pausing, her eyes cloudy with confusion as she sought to figure out what her own body was trying to tell her. "Something is wrong."

"That’s actually the motto around here ever since Harry showed up." The Quidditch captain murmured playfully, hoping to draw her into his joke and out of whatever was bothering her so much.

"I’m not joking, Oliver Wood." She snapped quietly. "Something doesn’t feel right. Something is very, very – off."

"What’s going on?" Hermione and Ron had come up to dance alongside them, the inquisitive Gryffindor girl aware of Willow’s facial expressions enough to know that something was upsetting her greatly.

Willow shrugged, not quite being able to put into words what she was feeling.

"Something just feels –wrong-." She sighed at last, her eyes sorrowful for reasons she couldn’t even understand.

"Think that git Malfoy is trying to hex you?" Ron asked, ever the helpful one.

"No." Willow shook her head. "Doesn’t feel like a hex, or a curse. Just feels. Bad. Wrong. Something – I really don’t know. It’s like the feeling you get right before lightning hits, that sense that something is about to happen or is happening, but you can’t see what it is, yet."

Hermione nodded, her lips tight with thought as she allowed her date to sway back and forth with her. Something about what had just been said was sticking with her for some odd reason. She sighed, thinking back on the conversation. Ron had brought up Malfoy and then –

"Malfoy!" The young witch gasped suddenly. "Professor Snape was taking him back to his common room, right?"

Willow nodded absently, wondering what this had to do with anything.

"And that was nearly half an hour ago. Snape should have been back by now."

"He probably just stopped to give out some detentions." Oliver smirked.

"No." Willow shook her head. "No – Hermione is right. He would have been back by now."

She pulled away from Oliver, the sparkling robes of her gown trailing after her in a flurry of fabric as she exited the Hall.

"When she gets it in her mind to do something, she really does it, doesn’t she?" Ron snickered.

"I’m going to go with her." Oliver murmured, leaving just as suddenly as his date had.

"Well --?" Hermione sighed, tilting her head towards the door.

"The dance was getting boring anyway." Ron nodded. He glanced around, noting Harry trapped by a group of first year girls. "Oy! Harry! We’re going for a walk. Wanna come?"

The Boy-Who-Lived nodded emphatically, pushing past the group of gaggling girls to join his friends as they exited the Hall.

"What’s going on?" He questioned, noting the look of determination on their faces. Up ahead he could see Oliver Wood and Willow, striding with a purpose on a path that would take them towards the dungeons.

"Willow feels like something’s wrong." Hermione explained patiently. "And, since Snape should have been back from taking Malfoy to the dorms by now –"

"We’re going to check up on Snape?" The dark haired boy grimaced. Despite the Potions Professor being Willow’s father, the man was still a complete prat at the best of times. At least to him and his friends, anyway. To Willow he seemed to be a great person, if a little cold and distant at times.

"Yup." Ron sighed. "Though - better than that bloody ball, if you ask me."

They were in the dungeons by now and Willow had slowed to allow them all to catch up. She was frowning, her forehead creased with the effort of her emotion. A ghostly figure, down the hall, caught her eye; and before anyone could say or do anything to stop her she had ran off, following after the figure and deeper into the dungeons.

"Draco!" Willow called out, recognizing the figure at once. "Stop!"

He turned, throwing a smirk over his shoulder as if to say ‘make me’, and then continued on, wandering the dungeon halls as if he owned them.

"Fine." Oliver ran up in time to hear Willow mutter. "You wanna do this the hard way, then we’ll just have to do it that way."

She gestured with her hand almost lazily and instantly Draco was caught, slammed back into the walls with the power of her ropen blast. He struggled against the cords holding him to the wall, only succeeding in banging his head against the wall. He stilled, glaring down at the red head and her friends.

"Rosenberg." He sneered. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Where is my father?" Willow questioned. Her magic was building within her, slowly. If Draco didn’t talk soon he was going to find himself on the unfortunate end of a really spectacular demonstration of wandless magic.

Not that she was opposed to blasting his brains out.

And, as the platinum haired trouble maker opened his mouth, Willow just knew she was going to get to do that demonstration after all.

~*~

Malfoy Manor was impressive to those that had never before looked around and seen the dark beauty that it had to offer. Even those who had seen the Manor before on occasion could sometimes end up feeling overwhelmed at the obvious show of power that the Manor represented.

But Severus Snape had seen the Manor many, many times before. Far too many for his personal tastes, as it were. And he was not impressed, nor awestruck by the sight of the Manor decorated for the Revel. How Lucius managed to get by with holding these things in his own home, Severus really wasn’t sure; but he was pretty certain that it had something to do with some heavy wards of non-interest that blanketed the entire property.

The feeling that the Potions Master was experiencing, however, was the cold hand of dread. It had worked its way through his system, snaking along his heart, lungs; making it difficult for him to breathe, think. He regretted coming now. Telling Dumbledore he couldn’t spy anymore had to be easier than this. He would live through telling Dumbledore to get another lackey – But he may not live through Voldemort.

And the Dark Lord was definitely in attendance, or would be very soon, Severus noted dispassionately as he entered the Manor. The other Death Eaters had already removed their masks, showing their faces to their comrades. Why not? This was a meeting of co-conspirators, after all; not a raid on a Muggle house. And they were whispering and laughing amongst themselves, having a merry old time telling the latest ‘did you hear about the Mudblood who’ joke. It was disgusting, really.

He reached behind his head and undid the clasp that held the mask in place, allowing the silvery creation to fall from his face to his hand. Now they would all know he was here, of course, if his ‘Master’ wasn’t aware of it already.

‘And, look.’ He sneered mentally, his eyes catching sight of a small group of figures making their way to him. ‘Here come the vultures now.’

"Severus! How marvelous to have you with us tonight."

"A pleasure, as always, Lucius." He was careful to keep his voice neutral, giving away none anxiety he was feeling. There was Avery and Goyle, right behind Malfoy Sr. Henchmen and little more, just like Crabbe and Goyle were to Malfoy the younger.

"You’re just in time for the night’s main ‘show’."

And now there was no mistaking the glint in Lucius’ eyes. That hard, cold glimmer that was the same as that which he had when he was torturing and murdering innocents. The only difference being, in this case, that Severus was far from innocent and that shine in Malfoy’s eyes was much, much brighter.

"This way, Severus." Voldemort’s second in command waved imperiously. The dark haired wizard became immediately aware that Goyle and Avery had taken up positions behind him, making quite a formidable wall between himself and the front door if he decided to make a run for it. He sighed, following along behind Lucius, the presence of the goons behind him only increasing his sense of dread tenfold.

It was with detachment that Severus noted that they were some of the last to enter into the ballroom of the Manor, which had been decorated to look more like a throne room for the night’s Revel. Despite this, Lucius led them to the front of the room, before the throne that had been erected and the ‘man’ sitting upon it.

"Sseveruss." Voldemort hissed, rising from the throne to glower down at his ‘servant’. "So nice of you to join us."

"When my Lord Calls it is my joy to answer." Severus intoned with as much reverence as he could, taking to one knee in front of the Dark Lord. Maybe if he played the part of groveling servant –

"Joy?" The Dark Lord growled, changing from a pleased tone to one of complete loathing within a split second. "It is your –joy- to answer?" He snorted. "I seriously doubt that, my boy."

"My Lord –" Severus stammered, daring to raise his eyes from the floor. "If I have done something wrong –"

"What could you possibly have done wrong?" Voldemort pondered in sarcasm, his red eyes flashing with anger. "Any ideas on this, Severus? Any comments?"

The Potions Master took a deep breath, locking his eyes on the floor near Voldemort’s feet.

"I did not know about her until recently, my Lord."

Voldemort raised what passed for eyebrows on his face and glared scathingly at the one servant amongst all his Death Eaters that he had entertained genuine hopes for. Severus would have made a spectacular tactician, a second in command of such talent that Malfoy would seem like a mere child playing with his father’s toys. But Severus had betrayed him.

And that could not be tolerated.

"And when you found out about your dear, precious daughter." Voldemort spat. "Did you come to me and inform me of the development? Did you bring her before me to be measured and counted as one of My Own? Is she even aware of the commitment that my Death Eaters make?"

Severus winced. He had pledged, at the time of his Marking, not only himself, but all of his future children to the service of the Dark Lord. At the time it had not seemed like such a bad notion. After all, he was enthralled with Voldemort at that point and he had very little intention of every having children.

But how was he to know that even as he was taking that Mark Virginia was hiding something from him. Something that would have changed his life forever. Would he still have given himself over to the Dark Lord so willingly if he had known about Willow? Would he have craved power so much if he had known that he had created life?

None of that mattered now, really. He couldn’t spend what could be the last few seconds of his life thinking of the ‘might have beens’ or the ‘should have beens’. All that mattered was the here and now.

Which he saw with fear, as Voldemort raised his wand, cruel smirk on his lips, might be very painful indeed.

"Crucio."

~*~

Draco’s nose was bleeding. He could taste the salty, coppery taste of his own blood each time he licked his lips; could feel it dribbling from his nose, over his upper lip and then down to his lower one, finally off his chin to splatter messily on his robe.

And still he held out.

"I don’t know where he is. I swear."

"You’re lying!" Willow raged, sending another magical ‘slap’ his way. "Don’t you think I can –tell- when you’re lying, little boy?"

"You’d better tell her soon." Harry murmured, his eyes sparkling with amusement despite the situation. "I’d hate to see what she does for an encore."

"Encore?" Willow smiled coldly. She put a finger to her lips, as though pondering what had been said. "Yes. What *will* I do for an encore? Skin you alive and feed you your own flesh bit by pale bit? MmMMm."

Now Draco looked scared. She wasn’t just talking roughing him up a little. That was torture, or murder, whichever way he wanted to look at how the scenario would end up. He fought again against the bonds that were holding him, only to have them tighten up in response.

"You. Don’t. Seem. To. Under. Stand." The red haired fury ground out each word harshly through clenched teeth. "There is no where for you to go. No one to stop me from killing you if I want to, Drakie."

"My father –"

"Isn’t here to save you." Oliver chimed in. He didn’t know if Willow was serious about the threats she was making to the Slytherin brat, and he didn’t want to find out. "Just tell us what we need to know Draco. We won’t be able to stop her, either."

Willow snorted.

"Like any of you want to, anyhow. He’s a little asshole that needs to be taught a lesson." She paused, grinning maliciously at the boy. "Or made an example for all of his Housemates." She took a step close to Draco. "What do you think, Drakie? We’ll send half of you home in a box to your mom and dad and then we’ll put the other half of you right smack dab in the middle of the Slytherin common room."

A shiver ran across Draco’s skin, his eyes widening with fear. She was looking right into his eyes and he could see what no one behind her could. She meant it. Every word she said. If he didn’t tell her where Snape was, and soon, she would kill him in the most gruesome way she could think of.

"Malfoy Manor." He whispered, terrified of both the girl in front of him and what would become of his parents. Hosting a Dark Revel was a sure giveaway that they were Death Eaters, even if they weren’t wearing the mask and robes in the open when the Aurors finally showed up anyway. And, while he hadn’t specifically done anything himself, Draco couldn’t help but wonder if Dumbledore would be expelling him based solely on who and what his parents were.

"Is that on the Floo network?" Willow asked him, her eyes taking on a black tinge as she began to plot her next course of action. The magic was still building within her and it would need to be freed soon.

"Yes." The answer from Draco was almost inaudible.

Willow whirled, her friends trailing along behind her. She let her hands curl and uncurl, imagining the feel of lightning between them. Lightning she would hurl at anyone that hurt her father. A pure magical lance of death. She let go her grasp on that part of her mind that kept her in check, freeing the darker part of herself for what she was about to do. Her eyes washed out to blackness, her hair following suit. She could hear her companions gasp in shock, but there was no time to reassure them. No time to coddle the children. Her father was in danger; she knew it in her heart.

And Heaven help anyone who got in her way.

~*~Part Twenty-Six~*~

Oliver stood next to the fireplace in the staff lounge, knowing that at any moment a Professor was going to come in and stop them. There were wards surrounding the room, something he knew from other students who had gotten caught in the past. At this moment there were probably two or three Professors bearing down on them, coming to investigate what had tripped their alarms.

And, in a way, he was hoping someone would come and stop them from doing what was about to be done.

Bravery was all fine and good as one of the Gryffindor traits, but it was a touch hard to swallow when faced with something as dangerous as what Willow was about to do.

Flooing to Malfoy Manor to rescue her father, Professor Snape, from the clutches of You-Know-Who and. Probably, his Death Eaters. It was a suicide mission he firmly believed, despite seeing the power she had used on Draco only a few minutes earlier. Power was fine, but the sheer number of Death Eaters that could be at the Manor at that very moment could be the determining factor. Power mattered little when you were too pinned down to use it.

"Willow –" He began, only to snap his mouth shut as she turned those dark, unseeing eyes to him.

"Don’t, Ollie." She whispered breathlessly, the sound nonetheless echoing throughout the staff room like a wind that would not be denied. Her voice alone carried power now; a power that brushed over his skin like a warm kiss, soothing his nerves. "I will go do this. No matter what you say to try and stop me. Please –"

Oliver nodded and took her hand, kissing her cheek.

"I love you, you know that right?"

She blushed, an interesting feat with her skin so pale against the darkness of her eyes and hair. The words had never been spoken between them until that moment. But they were true and struck her like a bolt of pleasure to her heart.

"I love you, too. Stay here. Be safe. I’ll be back soon."

Almost as if he didn’t know what he was going to do ahead of time, Oliver found himself shaking his head in a daze.

"I’m coming with you."

She smiled tenderly.

"You don’t need to do that. I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt because of me."

"I’m doing it because I want to." He assured her, though his inner voice was saying something entirely different. He was doing this because he needed to; needed to prove his worth to not only her, but himself as well. Snape had told him once before that he didn’t deserve Willow, and Oliver was to be damned if he didn’t show him he was wrong, tonight, by standing by her side through insurmountable odds.

Okay, so maybe the Gryffindor courage was more foolhardy that anything else.

"Okay, then." Willow conceded slowly, a slight smile playing at her pale lips, as though she could read right into his heart.

And who was to say she couldn’t?

~*~

Willow turned her attention from her boyfriend, who seemed intent on being martyred with her, to the other students that were there. Ron, Hermione, Harry. Minutes were ticking by and she didn’t have time to argue, time to fight. But she’d give it one shot.

"Guys… go back to the Ball. Have a normal childhood."

"Our childhood will never be normal." Harry murmured, shaking his head. "If you’re going, then so am I."

"And if Harry’s going, we are too." Hermione spoke up for herself and Ron.

"Fine." The now dark haired witch threw up her hands in defeat. "So be it."

She grabbed the pot of Floo powder from the mantle and held it out for each of them to take a handful.

"I’ll go first. Please be careful. And – thank you." She whispered to them, her dark eyes almost showing a tinge of emotion. But the magic was flowing, time was wasting. And the period for goodbyes was gone.

She took one deep breath, stepped up to the fireplace and tossed in her Floo powder, sealing her fate with two words.

"Malfoy Manor."

The world twisted, tightened, shortened and lengthened; all at the same time. The formerly red haired witch held her breath instinctively, despite having no real need to do so. She landed with a solid plunk, falling out of the fireplace at what she could only assume was Malfoy Manor. A quick cleansing spell cleared her robes of the soot that had accumulated and she took a moment to look around, waiting as her companions fell out of the fireplace one by one.

The room was large and empty of any other life at the moment; at least that she could see. She closed her eyes, extending her senses to the world beyond, the one she had learned of when trying to restore Angel’s soul. This was the world on which the spirits dwelled. But not just the spirits of the dead, but those of the living as well. It was a nifty trick, one that bypassed just about any invisibility charms. There was no one there besides herself and now Oliver and Ron. They were still waiting on Hermione and Harry she noted absently, extending her other sight out further.

She came up against a wall of pure living hatred almost immediately. And pain. The spirit world was rife with emotions, especially the negative kinds – hate, pain, grief; the list went on and on.

And, somewhere in the back of this house, was a room filled with those emotions. She could sense many people there, and one not-quite-a-person. There weren’t a huge number, though. Just enough that rescuing her father should be quite the fun time. Just as she heard the final bump announcing Harry had finally joined them, Willow found her father’s spirit.

She gasped, the pain hitting her just as surely as though she was right there with him, experiencing all that he experienced. With a mental shove she forced herself away from it, seething with anger, the magic within her that had subsided enough for her to think clearly taking over again, causing her entire body to crackle with power. She shivered, delighting in the feel of the electric charges shooting over her skin. This had only happened a few times before and each time it was definitely a new and exciting experience. She reveled in it for a moment, allowing the power to course through her, over her, within her; slowly building to rolling boil within her.

Without a word to her friends she was off, striding purposefully out of the parlor they had landed in and towards the pain and hate that she felt. She let the power within her feed off of those emotions, bolstering the courage that she had with a sense of righteousness. No one deserved to be hated like that. No one deserved that kind of pain. No one!

And especially not her father.

"Ow!"

Willow stopped, turning to Harry with one inquisitively raised eyebrow.

"Problem?"

"Voldemort is here." He hissed, his hand rising to his head as though he could shield himself from the psychic pain of being that close to the creature that had given him the scar.

"Don’t say that name!" Oliver growled, his eyes darting about, expecting Death Eaters or Dark creatures to sprout from the walls and take to them at any moment.

"His name means Nothing." Willow murmured in quiet reassurance, her father’s pain at her back as she turned to her brave friends once more. "Do not fear him. Fear what will happen if he is allowed to continue doing whatever he pleases – but do not fear *him*. He is mortal, after all. And can be killed, maimed and tortured just like a regular person."

She reached out, brushing delicate fingers over Harry’s scar. Her eyes closed and she could see the scar glowing through her inner eye, like a miniature sun upon his forehead. Her lips parted, murmuring a spell that came to her from nowhere. She had never read it before and, when asked much later, would admit that she could not remember exactly what she had said, what healing powers she had invoked.

But, whatever she did – it worked. Harry’s pain tightened face eased slowly, until he was gazing at Willow in wonder, the pain gone.

"Thank you."

The raven haired witch shrugged.

"No problem. Couldn’t have you face the Dark Lord bitching about a migraine, could we?"

That brought out a laugh that was over as soon as it had begun, the pain of Willow’s father calling out to her like a beacon on a cloudy night. She needed to get to him.

Again they were moving through Malfoy Manor, passing by artifacts and objects that Ron knew his father would just love to get his hands on, thought for the sake of confiscating them or just playing around he wasn’t truly sure.

And then, they were there.

Willow stopped outside the large set of double doors, cries of pain coming from within. They weren’t her father’s though. These were the cries of a woman. Perhaps a teenage girl. And she was screaming for someone to stop. Willow felt her stomach turn with disgust, picturing what she knew was to be happening on the other side of the door. She placed her hands on the wood, pushing gently.

"Locked." Oliver muttered.

"Stand back." His girlfriend ordered, taking a step back herself as she raised her hands again. The wood began to buckle in, caving under the weight of the pure magical power that she was thrusting at it. She heard the cries from within stop just as the wood of the door began to splinter. Silence reigned from inside that room, but the pain of her father, and that woman, and a few others that had joined her range of consciousness, cried out to her needing to be avenged.

She gave one final ‘shove’, sending the doors caving in. Her eyes were a blazing blackness as the dust cleared and she felt as though her skin was alive.

"She looks like him." Hermione whispered to Ron, echoing what everyone else was thinking, including those shocked men and women in the room. Black hair and black eyes, two trademark Snape traits – and Willow had them in spades at that moment. She looked frightening even to them, her friends.

"How *dare* you –"

Willow turned to look at the white haired man that was making his way through the rubble towards her, his wand pointed threateningly. A cruel smile curled one corner of her mouth.

"You’re Draco’s daddy, aren’t you?" She whispered, the sound carrying throughout the room. The smile never left her lips, the coldness never escaped her eyes.

"I am Lucius Malfoy, yes." He sneered, taking another step towards her. "And you have just destroyed private property."

Willow felt the auras move behind her more than saw any movement. She turned, throwing out a hand to toss the five or so Death Eaters that had been coming towards her into a wall. They hit with thuds and some cracking sounds, laying still on the floor where they fell. She turned back to the irate man that had somehow managed to take yet another step towards her.

"Destroyed private property?" She drawled, raising an eyebrow at him. "Hmm. Sounds awfully legal-like when you say it like that. How about I throw some legalese out there for you? Using the Dark Arts. Harboring known fugitives. Murder. Torture. Maiming. Mayhem."

With each syllable that she uttered her voice grew in volume, sending her power spiraling out around the room; until at last she was screaming, her face contorted with rage. He wasn’t so cocky now, she noticed. Not nearly so sure of himself as she advanced on him, now. With a flick of her wrist she had his wand, calming breaking it in half. Sparks flew, showering the Death Eaters nearest her with their scorching blasts.

"Stop this."

That smile of hers was back now, as Willow turned to face the man that had spoken. If he could be called a man, that was. She gave him a slow once-over, starting with his head, going down to his feet, and then back up again. He didn’t look that scary. Certainly this couldn’t be –

"*You* are the Dark Lord?" She snorted, laughter bubbling up from her mouth before she could stop it. Behind her Hermione gasped in shock, and Willow knew that, provided they lived, she would receive a stern tongue lashing for mocking the Evil One. "Oh, please!"

Again that laughter. It was mixing with her magic, flooding the room with a soft tinkling noise and rush of pleasure.

"What is so amusing –girl-?"

That just made Willow laugh more.

"Oh please, Mister. I lived on a Hellmouth for nearly eighteen years, you know. You’re a small fry compared to some of those baddies. Your aura is weak. You look like frail old man that tried to transmute himself into a snake and got caught halfway in between. I mean, please! Let me guess – you got hurt and are rebuilding yourself, your empire and one day you’ll be great again, hmm?"

That was enough for the Dark Lord. He growled low, in the back of his throat, making a move towards her. His wand was in his hand, at his side.

"You are a fool, child. I can give you anything you like. Money. Power. Pleasures beyond anything you’ve ever experienced. Want to see your mother for the first time? Alive and whole, standing next to you and welcoming you with open arms? I can do that, too."

Willow shook her head, black hair swinging from side to side. Without even thinking she threw a shield up in front of her friends and her father, where he lay broken and battered on the floor.

"Did you promise my father those things?" She hissed, her eyes flashing from black to blacker, lightning flickering within their depths. Her power was pooling just below the surface of her skin, aching to be let out, to be unleashed against this –thing- that dared to even try to tempt her to the Dark Side of the Force.

"DID YOU?!?" She roared when no answer was received.

And then it began.

His wand was raised, hex hurled, before she even had a chance to ponder the fact that it was happening. Thankfully, her own shielded was instinctual, almost a part of her body. She didn’t need to see the hex coming to know that it would be absorbed. But that left her shield that much the weaker, and knocked her off balance for a moment. Behind her she could hear Harry and Oliver begin their own hexes and curses, flinging the often ineffectual things at the few Death Eaters that dared to make a move as to come close to them.

She turned her attention away from her friends, trusting that they could keep themselves out of trouble for a few moments, at the least. Voldemort had already opened his mouth, another curse being thrown. This one hit her full on. Stupid brain, distracting her from her task. She shook off the latest volley, a quick mental assessment on her shields telling her they couldn’t take much more. She was powerful, it was true. But no more powerful than any other witch raised on the Hellmouth. Her magic was a part of her, a part of nature. And nature could only help so far.

She lifted a hand, slamming Voldemort back against the far wall with a flicker of her wrist. He hit hard, but there was no satisfying crunch. No smear of blood to let her know he had even been hurt. He gathered himself up without sparing a moment to the pain she could only hope he felt.

"Is that all you have, little girl? Those parlor tricks won’t save you from what I shall do to you. I’ll make dear old Severus watch as I take you, child. As I take your body and mind and finally rip your magic away piece by piece. I will leave you a broken husk of a witch and then…"

He smiled cruelly.

"Then you will die."

"Dream on."

~*~

"Watch out!" Hermione shrieked, raising her wand to mutter a countercurse just in time to keep Harry from ending up flat on his back. She had never felt like this. This powerful, this brave, fighting side by side to hold off the Darkness so that the Light could prevail.

"We need to get word back to Dumbledore." Harry choked out between curses. The Death Eaters were slowly being worn down, many opting to run rather than fight. But there were still many. Too many for four students to take on when their inner resources were already running low. "Ron, ‘Mione. Go! Get help."

The two looked at each other, simultaneously opening their mouths to argue that they couldn’t leave Harry. One brief, harried look from the Boy-Who-Lived silenced them and they took off, back towards the parlor, back towards the fireplace where they hoped there would be –

"Floo powder. Thank Merlin." Ron mumbled, tossing some of the dusty stuff in. "GO!"

He pushed Hermione in, ignoring her glare as she called out for the Hogwarts staff room. Right behind her, they nearly collided as they tumbled free, back into the school. The staff room was empty, no signs that any Professors had even noticed that students had broken in to use the Floo.

They ran, gasping for breath, towards the Great Hall; neither bothering to tidy their appearance. Adrenaline had taken over their bodies and Ron easily outstripped Hermione, leaving her motioning breathlessly for him to go on when she could no longer do so.

He rounded the last corner and time seemed to slow. Those moments he would remember for the rest of his life, peering from the outside in, as he watched in detachment. It was in this slow motion state that he flung open the doors to the Great Hall, immediately all attention flying to him. His eyes sought out the Professors, their shapes rushing through the crowd to his side. He knew he looked a sight, tired and gasping, covered in soot. Fatigue was rushing up to meet him, but he couldn’t give in yet. Not when he was so close.

"Professor –" He whispered, collapsing at Dumbledore’s feet just as the old wizard reached him. "Need help. Harry – Snape – Willow – Oliver – Malfoy Manor."

And then blessed blackness came upon him.

~*~

"Willow, watch out!"

Willow turned towards Oliver, seeing a rush of white-silver hair before she was tackled, quite physically, to the ground. She kicked at her attacker, managing to land one solid hit on him before, with the aid of his hand, her head impacted with the floor beneath her. Stars exploded in her eyes, pain welling up from the spot on the back of her head.

"You little bitch." Lucius Malfoy hissed. "A good for nothing slut like you coming to rescue the traitor from the Dark Lord?" He cackled, and it was the sound of a madman. "You fool."

"No, Mister Malfoy. You’re the fool."

Lucius’ eyes widened, and he made as if to stand and turn. But the hex was too quick. He fell, petrified, to the ground next to her, his eyes wide and unseeing.

"Oliver." Willow whispered breathlessly. "Thank you."

"The least I could do." He assured her.

"How touching."

Willow shivered and turned to their scathing admirer.

"You know. I’m getting sort of tired of you."

"I was just thinking the same thing, my dear." The snake-like man smiled condescendingly. He raised his wand. "Avada –"

"No!"

A black shape flew up from the floor, blocking the ray of green light that shot out from Voldemort’s wand. Willow gasped in horror, watching as the shield around her father exploded in a shower of angry, fiery sparks; the green curse hurtling off in a dozen directions. A few Death Eaters fell, lifeless, caught in their rain of the Killing Curse’s destruction. She screamed then, the sound echoing through the room, impossibly loud for such a small woman. The fiery sparkles of her shield, what few remained, coalesced into a ball of magical fire that shot unerringly towards the Dark Lord. He fell to the floor, motionless.

"Is he –" Oliver breathed shakily, eyes locked on the still figure of the man once known as Tom Riddle.

"Who cares?" Willow sobbed. She fell to her knees, cradling the limp body of her father to her chest. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, her hair slowly fading from black to red. Her eyes were liquid emeralds. "No – you can’t die… you can’t." She cried brokenly, unaware of the newcomers that had arrived, Aurors in tow. She didn’t hear them begin to capture the remaining Death Eaters. All she could see, hear, and feel was her grief.

"Let me see him, child."

A hand clasped Willow’s shoulder. She jumped, her eyes darting tearfully to Poppy Pomfrey’s face.

"Can you do anything?" The red head whispered, allowing the mediwitch to begin her examination of the bloodied pulp that was her father.

"I’m certainly going to try, my dear." Poppy murmured in as much reassurance as she could. "He isn’t dead yet, if that’s what you’re worried about."

Willow nodded, releasing Severus Snape’s body entirely to the older witch’s experienced care. She stood, watching the scene with grief stricken detachment. It was all Voldemort’s fault. He couldn’t die enough for the pain he had caused. For her father who had done his best to be a guardian of the Light. For that poor Muggle girl she could hear sobbing out her story to an Auror that would leave her with, blessedly, no memory of this night or her near-rape. There was no way that slimy cretin had suffered enough for what he did!

She turned, her intention to lay into Voldemort’s cooling corpse coming up short when she realized –

"Where did he go?"

"What?" Harry was closest, then Oliver. They turned as one to look at the spot where Voldemort’s body should have been.

"He’s gone." Harry whispered, closing his eyes in sorrow. Just when it looked like his life might go on free of the Dark Lord, another twist was thrown in.

"Goddess damnit!" The red haired witch swore, kicking at a large piece of the door that had been blown clear across the room during her initial breaking and entering.

"Do not swear."

Willow turned, her eyes widening with shock that was quickly replaced by joy. She fell to her knees next to the man she had come to know as her father, grasping his hand tightly in her own.

"Shhh. Just lay there and let Madam Pomfrey make you better, k?" Fresh tears were trailing down her cheeks. His grip on her hand felt so light, almost not there. The Dark Lord had escaped, it was true, but looking down into the face of her father, who was most definitely still alive, she somehow didn’t feel as upset.

There would be other days.

And next time he wouldn’t be so lucky.

~*~Part Twenty-Seven~*~

They were hailed as heroes and berated by their teachers all at the same time.

It was a confusing thing, at least for Willow, who had never before experienced that type of odd hypocrisy. She groaned, biting her lip to stifle the sound, as yet another inane question was fired in her direction by the reporter from one of the local wizarding newspapers.

"I really wasn’t thinking about dying." She sighed, sparing the woman a glare. "With that kind of adrenaline rush you don’t just stop and say ‘gee, I think I might die’. That’s not the way it happens. You jump in and hope for the best."

"Uh huh." The reporter smirked, disbelieving written all over her face even as she put her quill to her little pad of parchment. "Jump in and hope for the best, do I have that right?"

Harry rolled his eyes, glancing towards Dumbledore with an expression that clearly said ‘save us’.

Thankfully, the Headmaster was paying attention and was sympathetic to his plea.

"I think that my students need to be getting back to their common rooms now, Ms. Amberose."

"But I haven’t even begun to ask all the questions my readers have for these young heroes." She half-gushed, half-huffed, hoping in vain that either ploy would work against the Headmaster.

But Dumbledore was too wise and not nearly naïve enough to fall for such a simple trick.

"Be that as it may. They are still students and they must get their rest before class tomorrow. Thank you again for visiting, I’ll see you out?"

Oliver held back a laugh until the reporter was out of earshot.

"Did she really expect that little innocent act to work with the Headmaster?" He batted his eyelashes in the manner the reporter had done only moments before, earning himself a giggle from both his girlfriend and Harry.

Willow shrugged, still snickering.

"Guess so. She certainly seemed disappointed enough when he offered to show her to the door."

"Well, if you ask me, we’ve been through enough interviews already. One more was pushing it too far." Harry all but growled. "Hermione and Ron haven’t been called for one in a week and look how happy they are about it!"

It was true. The other members of their Snape saving team had been dismissed rather quickly seeing as how they had left before the actually wounding of Dumbledore, and killing of Lucius Malfoy, occurred. And, to ask the two Gryffindors, nothing made them happier than to be ignored. This left more time for them to explore their newfound relationship with each other or, as Willow had learned it was called, ‘snog’.

Rather interesting term for making out, if you asked *her*.

"How ‘bout you have your father come to the next one?" Oliver grinned down at Willow. "He can glare at the reporters until they go away. Or turn them to stone with one curl of his sneering lip."

"Such faith you have in me, Mister Wood."

Willow stifled a giggle at the tone of her father’s voice, so utterly and completely scathing; as he moved up behind her boyfriend. He didn’t like Oliver very much and made no effort to even attempt to hide it from her. That was fine by her, though. Fathers and daughters weren’t supposed to see eye to eye on everything.

And, besides, Oliver still needed to prove himself. Coming with her to face Voldemort was all fine and dandy, but that wasn’t love – just stupid Gryffindor courage, as her father would say.

All that aside, it had still been a sweet gesture; and one she wasn’t likely to forget any time soon. Even if she *did* want some material representations of his love – in the form of flowers and candy, maybe some jewelry – to make up for him being a complete jerk. Her father wouldn’t be won over with prezzies, but she sure would.

"S-Sir." Oliver stammered, instinctively taking a step back from the intimidating man.

‘Future father-in-law.’ His brain whispered. ‘One day you’ll marry Willow and he’ll be your father-in-law. Agh! Scary thoughts! Snape as my father-in-law. Though – not any time soon.’

Hopefully, for his sake, Snape would have mellowed out a little by the time he got up the desire and nerve to propose to Willow. Though – with her father being who he was, there was the very distinct possibility that he would never get up that nerve.

"Was the mean, nasty reporter badgering you?" Snape cooed, his voice a tangible mix of honey-eyed sweetness mixed with deadly poison.

"She was." Willow jumped to her boyfriend’s defense, stepping just a little in front of him and drawing her father’s gaze. She held her smile in place when his eyes met hers, aware that he was too conscious of what she was trying to do.

"We cannot have her upsetting our star Slytherin, however." He conceded, playing her game for the moment. "I will just have to speak to the Headmaster regarding this. Carry on."

He swept past her, hiding the grin he felt would have matched the one his daughter wore perfectly.

"Oh – and Mister Wood?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek."

~*~

**Willow,

Wow! So you defeated this big bad, major hardass all by yourself? Totally cool! Everything is pretty much same old, same old around here. Staking vamps, wasting the baddies – which, hey! You’re getting to do that too! See, I knew Giles should have gotten them to let me go. Then your dad would’ve had the Slayer fighting for him too. No biggie. He had you, all powerful Wiccan Willow. –grin- We miss you. A lot. I mean, a whole lot. Xander pretty much goes to school then to Giles’ house and just sits there. Sure, he slays, but the spirit is weak, so to speak. We need to refill our Will-o-Meters, if you get my drift.

So – how’s about that Winter holiday thingie you mentioned? Does it possibly involve no school and a chance for us to visit? Here’s hoping for a big old ‘yes!’. We both want to meet your dad, too. He sounds like a really cool guy.

Well, except for that yelling and glaring thing you said he does so well. And he does it all with that British-y accent, too, huh? Oh! Oh! Is he anything like that Ethan guy. You remember – Giles’ ‘friend’ from way back in the day? He could sorta yell and sneer, too. (And was it just me, or did we all doubt that he was just Giles’ ‘friend’, Wills? I mean, c’mon, matching tattoos? Isn’t that something you do with a boyfriend? Or at least a good lay?)

Please tell me your dad doesn’t wear tweed. I don’t think I could handle a second Giles. One is quite enough, thank you. Speaking of Giles, he wants me to go patrolling now so --

Anyway – get back to me about the holiday thing. We miss you. We need you.

Love,

Buffy**

~*~

Willow set aside Buffy’s letter, a sad smile on her lips. Halfway into November, with December seeming to be dragging its little behind along, the Winter holidays seemed so far away. Time may fly when you’re having fun – but when you’re homesick it just drags and drags. . .

But, there was good news in sight.

~*~

**Buffy,

Good news, oh friend of mine.

You can come visit!

The holidays will be starting on December 14^th and father and I will be going to his Manor for their duration. (Can you believe it – my father has a Manor. Its called Snape Manor and everything. Too cool, isn’t it? Oh – and before you reach for that dictionary, a manor is a really big house, sort of like an old gothic-y mansion type thing. You’ll like.) There is plenty of room for you and Xander to come stay there, too!

-Snoopy dance inserted here-

I miss you guys, too, you know. Every day I see something or read something that makes me think about one, or both, of you. Just the other day I saw a Hufflepuff wearing an outfit that made my eyes water and thought to myself ‘Buffy would be all over that fashion tragedy’. It’s times like those that I sorely miss your biting insults, Buff.

The plane tickets will be sent via the regular mail. Didn’t want to weigh the owl down with them.

I can’t wait to see you guys!!!

Love,

Willow

PS – No, he does not wear tweed nor will he ever wear tweed so long as I have a say in it. Which, I don’t. I’ve tried, but he just won’t let me buy him new clothes. Black robes, black pants, black shits – you’ve gotta help me out when you get here!***

~*~

Willow watched the owl fly off into the night sky before turning back to the small desk that served as her writing station while in her room, which was now located directly off of her father’s sitting room in the dungeons. She looked around, missing the room she had been placed in during her stay in the Slytherin dorms. It was impossible for her to stay there now, of course, if not ever again. Everyone knew what had happened the night of Halloween, complete with the battering of Draco Malfoy, her attempted murder of the Dark Lord, and her accidental killing of Lucius Malfoy.

Needless to say, she was not a popular person with most of the Slytherins.

"Good thing all my friends are Gryffindors." She murmured to herself. The door to her room was cracked open to allow some of the warmth from the fireplace to trickle in, and she could see her father bent over his own desk, grading papers. She took a moment to just watch him, remembering how she had felt when she first laid eyes on him.

Scared.

Now that couldn’t be further from the truth. He had welcomed her with nearly open arms from the moment she had found the truth about her lineage. He forgave her for her sins, just as she forgave him for his own. It was a match made in father-daughter heaven, as far as she was concerned.

"Need some help?" She called from her doorway.

"I think not. These are for your class, after all."

Willow snickered, strolling into the room to stand next to the fire.

"What if I promise to be impartial. I’ll even give myself a low grade just for the hell of it."

"Language." He warned her, without looking up. "And, no, you will not be marking your papers down ‘just for the hell of it’. No daughter of mine will be getting a low grade in Potions."

"Of course not." She smirked. "So – did I do good?"

"Well." He corrected, ever the teacher. "And yes, you did *well*."

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him.

"I saw that."

"Figured you would." She shrugged, tossing him a teasing grin. "I sent the letter to Buffy. Just gotta drop by London tomorrow and mail their tickets."

He nodded, eyes still on the papers.

"Did I mention how bored I am?"

Now he raised his head from his task, eyes glittering with amusement.

"And you have decided that, in order to alleviate your boredom, you shall pester me?"

Another shrug from the red head.

"That is what daughters are for, you know."

"No." He smiled slightly, knowing very well the signs of utter boredom in the daughter he had now known for nearing four months. "I had no idea. My life has apparently been incomplete up to this point. Imagine how I made it all these years without yet another teenage girl to pester me?"

This time she stuck her tongue out to his face, blithely ignoring the sneer he tossed back at her.

"And you have finished your essay on the properties of Golden Root and Newt Bile in healing elixirs?"

"Did it during History of Magic."

"I will not even ask why you were not paying attention to Professor Binns." Severus Snape chuckled. He shuffled through the large stack of papers on his desk, separating some into a small pile. "Very well. Here are some first year tests. Use the red ink and try not to be too . . . nice."

"Try not to be nice. Got it. Any other instructions?"

The young witch’s sarcasm was not wasted on her father.

"You are in desperate need of some discipline, young lady." His drawling tone was indicative of the humor he was finding in their verbal sparring.

"Yes, but I think I’ll let Oliver do my disciplining, father." Willow muttered quietly to herself, taking the papers with a smirk.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." She smiled brightly, settling into one of the chairs near the fireplace. She saw out of the corner of her eye that he was still staring at her. It was the look of a man that knew when someone was not being completely truthful with him. Had he heard what she said? Quick – subject change! "So . . . the Headmaster told me that you stopped by to get the paperwork started. Is that true?"

"Are you implying Dumbledore would lie to you?"

Willow snorted. "Tell only part of the truth, yes. Outright lie? No. Not him. He’s too sickly sweet and squeaky clean."

Severus snorted. Yes, that was the Headmaster, summed up in only a few short words that sounded vaguely like insults when they passed through his daughter’s mouth.

"To answer your question – yes, the paperwork has been started. I sent it off to the Ministry this morning. Hopefully we’ll hear something by tomorrow. Are you sure you’re that eager for this?"

"Eager? To take my father’s name after nearly eighteen years? Why wouldn’t I be? Unless – " And now her cool calmness shattered, all witty repartee aside. "Unless you have second thoughts?"

Before the tears could even begin to fall Severus was out of his chair and kneeling in front of his daughter, one of her hands caught in his own.

"Do not think for one second that I am having second thoughts about you changing your name." He paused. "I just wanted you to think about it, one last time. I am not the most loved person in this community, Willow."

The young witch smiled, almost a smirk.

"And I could do with a little *less* popularity at this point, Daddy." She chuckled at the look on his face. He hated to be called ‘Daddy’. "I’m fed up with being Willow Rosenberg, the Girl-Who-Almost-Killed-You-Know-Who." The hyphens were tangible as she spat out the words. "Right now I just want to be Willow Snape, daughter of Severus Snape, and sixth year Hogwarts student."

His dark eyes met with her emerald ones, searching for the answers to his own silent questions in her very soul. Apparently he saw what he needed, though, for he stood up, a subtle smile on his lips.

"Very well, Miss Sixth-Year-Hogwarts-Student. Kindly mark those papers for me and then retire to your bed? You have class first thing in the morning."

Willow hid her grin, returning to the work of marking the first year papers. Class first thing in the morning, and then a trip into Muggle London that afternoon so that she could mail plane tickets to her friends.

Her friends.

They were coming.

Only a month away.

She chewed on the tip of the quill, thinking of everything she would show them about this new, wonderful world.

Needless to say, not many papers were graded that night.

~*~Part Twenty-Eight~*~

Willow hopped from foot to foot; anxiously scanning the arrival gate for the flight her friends were on. She bit her lip and shifted again, feeling just a little funny in her Muggle clothing after months of wearing robes and wizarding wear. Her wand was safely tucked up inside of her sleeve, held tight by a small elastic hair band that suited the purpose nicely. She smoothed down the front of her green turtleneck with a sweaty hand, her stomach in knots.

A million what ifs ran through her overly paranoid mind. What if they weren’t really happy to see her, to be here? What if they didn’t like her dad or her dad absolutely detested them? What if they made her feel bad for not being back in Sunnydale? What if --?

"Does hopping about like that make you feel better?"

The red haired witch stopped and turned, raising an eyebrow at the man next to her.

"No."

"Then why do you insist on doing it?" Severus Snape’s tone was baleful. Though he trusted that she knew him well enough by now not to take it to heart. It was merely an expression of who he was. Sneering, smirking, being a total git; that was everything that made up his personality. People expected it of him and he wasn’t going to change simply because he now had a family.

Willow gave him a long, measuring look, before replying: "Because it’s a nervous gesture or habit or whatever. And right now I’m a nervous person."

"I would never have guessed." He rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to fidget with the Muggle clothing he had been forced to wear for this excursion. At least he had been able to maintain his trademark all-black look. Merlin forbid a touch of color ever grace his lean form.

"Sheesh, grumpy much?" She giggled. "They’re my friends and I haven’t seen them in forever. And they’re coming here. To our world. And they’re going to meet you. Which could go so very wrong. Please try to be nice. Don’t scare Xander too much. He acts tough but he’s really a sissy boy."

Severus snorted, his dark eyes watching the passengers exiting the gate. He watched them walk by, greeting and being greeted by their loved ones. One by one, sometimes in pairs. They carried with them their overnight bags, coats and purses. Most, if not all, of them looked tired from the trans-Atlantic flight; and he was immediately reminded again why he was happy to be a wizard. Airplanes were rather slow and tedious compared to methods of travel such as, oh, apparating?

And then he saw them.

The two from the picture.

"Those are your friends, correct?"

Willow followed one elegantly long finger with her eyes, her smile widening at the sight that she found.

"BUFFY! XANDER!" Her scream echoed through the waiting area, drawing a few stares to which she was oblivious in her state of feverish excitement.

"Great Merlin." Snape sighed quietly. "Kill me now?"

"WILLS!" Two identical cries from two non-identical mouths, spoken in unison; yelled across the waiting room. And then the teenage boy and girl were running, dodging other passengers, barreling through the thinning crowd.

And slamming right firmly into Willow, hugging her until Severus thought he may need to separate them with a spell - or three. He most especially was not pleased with the relative familiarity with which the male friend, Xander, was holding her.

"Oh, God, Wills. We missed you so much." The boy’s voice was tear-filled with happiness and Severus fought the almost overwhelming urge to gag. What had he been thinking? Inviting Two Muggle Teenagers to Snape Manor for the entirety of the winter holiday? As if one teenage daughter had not been a trial enough.

"Look at you, Wills! You’re doing something new with your hair, aren’t you?" The blonde chirped as she pulled gently at the silky red strands before letting them fall back onto Willow’s shoulders. There was that faint glimmer in her eyes that Severus recognized from the female students at school. That look that screamed teenager and female and had something vaguely to do with fashion sense, he had come to understand.

"Nothing much. Just this spell that makes it a little more bouncier." She shook it for effect, watching Buffy’s eyes light up.

"Spell? Can you teach me?"

Willow giggled.

"You’re the Slayer, Buff, last time I checked that didn’t involve being a witch or making with the mojo."

"Ah ha!" The blonde grinned triumphantly, mock disappointment written all over her face. "I knew there had to be a prerequisite thingy to it. Guess I’ll be sticking to that organic stuff."

The two shared a wicked grin with his daughter murmuring something about organic and commercials and men; something he was deathly sure he was glad he did not hear clearly.

Willow turned her attention back to her father and linked her arms through her friends, their carryon baggage bumping against her legs. She turned them to face her father, silently pleading that he would at least be civil.

"Dad – these are my friends – Buffy and Xander. Buff, Xan, this is my Dad, Severus Snape. You should call him – ummm. . ." She frowned, biting her lower lip.

"Severus will be fine, seeing as how they are not students nor are we at the school." The formidable Professor intoned in what Willow called his ‘polite but evil’ voice. He extended his hand, shaking first Buffy’s then Xander’s. "It is a pleasure to meet any of Willow’s friends."

Willow nearly bit through her lip while attempting not to laugh at this change of attitude from her father. He was being almost too nice, too gentile. It was more than she had expected from him and sort of scary in a few ways. This wasn’t who he was, and from the sparkle in his eyes that’s exactly what he was showing her. He could be who she wanted him to be, but it was just going to seem ‘wrong’.

And apparently Buffy knew that, too.

"I thought you were this big, mean Professor that gave detentions and made with the snarling and stuff." She frowned, a finger to her lips as she at him from head to toe and then back again, her eyes meeting his unflinchingly. "You seem nice enough to me. Unless –" Her eyes brightened, face shining with comprehension. "You’re playing with us!"

"Uh? Mind cluing in Lost-Boy over here?" Xander muttered, raising his hand.

"Buffy thinks my dad is just acting like a nice guy for your benefit." Willow clarified for him.

"And is the Buffster right?" Xander, too, had been surprised to find that Willow’s father didn’t seem nearly as scary as the stories she had told them made him seem. It would make sense that this was all an act, though.

"You will just have to wait and see Mister –" He looked to Willow for help.

"Harris." She chirped, giggling internally.

"Well, then. Mister Harris – you will find out all too soon how evil I can really be." The corner of his lip twitched upwards in a sneer, dampened somewhat by the sparkle of humor in his eyes.

"Save me, Buff. You’re the Slayer. You Slay evil. If he’s evil you’ll Slay, right?" Xander babbled incoherently, half-joking, half-serious.

"There will be no Slaying of my father, guys." Willow rolled her eyes. "Sheesh. Can take the Scoobies out of Sunnydale, but you can’t take the Sunnydale out of the Scoobies. In fact, I firmly forbid any of us to do Slaying of any kind during our holiday."

"No Slaying?" Buffy looked crestfallen. "But – but – Giles said there are some really great spots to hunt vamps in – cemeteries even - and I was sorta hoping we could drop by so I could greet them all – you know – Slayer style."

It was at that moment that it really hit home for Severus Snape that his daughter was friends with *the Slayer*. Sure, he had listened to her stories before, cringing at the appropriate moments and chuckling when called for. But he had never really allowed it to sink in that the Slayer was not only a real person, not some myth from DADA, but that she was friends with his teenage daughter. A daughter who *helped* said Slayer fight the forces of Darkness before coming to Hogwarts.

And was it his imagination or did Willow look excited at the prospect of getting to go vampire hunting?

"C’mon, Wills." Xander was chiming in. "It’ll be like old times. Me, you, and Buffy against the creatures of the night."

"Well . . ." Willow sighed playfully. "It *does* sound like it would be a lot of fun . . ."

She saw her father glaring at her out of the corner of her eye and decided a change of tactic for the moment. Later they could discuss whether or not there would be a Slaying field trip – though she got the feeling already that he wasn’t happy about even the idea of such a thing.

"We can talk about it later, guys. Lets get your things and go home. You must be tired."

Thankfully, the topic change worked.

But, as they were leaving the airport, headed towards a quiet spot where they could use a handy portkey her father had brought along, Willow knew she was going to have to do some fast talking to be able to allow herself, or her friends, some Slaying time.

~*~

"But – "

"No ‘buts’, young lady." Severus Snape frowned. "You talk about Slaying vampires as though it is some game. They are dangerous creatures. Haven’t you learned anything from your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

Willow arched an eyebrow at her father and crossed her arms. It was a very Snape gesture, something that did not pass unnoticed to him.

"The only thing I’ve learned in that class has to do with the Professor and wasn’t even something that he told us." She smirked.

"And what would that be?" His cool reply snapped through the room.

"Professor Lupin is a werewolf."

Severus stopped his furious pacing, his mouth going slack, eyes widening.

"How –"

"I’ve dated one before, remember? I know the signs. And they have this little aura around them, makes the hairs on my arms stand on end." She shrugged, as though it were no big secret.

"Of course." The Potions Master sighed wearily, once again reminded that his daughter had experienced more than her share of hands on DADA in her life.

"Anyway," She waved her hand, dismissing the talk of Professor Lupin’s lycanthropy. "Back to the topic at hand. Me, Buff, Xan – Slaying. C’mon. You can come and keep an eye on us and everything if you want. It’ll be fun. Like father-daughter bonding time. We’ve never really gotten to fight the baddies together, you know. You were unconscious most of last time with those Death Eater guys and He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-But-Really-Was-A-Weakling."

He could feel his resolve melting away like ice under the summer sun. She was just so much like him, so brash and brazen. He had been that way once, in his youth. He had craved the fight, though it had led him to seek Darker means than her cravings had. In the end, who was he to deny this to her? A night out with her friends doing what they enjoyed and did best.

"Fine. You may go."

"Yes!" Willow jumped for joy, literally, kicking her heels up into the air. She danced around in a circle, waving her hands and arms with fierce joy. Then, she caught sight of her father, still sitting there staring at her with that pensive expression on his face. "There’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there?"

Severus nodded.

"I will be taking you up on your offer and will most definitely be in attendance for this little outing. And perhaps Professor Lupin as well. And any other Professor that would like to join me on this night of lunacy."

"I thought you hated him." The red head inquired rather unabashedly, remarking on the mention of her DADA Professor. "I mean – that’s certainly the impression we’ve all gotten."

He shrugged.

"I neither like him nor dislike him, though I do detest the friends he has chosen in his life. But that is a story for another time. You should go wake your friends and plan your excursion."

Willow nodded, filing her questions about her DADA Professor and those ‘bad choices’ in friends away for later. She paused on her way out of the room, turning to look back over her shoulder.

"Do you think Harry, Ron, Hermione and Oliver could come, too?"

Severus didn’t even look up, knowing from her smug tone that she would be getting what she wanted in this matter as well.

Fatherhood was proving more difficult than he had imagined.

~*~

The next day found Willow, Buffy and Xander exploring the grounds of the Manor while Snape worked in his laboratory.

"What does he do in there all day?" The Slayer asked, her eyes roaming over the outside of the Manor. It certainly was all dark and gothic-like. And much larger than any house she had ever had the pleasure of staying in before. Sort of like a small castle.

"Potions, I guess." Willow shrugged. "Don’t know really. He does his thing and I do mine. It’s better that way. We’re still trying to get used to this whole father-daughter thing."

"How’s that going, anyway?"

Willow turned to Xander, giving him a wide smile.

"It’s great. I finally have someone in my life that makes sense. He’s a wizard, I’m a witch. He’s hella intelligent and so am I. The list goes on and on, really. He’s more of a parent to me now than Ira and Sheila were for seventeen years."

"Have you told them?" Buffy’s voice was soft, as though she were afraid to ask or remind Willow about the family she was, in effect, leaving behind.

"I – yes." Willow sighed. "I had to let them know when I decided to change my name."

"How’d they take it?"

Willow stopped, gesturing to a quietly spot on the lawn. Her neck was hurting from looking back and forth between them, this made it easier.

"They seemed happy for me." She said at last. "At least, that’s the feeling I got from it. Sheila told me the little she remembered about my mother. Ira told me that my trust fund was still mine for the taking and that they’d always be there for me if I needed counseling or something."

Xander laughed.

"That sounds like something they would say."

"Yep." Willow nodded. "Psychiatrists to the end."

"How’s it feel to be Willow Snape, now?" Another question from Buffy and this one made Willow smile.

"It feels good. Like it was meant to be – which I guess it was. It’ll take some getting used to, though. I still hear people say it and look around for the ‘other Willow’ before realizing they mean me."

"You do not!" The other girl cried, laughing.

"I do!" Willow assured her. "Professor McGonagall walked right up to my desk the day before holiday started and asked me to transfigure a pine cone into a pencil box. But she called me Miss Snape, so I just sat there, reading through the lesson, ignoring her for almost three minutes. At least, that’s what Hermione told me. Next thing I know she’s tapping me on the shoulder with her wand, glaring at me with those evil-looking little beady eyes of hers. She forgave me as soon as I did the lesson right in one try, though." The red head boasted confidently.

"So – show us something neat, Wills." Xander prompted her. "You’ve been over here learning the big bad mojo stuff, show me something nifty cool."

"Can’t. No magic outside of Hogwarts except under a Professor’s supervision."

"Aw. . ." Xander pouted. "Get your dad out of that lab of his, then, and lets make with the magic making."

"You’ll get to see some magic tomorrow night, Xan. I promise. Dad’s even letting some of my friends from school come with us."

"Does this include that Oliver guy? The one that dumped you because you got put in the Slimeyrun house or whatever it was?"

"Slytherin." Willow corrected her with a laugh. "And yes. Oliver will be there. But we’re back together and all is good now, Buff. So - no Slaying him."

The red head laughed along with Xander at the pout on Buffy’s face.

"You take all the fun out of things sometimes, you know that right?"

Willow chuckled.

"I said no Slaying. That doesn’t include threatening him with bodily harm should he ever hurt me again, you know."

Buffy’s smile brightened considerably, the gleam in her eyes wicked.

"Now *that* I can handle."

~*~Part Twenty-Nine~*~

"Why does your friend keep looking at me like that?"

Willow raised an eyebrow in question, glancing over at Buffy. The blonde haired girl hardly noticed, though. She was far too busy glaring holes into Oliver, tossing her stake from hand to hand. Willow chuckled.

"She’s still a little mad at you for how much pain you put me through, I think."

Oliver winced and smiled weakly over at the Slayer, who only brandished her stake a little more menacingly in response.

"Think your friends will ever forgive me?" He asked carefully, afraid of what the answer could be. He didn’t want them to be mad at him, though maybe he deserved it just a little.

Okay – maybe *a lot*.

He wanted everything to be okay between him and them, though. If nothing else, just for Willow’s sake.

"Buffy might." Willow smiled. "Xander. . . maybe not. He’s very protective of me, you know."

"Did I hear my name?"

Willow squealed, the sound ringing out through the night air, as strong arms enveloped her from behind, picking her up and spinning her in circles until they were both too dizzy to continue. There was laughter from around them. Ron, Harry and Hermione had stopped to turn and stare at the antics, amusement written on their faces.

"I was just telling Oliver how protective you are of me, Xan." Willow gasped, clutching at Oliver’s arm as the world swam before her eyes.

"Yep." Xander drawled, stumbling a bit from his own spin-induced dizzy spell. "She’s like the sister I never had, man. You hurt her ever again and I’ll sic Buffy on you."

"No need to ‘sic’ me on him." Buffy smiled sweetly, coming to stand next to her friends. "He hurts her again and I teach him all about the loveliness of castration. Wanna bet he would make a lovely soprano?"

Willow stifled a giggle, feeling it somehow both appropriate and inappropriate to take so much pleasure in her boyfriend’s uncomfortableness. He had said he was sorry to her, many times, but this made it all worth it. Seeing that look on his face made her believe once and for all that he would do anything in his power to never hurt her again.

And she was thinking she could live with that.

~*~

"How did I let myself get talked into this again?" Severus Snape sighed dramatically, thinking he dare not glance over his shoulder at the group of students he had, albeit reluctantly, taken on this trip to a cemetery. If he did he knew he’d see them goofing around, acting like the pure mischief makers they all were. Even his own daughter was not safe from that particular fault, and she brought with it power and a sense of Slytherin cunning that was sure to get her far in this world.

"I think that has something to do with Miss Snape over there." Remus Lupin chuckled good-naturedly, still operating under the sense of pleasure even being invited on this excursion had brought to him. It was one thing for the Potions Master to have said that he was putting everything behind them, and quite another to see it put into play in a manner such as this. "She has you quite thoroughly wrapped around her little finger, it appears."

"She most certainly does not." Severus snapped, glaring at the shorter man. The effect was lost, though, when he did turn around, his face softening at the sight of his daughter, playing so happily with her friends. She was a good child. Much better off than if he had been the one to raise her, he was sure.

Lupin grinned.

"So tell me again why we’re out here, in a cemetery, at night, *hoping* for vampires to attack – if it’s not because of that red headed sprite over there?"

The Potions Master rolled his eyes and continued to glare.

~*~

The cemetery was quiet as they made their way deeper into the heart of it. Hermione clutched at Ron’s arm at every snap and rustle of noise, making Harry laugh out loud more than once.

"C’mon guys. It’s not like we haven’t faced worse!" He grinned. "And Professor Lupin already said we’d get extra credit if we wrote about our time out here."

It was the mention of extra credit that made Hermione reluctantly ease her grip off of Ron’s arm, though her red haired companion didn’t look nearly as reassured.

"You don’t really think we’re going to see any actual *vampires* tonight, do ya Harry?" He whispered, eyes darting to a small copse of trees that had just rustled.

"We can hope." The Boy-Who-Lived smirked. This was more fun that any actual DADA class he had ever gone to. Traipsing about through a dark cemetery, looking for vampires. And he was getting to do with it with the actual Slayer!

"Don’t worry, boys." Buffy giggled. "Giles said the actual nests are usually deeper in than this. There will be vampires yet tonight!" She turned a sly sneer towards Oliver. "At least, I hope there will be." She fingered the point of her stake, looking unabashedly at the front of his pants. "I have some aggressions to take out and I’d hate for anything innocent to get hurt in the process."

Oliver gulped.

Visibly.

~*~

The first attack of the night took them somewhat by surprise in that they hadn’t really just expected to walk right into a group of vampires. They had just cleared a small expanse of trees that effectively separated the front half of the large, old cemetery from the back half when they saw them.

Five of them.

The creatures of the Dark turned almost immediately, their superior hearing picking up the telltale heartbeats and whispers of the human masse. Without a witty word or parting shot, the vampires leapt at the group.

And immediately the Sunnydale crew went into action.

"You guys might want to hang back for a round or two." Buffy called out to the Hogwarts group, executing a flawless front kick to the chest of the vampire nearest her.

"Yeah. Don’t be afraid to back off if you need to." Willow smiled cheerily, her own stake in hand. She didn’t want to use magic for this. Not when she had put so much effort into maintaining her Sunnydale physique while at Hogwarts. She ducked the punch her opponent threw at her; her elbow coming up to jab painfully into his stomach. He grunted, doubling over, and earning himself a knee to the face. She was ready when he raised up, stake coming down with unerring ease into his chest, through the ribs, and to the heart. She saw the look of shock on the young fledge’s face as the piece of wood hit home and then he was dust.

Turning, Willow saw that the others had been busy. Buffy was standing proudly over her own two piles of dust, Xander over one of his own, and the three younger Hogwarts students were looking quite satisfied with themselves over the bit of ash in front of them, as well.

"That was fun." Harry grinned, toeing the dust with his shoe. It scattered easily enough, a light breeze helping to disperse all that remained of the vampire.

"Very well done." Professor Lupin smiled, clapping lightly. "Five points to each Gryffindor that assisted."

Willow’s brow furrowed. Points to Gryffindor?

"Ahem?" She cleared her throat, raising an eyebrow in point. "Gryffindor isn’t the only House represented out here, you know."

Lupin blushed.

"Of course. Five points to Slytherin as well."

Willow beamed.

"And an additional five points to Slytherin since she did dispatched that creature all by herself." Snape added, sneering at the Gryffindors in trademark fashion. He spared a small smile for his daughter, who only beamed more under his unspoken praise. She knew he had doubted her skills, despite the fact that she had lived on the Hellmouth for most of her life. How could he doubt now? Not when she had just dusted a vampire, in under five minutes, all by her little self?

"Not that I’m not enjoying this little spat between House-thingies." Buffy smirked, hands on hips. "Because, believe me, I’m *so* not. But – can we get back to the Slayage? Two vampires is not what its going to take for me to get this out of my system, Mister."

Severus Snape raised an eyebrow at the woman who was the Slayer.

"By all means, Miss Summers, proceed with your spot of violence against the undead." He made a grand sweeping gesture, indicating for her to lead on.

"You did good." Oliver whispered to Willow, holding her arm back as the others wandered off in search of more vampires. He watched her blush, the moonlight making the expression that much more endearing.

"So – if I did so good – where’s my treat?" She murmured, her eyes hopeful.

Oliver’s mouth descended so slowly that it seemed like she was stuck in a movie that was set on permanent slow-motion. She closed her eyes just as his soft lips met hers. Their mouths parted almost as one, tongues slipping inside to explore the warm depths of each others’ mouths. She sighed, her arms encircling his neck

"I hope that’s your wand in your robe, Mister Wood." She laughed lightly, pulling back from him. It was his name that threw her off at that moment, a reminder that ‘wood’ was something quite obscenely provocative back home in the slang she was so used to. She bit her lip, fighting off the blush that threatened to arise from her own daring words and thoughts.

"Umm…"

The duo turned, Willow stumbling a bit so that she fell into Oliver, and his ever present, attentive ‘wand’. Buffy was standing there, a sly grin on her face.

"You two better catch up before daddy-dearest comes looking for you, Wills." The blonde sniggered. "Unless you want him to hear your delightful conversation with Wood, here." She winked at Willow, and the red haired girl knew that the significance of the

boy’s last name hadn’t been lost on her.

"No, no." Willow stammered, shaking her head in embarrassment at being caught in such a sticky situation. "We’re coming."

Buffy arched an eyebrow at her friend, a playful smirk on her lips.

"Too much info, Wills. I so totally don’t want to know –when- the two of you are *coming*."

The red head paled, and then flushed, a crimson blush washing over her face in a moment of pure heat. The blonde turned her back on them, walking with a taunting swagger in her step back towards where the others were waiting. Willow groaned, calling out softly as Oliver chuckled next to her. She felt a strong arm wrap around her waist, pulling her ever closer back to her friends and father. She sighed, shaking her head in mock amusement.

"That’s not what I meant, Buffy!"

~*~Part Thirty~*~

"You’ll see them again, you know."

Willow nodded, not bothering to even turn to look at the man that had spoken. She knew she’d see them again. That’s what being friends meant, after all. But that didn’t make it hurt any less when they left. It had been hard to hug them, say her goodbyes, and watch them get on the plane. The plane that was now taking off, winging its way back across the Atlantic and to the US.

She missed them already.

A firm hand was placed on her shoulder, a soft squeeze given in comfort. That was more than she expected, and the red head turned now to face her companion.

"It’s hard to watch them go, you know."

"I realize as much." Severus nodded, sparing his daughter a tight smile. "But you will see them again. Perhaps they can visit during that Spring Break thing your friend Buffy seemed so excited to discuss with you?"

Willow’s eyes lit up.

"Really? You’d let them come visit in the Spring? For the whole week?"

The Potions Master groaned internally. Had he really just offered for those infernal teenagers to visit again, so soon after he had only just gotten rid of them. He forced that tight lipped smile back to his face.

"Yes. If they wish to."

"Oh! They will!" Willow nodded frantically, already planning the numerous things they could do during their second visit. She would still have classes during that period, of course, but that wouldn’t stop their escapades. She could introduce them around to all of her cousins, since they hadn’t had a chance to meet during this last visit.

"And, of course, you’ll see them when you return for summer holidays."

A swift gust of pain engulfed Willow’s heart and she nearly stumbled. Regaining her composure, the young witch fought to overcome the agony coursing through her. He didn’t want her to stay with him during the summer holidays? He wanted her to go back there, to Sunnydale? Was she really supposed to live in that house where she had been raised, knowing that those people weren’t her parents and that that part of her life was over, completed, finished?

She sighed, shaking her head. It had been stupid of her to assume, of course, that she would be able to stay with her biological father during the summer break. And how idiotic was it for her to be worrying about it, months before it even happened? But that was just the way she was, the way she would always be.

"Are you alright?" Severus looked askance at his daughter, narrowly dodging a Muggle that was running down the hall in haste to get to her flight’s gate.

"Yeah. I’m fine." Willow murmured, refusing to meet his eyes. She turned her head fully away from him, looking out the windows on her side of the hallway they were on. Only a couple more minutes and they would be somewhere quiet, somewhere that they could portkey back to the Manor. Or Hogwarts. And then she could go to her room and just deal with this newest blow all by herself, as usual. She had been foolish, after all. And that’s what he would say if he knew why she was upset. He would tell her she had been foolish to even think that he wanted her around that long.

Severus Snape prided himself on his ability to read the emotions of others. It was one of the things that had made him such a successful spy. He knew how to read body language, voice tone, and could even, on rare occasions, view those mystical convergences known as auras. This was not one of those austere moments, however he didn’t need that part of his abilities to know that something was definitely wrong with Willow and that she was lying when she said she was ‘fine’. What had happened? One moment she was busily babbling on about her friends and their spring visit and then the next she was close mouthed and looked about as friendly as, well, he did.

Which, for her, was quite an undertaking.

He stopped in the center of the hallway and grabbed hold of her arm as she made to walk by without even noticing that he was now stationary. She blinked, startled.

"Miss Snape. Willow. What. Is. Wrong?"

She blinked up at him, her eyes full of tears he could tell she was trying to hold back.

"Nothing."

"You are lying to me." He sneered, falling back on the defensive mechanisms that worked so well with everyone else.

It didn’t even take him five seconds to realize that it wouldn’t work with her.

"Maybe I am." She replied, her voice cold and calm. "That’s what teenagers do best, you know."

She turned, storming off down the hallway, towards the back of the airport and an unused room they had used to apparate into initially.

"So much like me." Snape muttered, shaking his head and finding the entire situation vaguely amusing despite the fact that she was, it appeared, rather upset with him. He followed her, ducking into the room where she now waited, arms crossed.

"Are we ready?" She snapped, her eyes fixed on a spot immediately over his head.

"I will not tolerate you speaking to me like that, young lady."

"Fine. Don’t." She threw up her hands in frustration. "Take me back to the Manor so I can get my things and then I’ll go back to Hogwarts for the last few days of the holidays. I wouldn’t want to be in your way any longer than necessary, anyway. I know you must be just dying to get rid of me."

And, for one of the few times in his life, Severus Snape found that he had nothing to say. No witty comebacks. No biting retorts. There wasn’t even a snarky reply that he could use. In place of all of those normal conversational devices he found that he was instead left with complete and utter confusion.

"Get rid of you?" He repeated blankly.

"Yes. You know. Ship me back to Hogwarts. Or Sunnydale. Out of your life?"

Again that overwhelming confusion washed over him. Where had this silly girl gotten the idea that he no longer wished for her to be around him? And why was she mentioning the Hellmouth?

"Forgive me," He started slowly, advancing on her with his hands in front of him in a gesture of supplication. "But when exactly did I say I wanted to get rid of you?"

She blinked at him and then rolled her eyes.

"Figures. You don’t even realize what you said."

Severus tried to be patient with her, but the minutes dragged by, the silence filled only by the sound of their breathing. Finally he sighed, the sound explosive.

"What. Did. I. Say?" Each word was enunciated clearly, crisply, and full of loathing for needing to even ask since it was obvious, at least to him, that he had no clue what she was talking about.

"You’re sending me back to Sunnydale for Summer Holiday." She snorted. "Don’t you remember. You said it only ten minutes ago."

"Sending you back to . . ." He shook his head. "Don’t you *want* to go back there during the summer?"

"Of course not!" She exploded, a faint blush creeping across her face when her father spared her a glance and uttered a silencing charm on the room.

"Not even to visit your friends?" He asked quietly, finally understanding. She really thought that he was eager to ship her back to the home she no longer truly had.

"Well – maybe a short visit. But I don’t want to ‘live’ there anymore. I mean – you’re here. And Ollie’s here."

"Of course. Mister Wood. A charming reason to wish to remain here." The dark haired man rolled his eyes.

"He’s a good guy!" Willow exclaimed, glaring angrily at her father.

"Except for the part where he didn’t have enough of that famous Gryffindor courage to stand up to his own Housemates."

Willow snorted.

"Well, there is that." She admitted, a rueful smile managing to break through the sadness she was feeling.

"Yes, well. That is enough for myself, as your father, to think of him as less than ideal. However, I cannot change your heart and I will not even try."

"Good." Willow smirked. "Because I doubt it would work."

"No, I don’t imagine it would." He smiled, just a little. "Now, back to this matter of summer holidays. I assumed that you would want to return to that place to visit with your friends, apparently this is the case, though you seem to have misconstrued my intentions entirely. Do not think for one second that I don’t wish for you to spend some of the holidays with me, if not all of them if that is what you really want. However, if you wish to see your friends, then I shall abide by that as well."

"Oh." It wasn’t much, but it was all she could manage at the time. She felt like a complete ass now. "I thought –"

"That I was trying to get rid of you." Severus Snape nodded, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Yes, I had already gotten that impression from you. Rest assured that that was not what I was trying to convey to you in the slightest, however."

"Well. . . Um. . . Sorry, then, I guess. I guess I’m just used to Sheila and Ira. They saw me as an inconvenience. The moment I was able to take care of myself they started leaving for trips. I hardly saw them the last year I was at home. I thought you were going to be the same way. . . "

Severus smiled tightly, a grand achievement on his part.

"Well, now that we have that taken care. Do you mind terribly if we return to the Manor? The house elves should have lunch ready and I do believe you invited Mister Wood over to give you flying lessons this afternoon?"

Willow nodded, thankful for the reprieve from her embarrassing assumptions about a man that was, honestly, just trying his best to make her happy.

~*~

"You know. I think you’re ready to try this on your own."

Willow kept her head forward so that her companion couldn’t see her blush.

"I don’t know, Ollie." She murmured, leaning back into his chest as he maneuvered them in another turn around the outside of Snape Manor. She could smell his cologne, the scnet tantalizing at best, enthralling at the worst. If he wasn’t abysmally bad at potions, she would almost assume that he had brewed some sort of aphrodisiac and used it on himself. But he was, as her father put it, ‘hopeless’ when it came to brewing potions. So that couldn’t be it.

Maybe she was just in love.

She smiled, feeling his warmth against her back, her hands holding lightly to the broom between her legs as he steered it with expert attention.

"I don’t think I’ve got a feel for it yet. Couple more times around the yard?"

Oliver laughed, kissing her cheek.

"As many times as you want, love."

He nuzzled her neck, nibbling lightly at the creamy white skin that he found there. There was not a single doubt in his mind that she was ready to get on a broom by herself. If she wanted to maintain this charade, though, he wasn’t against it. Having her in his arms, this close, sharing something as magical as flying, was something he had never dreamed possible when he first saw her, that sparkling summer day, lying on her front lawn. He had never dreamed that anything other than friendship would be possible. And now they were flying together, her back to his chest, his arms around her, on the broomstick between her legs.

Life was perfect, he decided at that moment, whispering again into her ear:

"As many times as you want."

~*~The End~*~