The parties responsible have been shot
“I don't want to know where we are,” said Spike.
“We already know where we are,” said Buffy. “That's the problem.”
Dumbledore advanced, wand clutched in a nervous flipper.
“Kaark,” he offered.
“I don't suppose any of us speak penguin, do we?” asked Spike wearily.
Wesley raised his hand.
“You have got to be shitting me.”
“He said 'O tall pointy ones, shall we sacrifice Ron to you as a token of our goodwill?'”
“No,” said Buffy.
“Yes,” said Spike.
“Kaark,” translated Wesley.
“Kaark?” suggested Dumbledore.
“He said 'Really? How about that one annoying bitch from probably around Book 5, then? We've been dying for an excuse.'”
“No,” said Buffy.
“Shut up, Spike,” added Buffy.
“Kaark,” translated Wesley.
“Kaark,” said Dumbledore, with resignation.
“He said, 'Shit. In that case, want a sno-cone?'”
“Sure,” said Buffy, and they wandered off.
Harry waited until they were out of earshot before sidling up to Spike and prodding him.
“Kaark?” he said.
“He said, 'Why do you keep hanging out with those guys when you don't seem to have anything in common?'”
“Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior,” said Spike. “Cunt,” he added.