Buffy Crossover Fic: An American Slayer in Northern England Part Eight
Disclaimer etc. in Part One
Notes: I’ve made up the demons, I’ve made up the words and I’m working on making it sound sort of parseltongue-y. And if you really want to know, I do intend for the demons to have something to do with things. I’ll be taking bits of HBP and DH, but not much for the final resolution.
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Petunia flung an arm at Harry, “Yes. Take him. Take him and keep your damn freakish ways away from me!”
At that Harry felt the world spin briefly. “Take me? Take me where? And why?”
“You did not tell him?” inquired the apparent spokesperson. There was a hissed undertone to his words that become apparent the more he spoke.
“I want nothing to do with you . . . things!” snarled Petunia. A rumble of anger made its way through the group of demons. She didn’t even seem to notice the violent mood that sprang up at her words. “I just want to be normal! Why is that too much to ask? Why do all you damn freaks keep thinking us normal folk want to be like you!?”
Before the muttering group of snakeskinned demons could attack, Harry intervened. “What is it Aunt Petunia is supposed to have told me? Where am I supposed to be taken and why?”
The leader of the demons let out a hissing sigh. “Humans call us fithian demons. We are of the Silasseth clan. The Asselifess,” he explained.
Harry frowned. “Those who feel the selves of others?”
“So you have already begun to gain the gifts of your heritage,” the spokesman seemed delighted. “Already you can speak the tongue of our people.”
At that Petunia huffed and snarled, “I don’t care what so-called gifts the freak has. You have what you want, now all of you get out of my house and never darken my doorstep again.”
Before the muttering could restart Harry sighed and turned to the leader again. “Since you know who I am and all that, will you leave Aunt Petunia alone now? I expect everyone will be happier if the Dursleys don’t have to put up with any more paranormal stuff.”
“Of course lissihess. There is no reason for us to remain now that we have found you.” He turned and gestured for the others to leave.
As Harry and a much bemused Hermione turned to follow the demons out Petunia grabbed Harry’s arm and snarled at him. “I had best never see your freakishness again. Do you understand me? You and your sheer ungrateful . . .” With those words Hermione cracked and whipped out her wand. The next few seconds her hands and voice were a virtual blur as hex after hex left her wand. By the time she was done Petunia’s perfectly white living room with its monochromatic glory of expensive designer decorations were a multicoloured mishmash of kitch and Petunia had been turned into a large hedgehog wearing a clown wig and big floppy shoes on each foot. Harry stared at Hermione.
“Forget moral superiority and the right thing,” she said in response to his look. “That . . . woman . . . deserves whatever she gets.”
“But a hedgehog Hermione? And how long will it last?”
“Well I suppose I could have done an ostrich, it would have been more appropriate, but Buffy’s potion inspired me.” She turned and started walking away. “And the transfiguration will revert a few hours after your uncle and cousin return home, but the charms on the living room will stay for as long as the Dursleys live here. It will automatically transform overnight back to this no matter what they do to replace the furniture and decorations.”
Harry gave her an impressed look and a smile. “You are frightening Hermione.”
“Thank you.”
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In spite of Harry’s interest in what the demons wanted from him or with him, they wouldn’t tell him anything until they were somewhere deemed ‘safe’ by the clan. However, eventually Harry, Hermione and some very disgruntled witches and wizards there to protect Harry from any errant Death Eaters he stumbled across were all ensconced in a nearby greenhouse with the fithian demons.
Hermione spoke first. “What was that you called Harry before? Liss . . . something?”
“It means . . . something like beloved child I think,” Harry replied. “It’s a lot like the parseltongue word for hatchling.”
The one who was at least the spokesperson, if not the leader, started to explain. “I am Issithiass. We have been seeking you for quite a long time lissihess.”
“But why?” Harry asked. “I mean, is there some particular reason? Something you need from me-“
He was interrupted by a spate of hissing from the gathered fithians. “There is nothing we need of you,” Issithiass told him. “You are of our clan. It is that simple. We merely wish to grant you the opportunity to become one of our clan in truth rather than merely by descent. When the clan shaman spoke of a child born of a line which had left our clan for the human world, one who had the powers of the Asselifess, we wished to care for him . . . you.”
Harry blinked briefly and then asked again. “There’s nothing you want of me? You just want . . . wanted to . . . to raise me? As a member of the clan? Of the family?” He began to frown slightly. “I mean, you’re sure? You’re not trying to-“
Issithiass interrupted with a derisive-sounding hiss. “To lie to you? To tell you we wished one thing when we wished another? No. It is not our way to do such a thing. If we merely wished your presence for assistance of some kind we would have approached you with offers of exchange.”
Slowly, a smile crept over Harry’s face. Hermione took a deep breath. She knew that this was something Harry had always wanted. Family that wanted him around because he was family and not just because of what he could do for them. She also knew that Harry had never quite felt like the Weasleys were his family or her, or anyone else. The number of times he had been relied on as the only person who could save them left him feeling somewhat like his only worth lay in being The-Boy-Who-Lived. If these demons were telling the truth, then Harry truly had what he wanted.
But therein lay the problem. Were they telling the truth? Did they truly want him because he was blood kin, or did they have some other purpose that they couldn’t know. Already Harry was walking among the fithians, exchanging friendly-looking parseltongue words with them. The aurors guarding them looked uncomfortable and Hermione knew that she had to step in. “Harry? I know you want to spend more time here, but we do have to get back to Hogwarts.”
“But Hermione, I . . .” He caught her look and understood she had other reasons to ask beyond merely wanting to get back to classes. “You’re right, of course.” He turned back to Issithiass. “Is there a particular way I can contact you? I have friends that I have to tell about you and I am in my last year at boarding school.”
The demon smiled, looking surprisingly benevolent despite the fangs visible in his mouth. “Of course you wish to inform your friends, and I would never wish you to be forced away from the path you are on solely at our whim. As to contact, let me give you my email address,” he said, “Just because I am a demon does not mean that I cannot use a computer.”
A couple minutes later they were on their way to a parkette nearby where they would be out of sight to use the portkey back to Hogwarts. The moment they were settled on their feet, Hermione was darting off to Gryffindor tower with Harry hot on her heels wondering what had her so anxious. As they cleared the portrait entrance to the common room, Hermione made a beeline for Buffy and demanded to use her email. “I need to speak with Mr. Giles immediately,” she insisted.
Harry frowned. “Why? You’re not . . . Issithiass isn’t evil Hermione!” He said as he suddenly understood what she was doing.
“How do you know?” She demanded. “Harry, I understand how much you want family, and I know he seemed very nice. But how can you be so certain he’s not just trying to trick you. Just because he said they wouldn’t doesn’t mean they actually wouldn’t.”
“What happened?” Ron demanded. So while Hermione tapped away at the keyboard, writing a letter to Giles asking for all the information he had on fithian demons, Harry told them about the trip to Surrey. By the time he finished, Buffy was squinting at him a little, her head tilted sideways, and Angel’s nostrils were flared as though testing Harry’s scent.
“What?” Harry asked, a little twitchy at the close scrutiny.
Angel shook himself a little and replied, “Now that you’ve brought it up, I can tell that you’re not completely human.” He shook his head a little. “It’s hard to pick out because there are so many things around here I’ve never encountered, the oddity gets a little lost in the shuffle.”
“It’s true,” Buffy agreed as she stopped the disconcerting stare in Harry’s direction. “I can tell there’s something off about you normally, but I couldn’t tell how much of that was from your curse scar and stuff and how much was other stuff.” She shrugged. “Now that I know about the demon part of you I can tell it’s there and stuff, but if you hadn’t told me I would never have figured it out.”
Harry sighed in resignation. “Do you know anything about fithian demons Buffy?” he inquired.
“They’re definitely not known for causing any sort of trouble,” Angel responded in her place. “I do know that I’ve never heard much bad about them.” He frowned slightly. “I had heard something about them having some sort of psychic abilities, but never anything specific.”
Perking up from her letter, Hermione said, “Didn’t Issithiass say something about seeing peoples’ thoughts or some such?” she asked Harry.
“The Asselifess. Those who see the selves of others. Roughly,” Harry said. “But I got the feeling it related to something more than just thoughts or feelings. It’s more like . . .” He paused, searching for the right words. “Like seeing souls,” he finished.
That gained him some wide-eyes stares from the others, except for Hermione who was now adding further details to her lengthy email to Giles.
Buffy abruptly stood. “Okay, so right now we don’t know anything and we have to wait until Giles gets back to Hermione before Harry’s going to do anything in particular. Right?” she turned to Harry, who, a little reluctantly, nodded back. “Then I’m going to go hunting. Join me Angel?” she asked her boyfriend. He nodded and stood as well. That signalled an end to the whole discussion and Harry and Ginny broke off to snuggle in a corner, Hermione headed straight for the library to see what she could dig up on fithian demons, and Ron wandered about, looking for someone foolish enough to challenge him at a game of chess.
As the others were settling in for a quiet evening in Gryffindor tower, Buffy and Angel were using Buffy’s usual escape route for heading out to patrol for vampires, hopping off the roof onto the lower section of roof down the line until they had a relatively short drop to the ground. “Is there some reason we have to keep doing this?” Angel asked. “They know you’re the Slayer now. Couldn’t we just walk out the main doors like normal people?”
Buffy rolled her eyes as they crossed into the tree line, their easy lope turning into a steady walking pace now that they were actually in the forest and needed to be more cautious. “For one thing, if we got noticed by one of the prefects, they’d dock points, the rest of the tower would totally shun us for losing points, then I’d have to explain what I was doing out and get permission and all that stuff and it would take forever.” She glanced over at him. “People already think I’m really weird too. At least this way it keeps the weirdness factor down to something ignorable.”
“Jumping out the window is less weird than special permission?” Angel asked sceptically.
And then they were interrupted by a loud snarl and a couple fyarl demons and a vampire came bursting out of the underbrush. As was usual for that kind of demon, the fyarls just slammed headlong into Angel, swinging their arms around with tremendous force although with no real skill as they tried to pummel him into mush. The vampire on the other hand, launched herself at Buffy with a flurry of well-practiced kicks and karate chops that had Buffy struggling as she faced the rare challenge of a vampire as well trained in combat as she was.
It was rare as most vampires were so much stronger than the humans they hunted there was no need to have more than the most rudimentary fighting skills. Most of the time vampires simply relied on faster reflexes, greater strength, heightened senses and the fact that they could take a great deal more damage than the people they were trying to kill. This one wasn’t. In fact, they were quite closely matched and Buffy began to worry about this one. Because not only was Angel somewhat preoccupied with the fyarls, Buffy wasn’t sure that, at this rate, she’d manage to hang on long enough for him to dispose of them.
“What’s the deal?” Buffy asked, “You just leap out at us like that? No warning, no banter,” she got out between swings. “What’s the deal with the demons anyhow?”
“Silence Slayer!” shouted the vampire in the usual melodramatic fashion these meetings took after Buffy didn’t fold like a cheap lawn chair. “You and the Traitor have been destroying the natural order for too long.” With that she launched a spin kick that sent Buffy flying backward. Dimly Buffy heard Angel shout her name as she got to her feet and braced herself for the next attack. But it never came. Instead, there was a lengthy silence and Buffy chanced a look around.
The fight had taken them out of the Forbidden Forest and onto the Hogwarts grounds. The vampire and two demons were staring dumbfounded at the castle that had loomed out of nowhere. Buffy took the momentary pause to stake the vampire, at this point she wasn’t above doing while her opponent’s back was turned, and Angel whipped out the broadsword he’d been carrying from absolutely nowhere and beheaded the Fyarl, then yanked out a knife, also from nowhere and stabbed it through the heart. The other demon took off into the woods too quickly for them to follow.
“Wow,” said Buffy.
Angel pulled her close. “I know. That was too close for comfort,” he told her. “I was terrified when that vampire knocked you down.”
“Yeah, that too,” said the Slayer. “But what I was really wondering was where the hell were you keeping that sword?”
“What?”
“What are you, like the Highlander or something?” she asked as they started back up to the school. “I mean, it was just like, no sword -- whoosh - sword. Ow.” Buffy hissed as Angel’s hand accidentally found the serious bruising on her side.
Angel tugged her over and lifted up her shirt before she could even react. “Oh Buffy. Let’s get you inside. I want to take a better look at that.”
She batted at his hands. “It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt all that much. Probably a cracked rib or something. I’ll be fine by morning. I’ve had ‘em before.”
“Right.” Angel scooped her up, and carried her over to one of the side entrances to the school despite her protests. “Who the devil is this ‘Highlander’ anyhow? Have you been hanging around with some Scottish boy at this school?”
“You are so out of touch with pop culture it’s not even funny,” Buffy groused.
As Angel carried her along the hall, Buffy suddenly realised they weren’t heading toward the tower at all. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
“The school nurse,” he replied. “You’re hurt, and if everything I’ve heard from Harry is right, she’ll fix you up in no time and I won’t have to worry.”
Buffy glared at him from her spot in his arms. “You don’t have to worry now. I’m fine - ow!” she broke off as Angel began trotting up the stairs taking the steps in threes and jostling her a little as he did.
“You wouldn’t be in pain if you were fine. QED,” he said with just a trace of smugness.
“What?”
“Your classical education is so very lacking it’s not even funny,” Angel sniped back at her.
“Meaning what?” Buffy demanded, incensed. And then she noticed they were arriving at the hospital wing doors. “No! No no no no no!” Angel ignored her and walked in. “Angel, I hate hospitals and. . .” she broke off at the sight of Madam Pomfrey who had stepped out of her office.
“What seems to be the trouble?” the mediwitch inquired.
Angel gently laid Buffy down on one of the beds and then held her down to keep her from bolting. “We think she has a cracked rib.”
Buffy’s look at Angel promised dismemberment at a later date.
“Hmm,” began Madam Pomfrey. “You’re right about that.” She turned around and came back with two potions. “Take this one for the ribs, and this sleeping potion. You’ll heal faster if you’re asleep and unable to cause yourself more damage.”
Buffy stared. “Harry’s right. You do like taking people hostage in this place!”
There was a brief pause as Pomfrey glared at her. Then she spoke. “If I could trust that you students would not go hurtling off to damage yourselves again I would be fine with allowing you to leave. As it is, long experience has taught me that, if I do not restrain the students, they will reinjure themselves within a matter of minutes.”
Buffy shot a pleading look at Angel who just said, “Don’t even think it. I’ll sit on you if I have to.”
Thus entrapped, Buffy took the two potions and fell asleep still muttering about that various dire ways she was going to take revenge on her boyfriend for making her spend a night in the hospital.
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Unbeknownst to both Buffy and Angel, they had an audience to their fight. Malfoy was skiving off his prefect duties that evening since he was supposed to be patrolling Slytherin territory. After all, if he caught one of his fellow Slytherins out, he’d have to find a way to avoid taking points off his house. If he didn’t catch anyone to begin with, there was no need to try to justify not having taken those points. So he was simply avoiding the issue by making a quick round or two through the corridors, not scrutinising any unusual sounds too closely and then heading outside to see if he could catch Potter or someone at something outside.
He got considerably more than he’d expected. Following the Summers girl out into the night had gotten him a fascinating eyeful. He’d noticed her when he’d overheard her talking to that muggle boyfriend of hers. She was saying something about not wanting to get caught by prefects and losing points. With the understanding that she was up to something that clearly could lose more than the few points for simply being out of bounds, Draco followed them across the grounds, listening to a conversation about special permission and how weird people already thought Summers was. He was about to go and find a professor to get her in trouble when he realised they were entering the Forbidden Forest.
Draco got that lovely tingle he always got when he knew he was about to make a significant score against his enemies. He followed them in, ignoring his memories of the last time he’d been in the forest. After all, he’d been eleven then and it was hardly becoming to still be frightened six years later. He carefully cast a few silencing spells to cover any sounds he might make and picked up the pace a little so he wouldn’t lose them. He was rewarded for his diligence when he saw some sort of monsters attack Summers and her boyfriend.
But instead of dying the way they ought to have done, the two had the gall to get into flashy fisticuffs with the creatures. One of whom seemed human until a different angle showed Draco that her face was completely inhuman. The fight spilled out of the forest and onto the Hogwarts grounds, where Summers and her boyfriend finally disposed of two out of the three creatures and clearly sent the last one running. It was also clear, after the fight, that the female monster had injured Summers. More than that however, he had seen that her seemingly muggle boyfriend was not muggle at all, but some sort of creature. Clearly of the same species as the female, but just as clearly not allied in any way to her. Most interesting was her reference to Summers’ boyfriend, “Angel” if he recalled correctly, as a traitor. Traitor to what was the question.
Intrigued at this turn of events, Draco turned around and headed back to the Slytherin dorms, intent on writing a letter to his father about the situation. He had written to his father about the chit and her boyfriend before, but he had never seen anything of great significance to her beyond the inexplicable tolerance the staff had for her boyfriend. As such, the regular reports he made to his father, acting as updates to the Dark Lord on the current situation of the school and its inhabitants, had contained merely brief mentions of her. But now that he had seen her fighting those monsters, and that the man he’d previously thought to be a muggle was clearly not even human, he clearly required further investigation.
At least it explained why the man hadn’t been hurt by a three story fall.
In any event, Draco mused as he settled in to write his father, he would send the Dark Lord a report through his father. Perhaps he would even get the glory of the discovery of new allies for their cause. Summers was clearly aligned with the Golden Boy and Dumbledore, which suggested that these creatures might be amenable to some sort of agreement regarding the muggle-lovers, mudbloods and Dumbledore in exchange for the Summers chit and her boyfriend ‘Angel’.
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Back in Sunnydale, Giles mused about how things had changed since Joyce Summers had sent his slayer away to a boarding school at some undisclosed location in Scotland. There was something about that school that rang bells in the back of his mind, but months had passed and Rupert still hadn’t figured out what that was about.
Nonetheless, it was odd working with Kendra now. In spite of the number of times he had complained to Buffy about her unorthodox approach to both slaying and the slayer-watcher relationship, he found himself missing Buffy’s relaxed attitude and more independent style of working. He appreciated the way that Kendra insisted on reporting back to him with every single kill, followed the standard operating procedure to the letter and provided real assistance when it came to research. However, there had been several times where Buffy’s tendency to follow a lead to ground might well have gained them the answers they sought, and the amount of trivia that Kendra provided in terms of details of fights and requests for further instructions were tedious at best.
For example, he had yet to determine who had been providing the sacrifices to the demon Lurconis before Trick had come to town. The site had had all the appearances of a long term sacrificial chamber, but Trick was a newcomer. More than that, everything he had found on the vampire suggested he preferred to take the role of an agent of others, a notion bolstered by his position of aide to Kakistos when he first arrived in Sunnydale. With Buffy’s enthusiasm, she might have succeeded at tracking Trick to the person or thing actually commanding the sacrifices.
Of course, Rupert never had to remind Kendra to show up to practice, or beg her to stop speaking about whatever hormone-infused discussion she had distracted Willow with. But he no longer had anyone to argue about the relative merits of the Bay City Rollers in comparison with Buffy’s horrible techno “music”. He missed that camaraderie. He knew that Cordelia, who had somehow entered the fringes of their little group on a permanent basis, missed having someone there to talk about arcane complexities of female clothing, Willow missed simply having a girl friend and Xander missed having someone around who was a close friend but was as clueless intellectually as he was.
On the other hand, the Hermione Granger Buffy had befriended at her school was a highly entertaining correspondent who had provided some fascinating new directions and areas of research for Rupert. Even if it was all communicated through that blasted machine. Even as he thought this, the machine made a beeping noise which brought Jenny out of the office to check on it. “Rupert, there’s another email for you from Hermione,” she told him.
Rupert eagerly approached the machine, a thought which gave him pause, but shrugged it off. He wasn’t eager for more contact with the benighted monstrosity which had invaded both his library and the sanctity of his home. He was simply interested in what the highly intelligent young woman, who knew how to spell both ‘armour’ and ‘realise’ correctly, had to say.
She was now inquiring into the finer points of fithian demons it turned out. Her friend, Harry, had been approached by several and informed of his heritage. She went on to describe an intriguing ability which the demons claimed came through his demonic heritage (which Hermione claimed had been confirmed by both Buffy and Angel - through psychic ability and scent respectively) but which had previously been believed to be the result of some sort of magical connection between this Harry and another magician who had attempted to kill the young man as a baby.
Rupert was soon delving into his tomes, happy to have something to distract him from the research he’d been doing lately on Mr. Trick. This was extremely interesting and was giving him the opportunity to look through some of the books he kept as reference material that he hardly ever used.
It was later that evening, on receiving a call from Quentin Travers, bloody arrogant twat that he was, the Giles realised what a boon Buffy’s unexpected relocation from Sunnydale truly was. In all the excitement of his time on the Hellmouth, he’d forgotten about the Cruciamentum. With Buffy located someplace away from the Council’s jurisdiction, there was no one who would be able to give her the necessary injections to weaken her. There would be no test on her eighteenth birthday, which would give him time to find a way to talk the Council out of such a self-destructive practice.
Because for some reason, the Watcher’s Council couldn’t find Buffy at all. She was seemingly behind some very powerful wards that kept any of their magics from penetrating. Moreover, wherever Buffy was, it wasn’t in any official files the Council could find.
Several panicked emails later, Buffy had responded, reassuring Rupert that she was in no danger, using some sort of bizarre internet telephone system. He hadn’t realised until right then, just how much he’d missed hearing Buffy maul the English language.
It was broken and difficult to catch everything, but Buffy explained that she was at a school that, unbeknownst to her mother, was actually a school intended to teach magic and other occult studies. Rupert actually got onto the computer after the call ended to write a scathing letter to Buffy for not telling her friends and himself that she was at such a school.
Then he added a letter to Hermione which contained all the information she had requested on the topic of fithian demons and emailed it. Then he realised he had spent most of an evening sitting at one of those dreadful machines that were bound to be the end of the written word as he knew it and informed his very amused wife in no uncertain terms that he was never doing that again. Jenny comforted her . . . distraught spouse and then crept off to email all her internet buddies (and Willow) in glee that Fort Giles had succumbed to the wiles of the internet.
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Harry had completely ignored Hermione’s advice and had emailed Issithiass over the past couple days, happily exchanging chatty letters about his classes and friends, Issithias’ new hatchlings and the online adventure game company Harry’s cousin ran with some other members of the clan and a couple other peaceable demons.
Buffy, meanwhile, had been drafted to teach Harry to ‘hone’ his senses. Angel had heard this news and promptly found himself stifling unmanly giggles at the idea of Buffy teaching anyone else how to reach their mystical potential.
“What?” Buffy demanded irritably of her boyfriend.
Angel raised an eyebrow. “I’m not saying you don’t have a good grasp of your Slayer psychic abilities,” he told her, “It’s simply that you tend to express them as clothing critique.” Completely immune to her glares promising death and dismemberment, Angel continued. “Why do you think Giles never understands when you’re having a moment of Slayer-related warning?”
She glared and began to storm off in a huff. “Just because I happen to notice something I can point at to prove that the person I’m planning to stake is a vampire does not mean that my senses ‘express themselves’ in clothing.”
“I think it’s one of the things that makes you an individual and it’s part of why I love you,” Angel told her as he easily kept up with her much shorter stride.
When they arrived at the empty classroom the Harry had preempted for the purposes of practicing his demonic talents, Angel settled off to the side. Harry raised an eyebrow at him and asked, “Why are you here?”
Buffy answered. “Angel is unusual as far as psychic readings go,” she explained. “So am I, for that matter. The thing is, it’s easier to start using your sixth sense on something weird, than trying to use it to pick out one thing when that thing is like everything else around.” She shot a warning look at Angel, then said, “The other thing you’re going to want to do is figure out how you sense things.”
Harry interrupted at that point. “I thought you were going to be teaching me that,” he protested.
Buffy shook her head. “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “Willow said that when she’s doing spells, wicca-style, she feels the magic floating around her like water. Demons and stuff like that feel like stagnant icky swampwater to her,” Buffy told him. “I talked to Ms Calendar once, and she said that various magickal energies felt like wind, different kinds of winds meaning different things. Kendra looks at vampires and demons and stuff and she says it’s like she can see a sort of slimy dirt all over them.”
Angel broke in with a slight smirk. “And when Buffy sees a vampire, she sees the failures in their taste in clothing,” he told Harry. “It’s all about what is important to you and how you perceive people. The things you notice.”
Buffy glared at Angel. “The shoulder pads so totally screamed predator and you know it,” she groused at her honey.
Harry suppressed a smile, instead choosing to nod thoughtfully. “From what you’re saying though, I’d probably have sensed things before now, but perceived them as being some other thing,” he said slowly. “Due to Buffy’s obsession with clothing, she interpreted her reactions to vampires and such as reactions to clothing.” Buffy glared at Angel, then Harry, clearly feeling she was being ganged up on.
“Anyways,” Buffy cut in, “First, you’re going to have to learn how to use your sixth sense. So, what you wanna do first, is get comfortable, then close your eyes and just start listening.”
The wizard nodded, and started to get comfortable, but asked, “Why?”
“Simple,” the Slayer told him. “Most people, especially you, Mr. Seeker-man, use their eyes the most out of their senses. By cutting them out, you’re having to focus on the senses you use less. While you’re focussing on them, you’ll start to get the feeling like you’re hearing or smelling things, but not things you can ID clearly. Sort of like seeing something out of the corner of your eye. You have to focus and let everything wash over you, let stuff jump out at you on its own. You’ll know what’s important ‘cause you’ll start focussing on that.” She smiled at him. “That’s the first step. Can you feel anything weird when you’re totally focussed on just sensing if there’s something weird?”
Harry nodded. “And then?”
She shook her head at him. “What we’re aiming for is for you to walk into a room and know, without looking, that there’s something bogus there. But that comes later. First, you gotta know where the sixth sense is in your brain and how to get at it.”
He nodded again and said, “Right.” Then he settled in comfortably and closed his eyes.
Buffy let him settle in and then said in a soft voice, “I want you to keep your eyes closed and just feel. Don’t focus on what you hear, smell, taste, or what your body can feel. Focus on the inside of your head. You need to feel your mind reaching out, letting your instincts guide you. It’s all about instincts. Hermione said that you’ve had some experience with people poking around your brain. You know what the difference between your own thoughts and external feelings and thought are. Let that feeling of something that’s not you intruding in your head be your focus.
“Now just breathe, and let it come. You’ll know when it does.”
Buffy and Angel watched, as Harry sat there for about five minutes, seemingly meditating. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he stared at Buffy, shock written all over his face. “Buffy?” he said hesitantly.
“Yeah,” her voice had a questioning note to it.
He swallowed. “I can see . . . there’s so much power, but it’s not . . . accessible, the way your magic is. I . . .” Then he blinked. “It’s gone now. I didn’t think I’d see . . . I mean, I didn’t think you had so much power,” Harry said. “You’re not . . . erm . . .”
“A normal mystical vessel?” Angel asked, slightly amused. He ignored Buffy’s glare. “Personally, I think it’s a result of her power. Buffy has so much she doesn’t have to spend her time giving herself an aura of power to make up for it.”
Buffy stuck her tongue out at him. “Or maybe it’s ‘cause I don’t wanna spend all my time talking like Giles.”
Harry shook his head in amazement. “But the things you must be able to . . . feel,” he said softly. “And yet you act like everyone else.”
“You’ve seen Voldemort face to face more times than most people, you fought off his spirit when you were only eleven and you’ve got this prophecy about you and him,” Buffy said. “But I don’t see you hanging around acting all weird and like you think you’re a mystical whosit.” Her lips curled up slightly at the corner.
Harry was about to respond when he understood. “We’re both normal,” he said in wonder. “We just have these abilities we’ve been forced to take on.”
Buffy grinned at him. “Exactly.” Then she raised an eyebrow. “Now that you know what it feels like to find your centre, how about you try meditating again and see if you can get there faster. And maybe even see what you think of how Angel’s soul looks.”
“Right,” said The-Boy-Who-Lived.
The next couple hours were taken up with Buffy taking Harry through meditation until he could fall into a meditative state to see peoples’ auras almost immediately. By the end of that time he was getting a little tired, but he was showing a lot of progress.
“Well, you’re faster at this than I was,” Buffy told him.
Angel smirked from behind her. “That’s because you were always being difficult for Merrick and Giles,” he told her. “Once you actually tried, you picked it up fast.”
“Pfft,” she waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “Once they started talking American instead of crazy old guy British I picked it up.” She stuck her nose in the air and started speaking with a truly horrendous ‘British’ accent. “Buffy, you must hone your senses to their keenest and let the essence of the demonic presence wash over you.” She reverted to her normal voice. “Blah blah, I’m so British give me a scone,” she finished.
Harry couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped him. “’I’m so British, give me a scone’?” he asked. “Do all Americans think of us that way, or is it just her?” he asked Angel.
“I’m really not sure. Then again, the number of times Xander’s asked me about the Lucky Charms leprechaun just because I’m Irish-“
Buffy rolled her eyes and interrupted her boyfriend. “He does it because he knows it annoys you. It’s the same reason you like to sit at the Bronze and stare at his neck and deny it.”
“I do that because it makes him leave,” Angel said. “That boy is the most annoying person I’ve ever met and I include Spike from back in the day when he kept getting us stuck in mineshafts because he let the whole damn village know we were vampires.”
“Well, that’s not surprising what with what he did on parent-teacher night,” said Buffy. “Stupid vampire.”
She hadn’t told him this story yet. “Who’s Spike?” Harry asked.
Buffy rolled her eyes in remembered annoyance. “He’s a vampire who looks a lot like Billy Idol. The first time I fought him was when Snyder decided that I was too much of a delinquent and made me and this other girl organise everything for parent-teacher night at the school.” Buffy shook her head. “Me. Delinquent. I burn down one school gym and people compare me to the girl who stabbed her teacher with pruning shears.”
The gaggle of Ravenclaws passing by heard this comment and collectively turned and stared at her as they passed, suddenly completely silent.
“What?” Buffy asked.
At that point the Ravenclaws chose to speed up as a group and hurtle off down another corridor. Angel sighed and shook his head at her. “You just admitted to burning down a school building once, Buffy.”
“So? It’s not like anyone paid attention before,” she told him with a glare.
Angel chuckled. “Buffy, it’s half of what your schoolmates in Sunnydale gossip about. They just don’t do it within your earshot because they’re afraid of you.”
“Hmmph.”
Harry poked her. “What happened with Spike?” he asked. So Buffy told him about parent-teacher night and Spike pushing the date of St. Vigeous forward and Angel talked about getting to annoy Xander back by pretending he was going to kill him. That led to a discussion of who was more annoying, Xander or Cordelia.
They walked back to Gryffindor tower, amiably bickering the whole way about who the most annoying people were in their circle of friends and with friendly sniping between Buffy and Harry about whose English was sillier.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9
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Notes: I’ve made up the demons, I’ve made up the words and I’m working on making it sound sort of parseltongue-y. And if you really want to know, I do intend for the demons to have something to do with things. I’ll be taking bits of HBP and DH, but not much for the final resolution.
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Petunia flung an arm at Harry, “Yes. Take him. Take him and keep your damn freakish ways away from me!”
At that Harry felt the world spin briefly. “Take me? Take me where? And why?”
“You did not tell him?” inquired the apparent spokesperson. There was a hissed undertone to his words that become apparent the more he spoke.
“I want nothing to do with you . . . things!” snarled Petunia. A rumble of anger made its way through the group of demons. She didn’t even seem to notice the violent mood that sprang up at her words. “I just want to be normal! Why is that too much to ask? Why do all you damn freaks keep thinking us normal folk want to be like you!?”
Before the muttering group of snakeskinned demons could attack, Harry intervened. “What is it Aunt Petunia is supposed to have told me? Where am I supposed to be taken and why?”
The leader of the demons let out a hissing sigh. “Humans call us fithian demons. We are of the Silasseth clan. The Asselifess,” he explained.
Harry frowned. “Those who feel the selves of others?”
“So you have already begun to gain the gifts of your heritage,” the spokesman seemed delighted. “Already you can speak the tongue of our people.”
At that Petunia huffed and snarled, “I don’t care what so-called gifts the freak has. You have what you want, now all of you get out of my house and never darken my doorstep again.”
Before the muttering could restart Harry sighed and turned to the leader again. “Since you know who I am and all that, will you leave Aunt Petunia alone now? I expect everyone will be happier if the Dursleys don’t have to put up with any more paranormal stuff.”
“Of course lissihess. There is no reason for us to remain now that we have found you.” He turned and gestured for the others to leave.
As Harry and a much bemused Hermione turned to follow the demons out Petunia grabbed Harry’s arm and snarled at him. “I had best never see your freakishness again. Do you understand me? You and your sheer ungrateful . . .” With those words Hermione cracked and whipped out her wand. The next few seconds her hands and voice were a virtual blur as hex after hex left her wand. By the time she was done Petunia’s perfectly white living room with its monochromatic glory of expensive designer decorations were a multicoloured mishmash of kitch and Petunia had been turned into a large hedgehog wearing a clown wig and big floppy shoes on each foot. Harry stared at Hermione.
“Forget moral superiority and the right thing,” she said in response to his look. “That . . . woman . . . deserves whatever she gets.”
“But a hedgehog Hermione? And how long will it last?”
“Well I suppose I could have done an ostrich, it would have been more appropriate, but Buffy’s potion inspired me.” She turned and started walking away. “And the transfiguration will revert a few hours after your uncle and cousin return home, but the charms on the living room will stay for as long as the Dursleys live here. It will automatically transform overnight back to this no matter what they do to replace the furniture and decorations.”
Harry gave her an impressed look and a smile. “You are frightening Hermione.”
“Thank you.”
************************************
In spite of Harry’s interest in what the demons wanted from him or with him, they wouldn’t tell him anything until they were somewhere deemed ‘safe’ by the clan. However, eventually Harry, Hermione and some very disgruntled witches and wizards there to protect Harry from any errant Death Eaters he stumbled across were all ensconced in a nearby greenhouse with the fithian demons.
Hermione spoke first. “What was that you called Harry before? Liss . . . something?”
“It means . . . something like beloved child I think,” Harry replied. “It’s a lot like the parseltongue word for hatchling.”
The one who was at least the spokesperson, if not the leader, started to explain. “I am Issithiass. We have been seeking you for quite a long time lissihess.”
“But why?” Harry asked. “I mean, is there some particular reason? Something you need from me-“
He was interrupted by a spate of hissing from the gathered fithians. “There is nothing we need of you,” Issithiass told him. “You are of our clan. It is that simple. We merely wish to grant you the opportunity to become one of our clan in truth rather than merely by descent. When the clan shaman spoke of a child born of a line which had left our clan for the human world, one who had the powers of the Asselifess, we wished to care for him . . . you.”
Harry blinked briefly and then asked again. “There’s nothing you want of me? You just want . . . wanted to . . . to raise me? As a member of the clan? Of the family?” He began to frown slightly. “I mean, you’re sure? You’re not trying to-“
Issithiass interrupted with a derisive-sounding hiss. “To lie to you? To tell you we wished one thing when we wished another? No. It is not our way to do such a thing. If we merely wished your presence for assistance of some kind we would have approached you with offers of exchange.”
Slowly, a smile crept over Harry’s face. Hermione took a deep breath. She knew that this was something Harry had always wanted. Family that wanted him around because he was family and not just because of what he could do for them. She also knew that Harry had never quite felt like the Weasleys were his family or her, or anyone else. The number of times he had been relied on as the only person who could save them left him feeling somewhat like his only worth lay in being The-Boy-Who-Lived. If these demons were telling the truth, then Harry truly had what he wanted.
But therein lay the problem. Were they telling the truth? Did they truly want him because he was blood kin, or did they have some other purpose that they couldn’t know. Already Harry was walking among the fithians, exchanging friendly-looking parseltongue words with them. The aurors guarding them looked uncomfortable and Hermione knew that she had to step in. “Harry? I know you want to spend more time here, but we do have to get back to Hogwarts.”
“But Hermione, I . . .” He caught her look and understood she had other reasons to ask beyond merely wanting to get back to classes. “You’re right, of course.” He turned back to Issithiass. “Is there a particular way I can contact you? I have friends that I have to tell about you and I am in my last year at boarding school.”
The demon smiled, looking surprisingly benevolent despite the fangs visible in his mouth. “Of course you wish to inform your friends, and I would never wish you to be forced away from the path you are on solely at our whim. As to contact, let me give you my email address,” he said, “Just because I am a demon does not mean that I cannot use a computer.”
A couple minutes later they were on their way to a parkette nearby where they would be out of sight to use the portkey back to Hogwarts. The moment they were settled on their feet, Hermione was darting off to Gryffindor tower with Harry hot on her heels wondering what had her so anxious. As they cleared the portrait entrance to the common room, Hermione made a beeline for Buffy and demanded to use her email. “I need to speak with Mr. Giles immediately,” she insisted.
Harry frowned. “Why? You’re not . . . Issithiass isn’t evil Hermione!” He said as he suddenly understood what she was doing.
“How do you know?” She demanded. “Harry, I understand how much you want family, and I know he seemed very nice. But how can you be so certain he’s not just trying to trick you. Just because he said they wouldn’t doesn’t mean they actually wouldn’t.”
“What happened?” Ron demanded. So while Hermione tapped away at the keyboard, writing a letter to Giles asking for all the information he had on fithian demons, Harry told them about the trip to Surrey. By the time he finished, Buffy was squinting at him a little, her head tilted sideways, and Angel’s nostrils were flared as though testing Harry’s scent.
“What?” Harry asked, a little twitchy at the close scrutiny.
Angel shook himself a little and replied, “Now that you’ve brought it up, I can tell that you’re not completely human.” He shook his head a little. “It’s hard to pick out because there are so many things around here I’ve never encountered, the oddity gets a little lost in the shuffle.”
“It’s true,” Buffy agreed as she stopped the disconcerting stare in Harry’s direction. “I can tell there’s something off about you normally, but I couldn’t tell how much of that was from your curse scar and stuff and how much was other stuff.” She shrugged. “Now that I know about the demon part of you I can tell it’s there and stuff, but if you hadn’t told me I would never have figured it out.”
Harry sighed in resignation. “Do you know anything about fithian demons Buffy?” he inquired.
“They’re definitely not known for causing any sort of trouble,” Angel responded in her place. “I do know that I’ve never heard much bad about them.” He frowned slightly. “I had heard something about them having some sort of psychic abilities, but never anything specific.”
Perking up from her letter, Hermione said, “Didn’t Issithiass say something about seeing peoples’ thoughts or some such?” she asked Harry.
“The Asselifess. Those who see the selves of others. Roughly,” Harry said. “But I got the feeling it related to something more than just thoughts or feelings. It’s more like . . .” He paused, searching for the right words. “Like seeing souls,” he finished.
That gained him some wide-eyes stares from the others, except for Hermione who was now adding further details to her lengthy email to Giles.
Buffy abruptly stood. “Okay, so right now we don’t know anything and we have to wait until Giles gets back to Hermione before Harry’s going to do anything in particular. Right?” she turned to Harry, who, a little reluctantly, nodded back. “Then I’m going to go hunting. Join me Angel?” she asked her boyfriend. He nodded and stood as well. That signalled an end to the whole discussion and Harry and Ginny broke off to snuggle in a corner, Hermione headed straight for the library to see what she could dig up on fithian demons, and Ron wandered about, looking for someone foolish enough to challenge him at a game of chess.
As the others were settling in for a quiet evening in Gryffindor tower, Buffy and Angel were using Buffy’s usual escape route for heading out to patrol for vampires, hopping off the roof onto the lower section of roof down the line until they had a relatively short drop to the ground. “Is there some reason we have to keep doing this?” Angel asked. “They know you’re the Slayer now. Couldn’t we just walk out the main doors like normal people?”
Buffy rolled her eyes as they crossed into the tree line, their easy lope turning into a steady walking pace now that they were actually in the forest and needed to be more cautious. “For one thing, if we got noticed by one of the prefects, they’d dock points, the rest of the tower would totally shun us for losing points, then I’d have to explain what I was doing out and get permission and all that stuff and it would take forever.” She glanced over at him. “People already think I’m really weird too. At least this way it keeps the weirdness factor down to something ignorable.”
“Jumping out the window is less weird than special permission?” Angel asked sceptically.
And then they were interrupted by a loud snarl and a couple fyarl demons and a vampire came bursting out of the underbrush. As was usual for that kind of demon, the fyarls just slammed headlong into Angel, swinging their arms around with tremendous force although with no real skill as they tried to pummel him into mush. The vampire on the other hand, launched herself at Buffy with a flurry of well-practiced kicks and karate chops that had Buffy struggling as she faced the rare challenge of a vampire as well trained in combat as she was.
It was rare as most vampires were so much stronger than the humans they hunted there was no need to have more than the most rudimentary fighting skills. Most of the time vampires simply relied on faster reflexes, greater strength, heightened senses and the fact that they could take a great deal more damage than the people they were trying to kill. This one wasn’t. In fact, they were quite closely matched and Buffy began to worry about this one. Because not only was Angel somewhat preoccupied with the fyarls, Buffy wasn’t sure that, at this rate, she’d manage to hang on long enough for him to dispose of them.
“What’s the deal?” Buffy asked, “You just leap out at us like that? No warning, no banter,” she got out between swings. “What’s the deal with the demons anyhow?”
“Silence Slayer!” shouted the vampire in the usual melodramatic fashion these meetings took after Buffy didn’t fold like a cheap lawn chair. “You and the Traitor have been destroying the natural order for too long.” With that she launched a spin kick that sent Buffy flying backward. Dimly Buffy heard Angel shout her name as she got to her feet and braced herself for the next attack. But it never came. Instead, there was a lengthy silence and Buffy chanced a look around.
The fight had taken them out of the Forbidden Forest and onto the Hogwarts grounds. The vampire and two demons were staring dumbfounded at the castle that had loomed out of nowhere. Buffy took the momentary pause to stake the vampire, at this point she wasn’t above doing while her opponent’s back was turned, and Angel whipped out the broadsword he’d been carrying from absolutely nowhere and beheaded the Fyarl, then yanked out a knife, also from nowhere and stabbed it through the heart. The other demon took off into the woods too quickly for them to follow.
“Wow,” said Buffy.
Angel pulled her close. “I know. That was too close for comfort,” he told her. “I was terrified when that vampire knocked you down.”
“Yeah, that too,” said the Slayer. “But what I was really wondering was where the hell were you keeping that sword?”
“What?”
“What are you, like the Highlander or something?” she asked as they started back up to the school. “I mean, it was just like, no sword -- whoosh - sword. Ow.” Buffy hissed as Angel’s hand accidentally found the serious bruising on her side.
Angel tugged her over and lifted up her shirt before she could even react. “Oh Buffy. Let’s get you inside. I want to take a better look at that.”
She batted at his hands. “It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt all that much. Probably a cracked rib or something. I’ll be fine by morning. I’ve had ‘em before.”
“Right.” Angel scooped her up, and carried her over to one of the side entrances to the school despite her protests. “Who the devil is this ‘Highlander’ anyhow? Have you been hanging around with some Scottish boy at this school?”
“You are so out of touch with pop culture it’s not even funny,” Buffy groused.
As Angel carried her along the hall, Buffy suddenly realised they weren’t heading toward the tower at all. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
“The school nurse,” he replied. “You’re hurt, and if everything I’ve heard from Harry is right, she’ll fix you up in no time and I won’t have to worry.”
Buffy glared at him from her spot in his arms. “You don’t have to worry now. I’m fine - ow!” she broke off as Angel began trotting up the stairs taking the steps in threes and jostling her a little as he did.
“You wouldn’t be in pain if you were fine. QED,” he said with just a trace of smugness.
“What?”
“Your classical education is so very lacking it’s not even funny,” Angel sniped back at her.
“Meaning what?” Buffy demanded, incensed. And then she noticed they were arriving at the hospital wing doors. “No! No no no no no!” Angel ignored her and walked in. “Angel, I hate hospitals and. . .” she broke off at the sight of Madam Pomfrey who had stepped out of her office.
“What seems to be the trouble?” the mediwitch inquired.
Angel gently laid Buffy down on one of the beds and then held her down to keep her from bolting. “We think she has a cracked rib.”
Buffy’s look at Angel promised dismemberment at a later date.
“Hmm,” began Madam Pomfrey. “You’re right about that.” She turned around and came back with two potions. “Take this one for the ribs, and this sleeping potion. You’ll heal faster if you’re asleep and unable to cause yourself more damage.”
Buffy stared. “Harry’s right. You do like taking people hostage in this place!”
There was a brief pause as Pomfrey glared at her. Then she spoke. “If I could trust that you students would not go hurtling off to damage yourselves again I would be fine with allowing you to leave. As it is, long experience has taught me that, if I do not restrain the students, they will reinjure themselves within a matter of minutes.”
Buffy shot a pleading look at Angel who just said, “Don’t even think it. I’ll sit on you if I have to.”
Thus entrapped, Buffy took the two potions and fell asleep still muttering about that various dire ways she was going to take revenge on her boyfriend for making her spend a night in the hospital.
*********************************************
Unbeknownst to both Buffy and Angel, they had an audience to their fight. Malfoy was skiving off his prefect duties that evening since he was supposed to be patrolling Slytherin territory. After all, if he caught one of his fellow Slytherins out, he’d have to find a way to avoid taking points off his house. If he didn’t catch anyone to begin with, there was no need to try to justify not having taken those points. So he was simply avoiding the issue by making a quick round or two through the corridors, not scrutinising any unusual sounds too closely and then heading outside to see if he could catch Potter or someone at something outside.
He got considerably more than he’d expected. Following the Summers girl out into the night had gotten him a fascinating eyeful. He’d noticed her when he’d overheard her talking to that muggle boyfriend of hers. She was saying something about not wanting to get caught by prefects and losing points. With the understanding that she was up to something that clearly could lose more than the few points for simply being out of bounds, Draco followed them across the grounds, listening to a conversation about special permission and how weird people already thought Summers was. He was about to go and find a professor to get her in trouble when he realised they were entering the Forbidden Forest.
Draco got that lovely tingle he always got when he knew he was about to make a significant score against his enemies. He followed them in, ignoring his memories of the last time he’d been in the forest. After all, he’d been eleven then and it was hardly becoming to still be frightened six years later. He carefully cast a few silencing spells to cover any sounds he might make and picked up the pace a little so he wouldn’t lose them. He was rewarded for his diligence when he saw some sort of monsters attack Summers and her boyfriend.
But instead of dying the way they ought to have done, the two had the gall to get into flashy fisticuffs with the creatures. One of whom seemed human until a different angle showed Draco that her face was completely inhuman. The fight spilled out of the forest and onto the Hogwarts grounds, where Summers and her boyfriend finally disposed of two out of the three creatures and clearly sent the last one running. It was also clear, after the fight, that the female monster had injured Summers. More than that however, he had seen that her seemingly muggle boyfriend was not muggle at all, but some sort of creature. Clearly of the same species as the female, but just as clearly not allied in any way to her. Most interesting was her reference to Summers’ boyfriend, “Angel” if he recalled correctly, as a traitor. Traitor to what was the question.
Intrigued at this turn of events, Draco turned around and headed back to the Slytherin dorms, intent on writing a letter to his father about the situation. He had written to his father about the chit and her boyfriend before, but he had never seen anything of great significance to her beyond the inexplicable tolerance the staff had for her boyfriend. As such, the regular reports he made to his father, acting as updates to the Dark Lord on the current situation of the school and its inhabitants, had contained merely brief mentions of her. But now that he had seen her fighting those monsters, and that the man he’d previously thought to be a muggle was clearly not even human, he clearly required further investigation.
At least it explained why the man hadn’t been hurt by a three story fall.
In any event, Draco mused as he settled in to write his father, he would send the Dark Lord a report through his father. Perhaps he would even get the glory of the discovery of new allies for their cause. Summers was clearly aligned with the Golden Boy and Dumbledore, which suggested that these creatures might be amenable to some sort of agreement regarding the muggle-lovers, mudbloods and Dumbledore in exchange for the Summers chit and her boyfriend ‘Angel’.
***************************
Back in Sunnydale, Giles mused about how things had changed since Joyce Summers had sent his slayer away to a boarding school at some undisclosed location in Scotland. There was something about that school that rang bells in the back of his mind, but months had passed and Rupert still hadn’t figured out what that was about.
Nonetheless, it was odd working with Kendra now. In spite of the number of times he had complained to Buffy about her unorthodox approach to both slaying and the slayer-watcher relationship, he found himself missing Buffy’s relaxed attitude and more independent style of working. He appreciated the way that Kendra insisted on reporting back to him with every single kill, followed the standard operating procedure to the letter and provided real assistance when it came to research. However, there had been several times where Buffy’s tendency to follow a lead to ground might well have gained them the answers they sought, and the amount of trivia that Kendra provided in terms of details of fights and requests for further instructions were tedious at best.
For example, he had yet to determine who had been providing the sacrifices to the demon Lurconis before Trick had come to town. The site had had all the appearances of a long term sacrificial chamber, but Trick was a newcomer. More than that, everything he had found on the vampire suggested he preferred to take the role of an agent of others, a notion bolstered by his position of aide to Kakistos when he first arrived in Sunnydale. With Buffy’s enthusiasm, she might have succeeded at tracking Trick to the person or thing actually commanding the sacrifices.
Of course, Rupert never had to remind Kendra to show up to practice, or beg her to stop speaking about whatever hormone-infused discussion she had distracted Willow with. But he no longer had anyone to argue about the relative merits of the Bay City Rollers in comparison with Buffy’s horrible techno “music”. He missed that camaraderie. He knew that Cordelia, who had somehow entered the fringes of their little group on a permanent basis, missed having someone there to talk about arcane complexities of female clothing, Willow missed simply having a girl friend and Xander missed having someone around who was a close friend but was as clueless intellectually as he was.
On the other hand, the Hermione Granger Buffy had befriended at her school was a highly entertaining correspondent who had provided some fascinating new directions and areas of research for Rupert. Even if it was all communicated through that blasted machine. Even as he thought this, the machine made a beeping noise which brought Jenny out of the office to check on it. “Rupert, there’s another email for you from Hermione,” she told him.
Rupert eagerly approached the machine, a thought which gave him pause, but shrugged it off. He wasn’t eager for more contact with the benighted monstrosity which had invaded both his library and the sanctity of his home. He was simply interested in what the highly intelligent young woman, who knew how to spell both ‘armour’ and ‘realise’ correctly, had to say.
She was now inquiring into the finer points of fithian demons it turned out. Her friend, Harry, had been approached by several and informed of his heritage. She went on to describe an intriguing ability which the demons claimed came through his demonic heritage (which Hermione claimed had been confirmed by both Buffy and Angel - through psychic ability and scent respectively) but which had previously been believed to be the result of some sort of magical connection between this Harry and another magician who had attempted to kill the young man as a baby.
Rupert was soon delving into his tomes, happy to have something to distract him from the research he’d been doing lately on Mr. Trick. This was extremely interesting and was giving him the opportunity to look through some of the books he kept as reference material that he hardly ever used.
It was later that evening, on receiving a call from Quentin Travers, bloody arrogant twat that he was, the Giles realised what a boon Buffy’s unexpected relocation from Sunnydale truly was. In all the excitement of his time on the Hellmouth, he’d forgotten about the Cruciamentum. With Buffy located someplace away from the Council’s jurisdiction, there was no one who would be able to give her the necessary injections to weaken her. There would be no test on her eighteenth birthday, which would give him time to find a way to talk the Council out of such a self-destructive practice.
Because for some reason, the Watcher’s Council couldn’t find Buffy at all. She was seemingly behind some very powerful wards that kept any of their magics from penetrating. Moreover, wherever Buffy was, it wasn’t in any official files the Council could find.
Several panicked emails later, Buffy had responded, reassuring Rupert that she was in no danger, using some sort of bizarre internet telephone system. He hadn’t realised until right then, just how much he’d missed hearing Buffy maul the English language.
It was broken and difficult to catch everything, but Buffy explained that she was at a school that, unbeknownst to her mother, was actually a school intended to teach magic and other occult studies. Rupert actually got onto the computer after the call ended to write a scathing letter to Buffy for not telling her friends and himself that she was at such a school.
Then he added a letter to Hermione which contained all the information she had requested on the topic of fithian demons and emailed it. Then he realised he had spent most of an evening sitting at one of those dreadful machines that were bound to be the end of the written word as he knew it and informed his very amused wife in no uncertain terms that he was never doing that again. Jenny comforted her . . . distraught spouse and then crept off to email all her internet buddies (and Willow) in glee that Fort Giles had succumbed to the wiles of the internet.
*****************************
Harry had completely ignored Hermione’s advice and had emailed Issithiass over the past couple days, happily exchanging chatty letters about his classes and friends, Issithias’ new hatchlings and the online adventure game company Harry’s cousin ran with some other members of the clan and a couple other peaceable demons.
Buffy, meanwhile, had been drafted to teach Harry to ‘hone’ his senses. Angel had heard this news and promptly found himself stifling unmanly giggles at the idea of Buffy teaching anyone else how to reach their mystical potential.
“What?” Buffy demanded irritably of her boyfriend.
Angel raised an eyebrow. “I’m not saying you don’t have a good grasp of your Slayer psychic abilities,” he told her, “It’s simply that you tend to express them as clothing critique.” Completely immune to her glares promising death and dismemberment, Angel continued. “Why do you think Giles never understands when you’re having a moment of Slayer-related warning?”
She glared and began to storm off in a huff. “Just because I happen to notice something I can point at to prove that the person I’m planning to stake is a vampire does not mean that my senses ‘express themselves’ in clothing.”
“I think it’s one of the things that makes you an individual and it’s part of why I love you,” Angel told her as he easily kept up with her much shorter stride.
When they arrived at the empty classroom the Harry had preempted for the purposes of practicing his demonic talents, Angel settled off to the side. Harry raised an eyebrow at him and asked, “Why are you here?”
Buffy answered. “Angel is unusual as far as psychic readings go,” she explained. “So am I, for that matter. The thing is, it’s easier to start using your sixth sense on something weird, than trying to use it to pick out one thing when that thing is like everything else around.” She shot a warning look at Angel, then said, “The other thing you’re going to want to do is figure out how you sense things.”
Harry interrupted at that point. “I thought you were going to be teaching me that,” he protested.
Buffy shook her head. “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “Willow said that when she’s doing spells, wicca-style, she feels the magic floating around her like water. Demons and stuff like that feel like stagnant icky swampwater to her,” Buffy told him. “I talked to Ms Calendar once, and she said that various magickal energies felt like wind, different kinds of winds meaning different things. Kendra looks at vampires and demons and stuff and she says it’s like she can see a sort of slimy dirt all over them.”
Angel broke in with a slight smirk. “And when Buffy sees a vampire, she sees the failures in their taste in clothing,” he told Harry. “It’s all about what is important to you and how you perceive people. The things you notice.”
Buffy glared at Angel. “The shoulder pads so totally screamed predator and you know it,” she groused at her honey.
Harry suppressed a smile, instead choosing to nod thoughtfully. “From what you’re saying though, I’d probably have sensed things before now, but perceived them as being some other thing,” he said slowly. “Due to Buffy’s obsession with clothing, she interpreted her reactions to vampires and such as reactions to clothing.” Buffy glared at Angel, then Harry, clearly feeling she was being ganged up on.
“Anyways,” Buffy cut in, “First, you’re going to have to learn how to use your sixth sense. So, what you wanna do first, is get comfortable, then close your eyes and just start listening.”
The wizard nodded, and started to get comfortable, but asked, “Why?”
“Simple,” the Slayer told him. “Most people, especially you, Mr. Seeker-man, use their eyes the most out of their senses. By cutting them out, you’re having to focus on the senses you use less. While you’re focussing on them, you’ll start to get the feeling like you’re hearing or smelling things, but not things you can ID clearly. Sort of like seeing something out of the corner of your eye. You have to focus and let everything wash over you, let stuff jump out at you on its own. You’ll know what’s important ‘cause you’ll start focussing on that.” She smiled at him. “That’s the first step. Can you feel anything weird when you’re totally focussed on just sensing if there’s something weird?”
Harry nodded. “And then?”
She shook her head at him. “What we’re aiming for is for you to walk into a room and know, without looking, that there’s something bogus there. But that comes later. First, you gotta know where the sixth sense is in your brain and how to get at it.”
He nodded again and said, “Right.” Then he settled in comfortably and closed his eyes.
Buffy let him settle in and then said in a soft voice, “I want you to keep your eyes closed and just feel. Don’t focus on what you hear, smell, taste, or what your body can feel. Focus on the inside of your head. You need to feel your mind reaching out, letting your instincts guide you. It’s all about instincts. Hermione said that you’ve had some experience with people poking around your brain. You know what the difference between your own thoughts and external feelings and thought are. Let that feeling of something that’s not you intruding in your head be your focus.
“Now just breathe, and let it come. You’ll know when it does.”
Buffy and Angel watched, as Harry sat there for about five minutes, seemingly meditating. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he stared at Buffy, shock written all over his face. “Buffy?” he said hesitantly.
“Yeah,” her voice had a questioning note to it.
He swallowed. “I can see . . . there’s so much power, but it’s not . . . accessible, the way your magic is. I . . .” Then he blinked. “It’s gone now. I didn’t think I’d see . . . I mean, I didn’t think you had so much power,” Harry said. “You’re not . . . erm . . .”
“A normal mystical vessel?” Angel asked, slightly amused. He ignored Buffy’s glare. “Personally, I think it’s a result of her power. Buffy has so much she doesn’t have to spend her time giving herself an aura of power to make up for it.”
Buffy stuck her tongue out at him. “Or maybe it’s ‘cause I don’t wanna spend all my time talking like Giles.”
Harry shook his head in amazement. “But the things you must be able to . . . feel,” he said softly. “And yet you act like everyone else.”
“You’ve seen Voldemort face to face more times than most people, you fought off his spirit when you were only eleven and you’ve got this prophecy about you and him,” Buffy said. “But I don’t see you hanging around acting all weird and like you think you’re a mystical whosit.” Her lips curled up slightly at the corner.
Harry was about to respond when he understood. “We’re both normal,” he said in wonder. “We just have these abilities we’ve been forced to take on.”
Buffy grinned at him. “Exactly.” Then she raised an eyebrow. “Now that you know what it feels like to find your centre, how about you try meditating again and see if you can get there faster. And maybe even see what you think of how Angel’s soul looks.”
“Right,” said The-Boy-Who-Lived.
The next couple hours were taken up with Buffy taking Harry through meditation until he could fall into a meditative state to see peoples’ auras almost immediately. By the end of that time he was getting a little tired, but he was showing a lot of progress.
“Well, you’re faster at this than I was,” Buffy told him.
Angel smirked from behind her. “That’s because you were always being difficult for Merrick and Giles,” he told her. “Once you actually tried, you picked it up fast.”
“Pfft,” she waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “Once they started talking American instead of crazy old guy British I picked it up.” She stuck her nose in the air and started speaking with a truly horrendous ‘British’ accent. “Buffy, you must hone your senses to their keenest and let the essence of the demonic presence wash over you.” She reverted to her normal voice. “Blah blah, I’m so British give me a scone,” she finished.
Harry couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped him. “’I’m so British, give me a scone’?” he asked. “Do all Americans think of us that way, or is it just her?” he asked Angel.
“I’m really not sure. Then again, the number of times Xander’s asked me about the Lucky Charms leprechaun just because I’m Irish-“
Buffy rolled her eyes and interrupted her boyfriend. “He does it because he knows it annoys you. It’s the same reason you like to sit at the Bronze and stare at his neck and deny it.”
“I do that because it makes him leave,” Angel said. “That boy is the most annoying person I’ve ever met and I include Spike from back in the day when he kept getting us stuck in mineshafts because he let the whole damn village know we were vampires.”
“Well, that’s not surprising what with what he did on parent-teacher night,” said Buffy. “Stupid vampire.”
She hadn’t told him this story yet. “Who’s Spike?” Harry asked.
Buffy rolled her eyes in remembered annoyance. “He’s a vampire who looks a lot like Billy Idol. The first time I fought him was when Snyder decided that I was too much of a delinquent and made me and this other girl organise everything for parent-teacher night at the school.” Buffy shook her head. “Me. Delinquent. I burn down one school gym and people compare me to the girl who stabbed her teacher with pruning shears.”
The gaggle of Ravenclaws passing by heard this comment and collectively turned and stared at her as they passed, suddenly completely silent.
“What?” Buffy asked.
At that point the Ravenclaws chose to speed up as a group and hurtle off down another corridor. Angel sighed and shook his head at her. “You just admitted to burning down a school building once, Buffy.”
“So? It’s not like anyone paid attention before,” she told him with a glare.
Angel chuckled. “Buffy, it’s half of what your schoolmates in Sunnydale gossip about. They just don’t do it within your earshot because they’re afraid of you.”
“Hmmph.”
Harry poked her. “What happened with Spike?” he asked. So Buffy told him about parent-teacher night and Spike pushing the date of St. Vigeous forward and Angel talked about getting to annoy Xander back by pretending he was going to kill him. That led to a discussion of who was more annoying, Xander or Cordelia.
They walked back to Gryffindor tower, amiably bickering the whole way about who the most annoying people were in their circle of friends and with friendly sniping between Buffy and Harry about whose English was sillier.
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