Chapter Nine: 2 Days in the Dale

**September 5, 1998 – Angel's Mansion – 12:01 a.m. PDT**

Buffy stepped softly over the threshold of the abandoned mansion. The building was in good shape considering all that had happened back in the spring. Harry had repaired the broken windows in an instant when he and Giles had swung by earlier to move Acathla. When Buffy asked what they were going to do with the statue, Harry gave that sly grin of his before shrinking Acathla down and dropping it in a beaded pouch he wore.

"I'll take it with me on Halloween," he'd said, "I can put it somewhere secret."

It had been tough to come here, even with company, but she felt the need to do so. She had to let them see her moving on, not running away. Stepping foot inside the mansion would show them that. But what she was doing now, she didn't feel the need to share this.

In her hands, Buffy held the silver Claddagh ring Angel had given her on her birthday. It was a small token of his affection, but it had meant the world to her. The last gift she'd ever receive from the man she loved. The man she had to sacrifice to save the world.

When she reached the spot where Acathla had stood, Buffy kneeled and reverently laid the ring down. She did not cry. She felt the tears begin to form, but she willed herself not to let them fall. Partially because she was meeting up with Faith in a short while, but mostly because she had already cried for Angel all summer. It was time to accept that he was gone. It was time to actually be strong, as opposed to running away. It was time to say…

"Goodbye, Angel," Buffy said, just above a whisper.

Buffy rose, softly smoothing the front of her pants, before turning about. She left the mansion as quietly and slowly as she had entered.

Mere seconds after Buffy closed the door behind her, just as she had stepped out of hearing distance, a bright light filled the room, centered on the spot where the silver Claddagh ring rested. A high-pitched ringing filled the room as the energy from the blindingly bright portal reached its apex. From thin air, a body fell to the ground.

Faded scars crisscrossed the back of the trembling man. He raised his black-haired head, eyes wild in their confusion; unsure whether or not what he was seeing was real. No words came from the man. It had been too long since he had any need for words. His entire body was like a raw nerve, overwhelmed by the sudden shift in his environment.

Somewhere, deep in the tormented mind of the man known as Angel, a single thought stirred. A name that had been both torment and salvation during his years in that hell; 'Buffy.'

**First Sunnydale Cemetery – 12:20 a.m. PDT**

Faith meandered through the graves of Sunnydale's largest and oldest graveyard, trying to do something as she waited for whatever new vampires may be rising. As she passed the headstones, she would wonder how they had passed. Trying to piece together the kind of people they were when they met their end. She wasn't normally this philosophical, but she found it the only way to keep her mind off a certain new roommate of hers.

'I thought the stories Xand-man and Red told me were bad, but yikes.' Faith shook her head as the thought proved how ineffectual her efforts were. 'Harry seems so normal, but he's a damn veteran.'

Faith checked her watch as she reached the East entrance of the cemetery.

"Where are you, B?" Faith asked aloud. She didn't really mind patrolling on her own, she just wanted someone to help her pass the time tonight. This place was, for all reasons, dead.

Faith stood by the entrance another six minutes before she heard the approaching steps of Buffy.

'Cool. B and I will finish up the last cemetery, or two, and then after a good slay, I can maybe find myself a nice…' Faith's thoughts were interrupted when she recalled she no longer had her own room. 'Godammit!'

Buffy forced a smile as she caught up with her sister Slayer. "Hey, Faith. Sorry for being a little late."

"I'm five-by-five, B," Faith said dismissively. "Been pretty quiet. It'd be a damned shame if I didn't get to hit anything tonight."

Buffy held in an exasperated sigh. Normally, she appreciated a quiet night, as it gave her time to herself to just think or let her mind wander. But, truth be told, she wanted something to take her away from her thoughts tonight. She didn't care if it was vamps, or just chitchat with Faith.

**Sunnydale Motel – 12:30 a.m.**

Harry shot up straight in his cot, a strangled scream coming from his lips. He wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve as he subconsciously checked the corners of the room. It took him a second to come down from his nightmare.

He punched the cot angrily when he checked the time. He hadn't even gotten two hours of sleep. 'I'd been doing so well,' he grumbled in his head. 'I hadn't had one in two weeks.'

Harry made to get out of his cot, his bag in mind, but he stopped when he saw the messy, unoccupied bed. He had momentarily forgotten about giving his last dose of Dreamless Sleep potion to Faith the other night. He was glad he was going to the apothecary in L.A. with Oz to pick up some Wolfsbane potion that day; a refill wouldn't be much of a hassle.

'But,' he frowned, falling back, 'what am I supposed to do to get some sleep in the meantime?'

**Sunnydale Memorial Cemetery – 12:40 a.m.**

'Well, I wanted to hit something,' Faith thought to herself as she broke out of the vampire's hold and delivered a spinning backhand to his face.

There had been a funeral earlier today at Sunnydale Memorial Cemetery. The person buried, one Daniel Sutherland, had officially been deemed an accidental drowning; as a result, his was at the bottom of the list of graves to check out. If the Medical Examiner hadn't written the neck wounds off as damage sustained from the body's trip down river, the Slayers may have been a bit more ready for Daniel—and the five vampires that were his welcoming committee.

Buffy had staked Daniel Sutherland right off the bat. The others had quickly emerged from their nearby hiding places, cutting the two off from each other; three going for Buffy, the other two heading for Faith. Faith knew she couldn't be much of a help to Buffy until she took care of her vamps, so tried to keep focused.

These vampires, though, were not new to the game. Faith actually took a moment to appreciate how smoothly they fought together. Didn't stop her from staking the blonde she-vampire who had tried to kick her in the face. Now, she just had to take care of the guy with the mop haircut.

He steadied himself from the hit, but Faith pressed her advantage; going with momentum to end the fight. A swift kick-punch combo to the vampire's knee then face brought him to the ground long enough for Faith to stake him.

She turned towards Buffy's fight to see her dust the second-to-last of her vampires. Of course, this kept Buffy from seeing the last one trying to sneak up on her. Faith flipped the stake in her hand before throwing it with all her might. She didn't have the angle to get the heart, but was able to send the stake through the vampire's cheek, spinning him around. Buffy turned as he snarled, his jaws stuck open with the stake.

"Thanks," Buffy said to the vampire, as she pulled the stake out of his mouth and jammed it into his heart.

Faith kicked her foot through the nearest pile of ash in a pouty fashion. "We'll split credit on that last one."

"What?" Buffy exclaimed. "I stake him, I get credit."

"That guy would have been snackin' at the all-you-can-eat B-fet if I hadn't locked his jaw open," Faith taunted.

"If I give credit to you, it sets a dangerous precedent. Next thing you know, Xander would be claiming partial credit for tiring the vamps out with his face."

Faith chuckled at that. "Fine, how about we create an assist category?"

Buffy felt a wave of relief at the banter. Before they stumbled upon the newly-raised Mr. Sutherland, the two had been walking in awkward silence. Buffy had begun to wonder where the boastful Faith of just a few days had gone. She may not have wanted the Faith backing her in a fight, but she could keep Buffy out of her own head; even if her preferred method was making Buffy blush.

"I guess," Buffy pondered. "Would we have to create a special category for magic kills, or do we just put an asterisk on Harry's count?"

Faith's cocky grin faltered as the one topic she had hoped to avoid tonight was brought front and center. 'Dammit, B!'

"I guess Harry would have to be in a category by himself," Faith spoke softly.

It wasn't hard for Buffy to pick up the insecurity in Faith's tone and body language. "Something wrong, Faith?"

Faith attempted nonchalance, but barely spoke above her previous volume. "No, B, I'm five-by-five."

Buffy brought them to a stop next to a moss and ivy-covered mausoleum. "I may not know exactly what 'five-by-five' means, but I know you're anything but." Buffy crossed her arms across her chest, leveling her gaze on Faith's eyes. "Now, spill."

Faith leaned back against the mausoleum as she gathered her thoughts, attempting to formulate the words.

"I know I joked about it before," Faith started, "But you two really make a girl feel out of her league." Faith met Buffy's suddenly confused expression with one of honest awe.

"Sure, the two of us go out every night and kick evil's ass, but we're stronger than most vamps. He fought a damn war against people with the same abilities as him, some with more years experience than he had been alive." Faith gazed up at the stars. "He did all that, for seven years, and he's still holding it together."

Faith's gaze moved to focus on a spot on her shoe. "And I turn into a basket case after four months."

Buffy took in the sight of the surprisingly humbled Faith. Meeting her a few days ago, Buffy thought Faith oozed self-confidence. After last night, and seeing her now, Buffy realized just how much of a "brave face" Faith had been putting on. The dark-haired Slayer kept her face down, as Buffy mulled over her response.

"Four months after I became the Slayer," Buffy said, drawing Faith's eyes to her face, "I had been expelled for saving all of the students at the dance, my parents thought I was crazy—when they weren't screaming their heads off at each other, and all of my friends abandoned me. Then I came here, and I thought I could walk away. Of course, that didn't happen. The weirdness was here, waiting for me."

Buffy leaned on the mausoleum, next to Faith. "But then, Giles, Xander, and Willow entered the picture. I wasn't alone anymore. And that made all of the difference. Harry had his friends, I have mine, and now you have all of us."

Faith smiled sarcastically as a thought entered her head. "B, I didn't think you were the sharing type."

Buffy sighed exaggeratedly. "Normally, I'm not. But I'll do my best to change my ways." Buffy smiled brightly. "Besides, we Slayers can't let some wizard outshine us, can we?"

Faith returned Buffy's smile. "I don't know, B. Harry marched willingly to what he was told was his death. I don't know if either of us can match that."

Buffy nervously rubbed her neck. "Yeah. I guess no one told you how exactly I died."

Faith's jaw dropped at Buffy's implication. "Long story, short," Buffy summarized, "prophecy said I would die if I faced the Master. I went anyway. Prophecy was right, but I got better."

Faith grumbled incoherently under her breath as she pushed away from the mausoleum. Finally, she turned toward Buffy. "Okay. I don't plan on dying anytime soon, so I call dibs on the next giant snake we have to kill."

Buffy laughed deeply before shaking Faith's hand. "Deal."

**Rosenberg Residence – 12:45 a.m.**

Willow Rosenberg was always a model student. She held the record for most consecutive days of school attended, was third in her class (stupid gym), and not only helped teachers in class but was also able to substitute for Ms. Calendar after her death. She also always had trouble getting to sleep the night before a final and before the start of term. However, it was not the excitement of starting some magic lessons this weekend that kept her up; it was the thoughts whirling in her head after hearing Harry's story. That was why she was currently staring up at her ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" Xander asked softly, lying in his sleeping bag on the floor at the foot of Willow's bed. "You freaking out, too?"

Willow nodded before realizing Xander couldn't see her head from his angle. "Just a little bit."

Xander and Willow both sat up from their respective spots.

"What part's freaking you out more?" asked Xander. "Because I'm having a hard time with the thought that Harry had a part of that maniac in his head all his life."

"Well, yeah, there's that," Willow mumbled. "But, I guess what scares me the most was that last battle."

Xander couldn't stop the grin on his face. "Don't worry, Will. Harry said they already rebuilt the magic school."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Not that, Xander." Willow paused for a second. "Not just that," she reluctantly admitted. "Harry spent six years of his life fighting Voldemort and his minions in relative secret. Putting his life on the line so his classmates don't have to know what's in the shadows."

"Sounds familiar," Xander added.

"And then, suddenly, his world gets turned upside-down, and it's no longer puzzles, and solo missions; it's flat-out war. And all his friends he tried to protect are now on the front line. And when the smoke clears, he's still standing, and all those people he grew up with are gone." Willow wipes away a tear from her cheek.

"Xander, what if that happens to us? What if a day comes we can't keep the battle out of the shadows?"

This did cause Xander some pause. He and Willow wouldn't allow Buffy to keep them out of the fight when Jesse died, and had made Buffy's fight their own. For some reason, he doubted the majority of Sunnydale High would have made the same choice. So many of them had seen the demons that prowl their town, and still kept their heads in the sand.

"I think," Xander started, "that as long as we stand together. We'll come through fine. Besides, now we know a full-fledged wizard we can call on to help." Xander patted Willow's hand before lying back down. "He seems to have made it through all right."

Willow gently chewed on her lower lip. "I don't think he has," Willow whispered, lying back on her bed.

**September 5, 1998 - Sunnydale Motel – 7:30 a.m.**

Faith stirred awake, wrapped in a cocoon of the thin lengths of fabric the Sunnydale Motel jokingly called bed sheets. She cursed herself as she looked at the still partly open curtains that allowed the morning sunlight to strike her on her face. Grumbling, she rolled out of bed. It wasn't until she spotted Harry that she had any expression other than a grimace.

Harry was passed out on his cot; his glasses were still on, and a large book lay open across his chest. She took a look at the cover as she walked by.

'Transfiguration Through the Ages,' Faith shook her head, 'Yeah, that'd probably put me to sleep, too.'

She closed the bathroom door behind her and turned the shower to its hottest setting; which by most common means of measuring was 'just shy of room temperature.' After which, she took off her customary sleepwear of tank top and boxers to check for residual bruises from last night's patrol. There weren't any.

'Gotta love Slayer healing,' Faith happily thought, slipping into the shower. 'Fully working, hot showers have to be a 'must' when we find a place.'

As Faith scrubbed herself, she was once again reminded just how worked up last night's patrol had gotten her. 'And thick walls. Thick walls are also a must. Unless Harry wouldn't mind hearing me relax the tension,' Faith thought with a wicked grin.

'Then again, maybe Harry would prefer to help me in relieving said tension.' Faith's grin broadened, but she didn't get a chance to continue that line of thought as the water coming from the showerhead turned icy cold.

Once done with her cold shower, Faith wrapped herself in the thickest towel available and trotted back into the main room. She pulled a change of clothes from her duffel bag before letting the towel drop. She slipped on her underwear when she heard Harry mumble in his sleep.

"No—no, not them. I'll do it, just—not them."

Faith cautiously moved closer to Harry's cot. "Harry?"

"Mum…"

Faith paused at this, mildly upset. 'Did he just call me 'Mum'?'

"Dad. Sirius. Remus. Stay with me?"

Her expression softened as she made the connection. 'He's reliving the night he—'

Harry started thrashed around as much as the cot allowed, and then some. Faith decided she wanted to spare him the embarrassment of tipping himself over, and started to shake him.

"Harry. Harry. Wake up!"

Faith would be the first to acknowledge she's not the most patient person in the world, so she felt three verbal attempts were enough before physically waking him. She grabbed hold of his shoulders and gave him a good, solid shake. In return, Harry shot up, bringing his wand to bear under Faith's chin. The Transfiguration book hit the ground about two paces away from Harry.

"Faith? What's wrong?" Harry lowered his wand from Faith's head, while his eyes wildly scanned the room.

"You were having a pretty brutal dream from the sound of it."

Harry's eyes returned to Faith, before dropping and seeing how little she had on. He immediately covered his eyes with hands.

"Merlin," he exclaimed. "Sorry, Faith. Didn't realize you were getting dressed."

Faith chuckled as Harry's cheeks turned red. "How could you have known? You were the one sleeping."

Harry cleared his throat. "I'll just hop in the shower, and let you finish."

Faith took mercy on Harry and stepped aside, instead of blocking his path to the bathroom. "Head's up, though. There's no warm water. Didn't even get to finish mine before it went cold."

Harry waved his wand in his hand over his shoulder, still not turning to look at Faith. "Got it covered," he said before closing the door behind him.

"Maybe we should go apartment hunting today," Faith suggested loud enough to be heard through the door. "You know, avoid future sit-com-y situations in the future," Faith teased.

"Sounds good," was Harry's brief reply.

Hearing the shower turn on, Faith picked up Harry's book and returned it to the small table next to the cot.

'Guess he's not as together as I thought.' Faith smiled to herself as she slipped on her pants. 'Good. It's nice to know nobody's perfect.'

**Apartment Building – Sunset Drive – 11 a.m.**

A mustachioed landlord, dressed in a plain blue dress shirt, and khakis worn around the knees opened the door of the apartment, leading Harry and Faith inside. He flicked the light switch, evening out the light coming in from the northward-facing windows.

"This is the only vacant two-bedroom we have available," the landlord explained. "There's only one bathroom, though."

Harry chuckled to himself as he passed by the front door. 'Number four, huh?'

Faith looked around the apartment. It was definitely a leap up from the Sunnydale Motel, so that easily earned it points. But Faith at least knew well enough to play things close to the vest when dealing with landlords… or salesmen… or most authority figures, really.

"The bedrooms seem a tad on the small side," Faith said aloud.

"For the price range you're looking for, you're going to be hard-pressed to find any much bigger, Miss…"

"Just 'Faith' is fine."

Harry put a reassuring hand on Faith's shoulder. "We can make it work. Besides, last year, two friends and I lived in a small tent. This will be nothing."

Harry gave Faith a sly wink, cluing her in to what he was saying.

"So what kind of rent are we looking at here," Faith asked the landlord.

"Well, I suppose I could rent it to you for one thousand a month, with six months upfront."

"There better be some utilities included with that," Faith challenged as she looked at the apartment once again, with a more critical eye.

The landlord simply shook his head.

Faith, keeping up the part of the bad cop, huffed to Harry, "We should look elsewhere."

"Hold on a second, Faith. Maybe mister—"

"Ruteger."

"Ruteger, is willing to negotiate a little?"

Faith crossed her arms, stomping over to the other side of the room, behind Mr. Ruteger.

"Mr. Ruteger, since this is a non-furnished apartment, with no utilities included, and you're asking for six months in advance, I think some wiggle room is allowed?"

"I suppose," Ruteger replied in a tone of voice known on used car lots the world over.

"How about eight hundred a month?"

Ruteger hemmed and hawed a little bit. He went over in his head how many various tenants he'd rented this place to in the last six months. No tenant had ever stayed in this apartment longer than a month. Many of them were victims of the gangs on PCP that were so prevalent in this town. The required $6,000 was mostly to pay for the cleanup once the apartment had become available.

"I don't think I could let this place go for so little unless you'd be willing to pay eight months in advance."

Faith's positioning in the room made sure Ruteger was unable to see her mime to Harry her suggestion that Harry use his magic on the unsuspecting landlord.

"So you're saying we can get this place for eight months at $800 a month?"

"I could definitely work that. With the hundred dollar application fee, of course."

Harry nodded Faith over to him.

"You think he thinks we're a bunch of yokels," Faith asked.

"I'm actually kind of counting on it. If he knew who he was renting to, I'm sure he wouldn't be charging us the dead-man-walking rates."

Faith shrugged noncommittally. "It's your money."

Harry turned back to the expectant Mr. Ruteger. "$6,500 for eight months and the application fee, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"And we can move in immediately?"

"Of course."

Harry pulled out his checkbook. "Whom should I make the check out to?"

Mr. Ruteger smiled, laughing inside his head. 'Easy money,' he thought.

**Los Angeles – Hole in the Wall Apothecary – 1:30 p.m.**

With a rush of displaced air, and a swirl of blurred color, Harry, Willow, and Oz appeared in the alley, all falling flat on their asses. The dark-haired wizard pocketed the rented portkey before pulling himself to his feet. The redheaded witch and her werewolf boyfriend were having a bit of a time trying to return to their feet.

"Okay," Willow exhaled, "Portkeys not exactly winning me over on the 'comfort' criteria."

Harry suppressed a chuckle as Oz helped her regain her footing. "On the plus side," the werewolf mused, "it does cut down on the amount of gas money needed."

Harry cast a scourgify charm on himself and each of his travel companions to clear the muck off their clothes from the alley. The trio then walked the short distance to a plain wooden door with a plaque that read: Hole in the Wall Apothecary - Est. 1915.

Stepping through the door, Harry was actually surprised that the inside of the store was almost exactly like a muggle pharmacy. The store was well-lit, with rows and rows of common household and cosmetic potions. There was even a well-stocked candy aisle, right next to a magazine section with a wide selection.

'Never heard of 'Goblin Quarterly' before,' Harry thought as he briefly skimmed the titles.

A wispy-haired gentleman, dressed in a pale blue robe and wearing round, wire-framed glasses, smiled pleasantly at the group as they neared.

"Welcome to 'Hole in the Wall,' my name is Geoffrey. How may I be of assistance?"

Willow and Oz looked to Harry as he stepped forward. "My friend, here, is needing a dose of Wolfsbane potion, and I was told your store carried it."

Geoffrey nodded as he turned toward Oz. "That is indeed true. I will get a dose ready; I'll just need to see some I.D."

Oz took out his driver's license, handing it to the older wizard apothecary. Geoffrey set the license on a blank portion of a form before hitting it with a silent spell. When he handed the license back, there was an exact color copy on the form.

"Thank you, sir. I'll be right back with your potion." The apothecary took the form in hand, heading through a heavy door behind the counter.

"Do they take Blue Cross, here," Oz asked Harry.

"Wizards don't have health insurance companies," Harry replied flatly.

"They don't?" Willow asked in a surprised voice. "What about all the dangerous spells, and the falling off brooms, and the splinching you were talking about?"

"Maybe the premiums would be too high," Oz offered with a shrug.

Geoffrey returned from the back room, sliding what looked like the thermos from a child's lunchbox into a large white bag you would see at any muggle pharmacy.

"Is this your first time taking Wolfsbane potion, Mr. Osbourne?"

"Yes," Oz answered quietly, but surely.

"The thermos will keep the potion at the proper temperature." Geoffrey rolled the top of the bag shut before stapling it. "Take a lid's worth of the potion each night of the full moon, at least one hour before moonrise. Afternoons would be best. Bring the thermos back when you're ready for a refill."

Geoffrey set the bag down on the counter, but closer to himself than the others. "Total amount for the dosage comes to three galleons."

"Is that expensive?" Willow asked aloud before she could stop herself.

Geoffrey looked at Willow before turning toward Harry. "I take it she's not that familiar with the exchange rate?"

Willow looked between Geoffrey and Harry with an easily discernable expression of confusion.

"A Galleon is roughly equal to thirty dollars, American," Harry clarified as he handed the coins over to the Apothecary.

Geoffrey had handed the receipt to Harry and was in the process of handing the potion to Oz when Willow continued her thought process.

"Guess I need to add that to the list of questions. I mean…you are the only wizard I know."

Geoffrey pulled the potion bag back from Oz. "I'm sorry. Does that mean Mr. Osbourne, here, is a muggle?"

Harry not-so-subtly wiped his bangs off his forehead, revealing his famous scar. "Is that a problem?"

Geoffrey's eyes quickly took note of the scar. Harry had learned that while most foreign wizards didn't fawn over him after defeating Voldemort, they at least knew of his reputation.

"No, Mr. Potter, nothing like that," Geoffrey said calmingly. "It's just…none of the literature I've read suggest this potion has been tested on muggle lycanthropes. This potion, much like the disease, acts with the magical core. Before now, it hasn't been much of an issue, since the only ones who would know about the potion would be witches, wizards, and their relatives. I don't know what effect this potion will have on Mr. Osbourne. No one does."

Willow clung to her boyfriend's side. Oz furrowed his brow, but his face was otherwise unreadable. Harry mulled over the apothecary's words in his head.

"What's your best guess on the result of giving him the potion?"

The apothecary tapped his lips in thought for a few seconds. "Well, it's more a mental potion than a physical one. And none of the ingredients are inherently toxic. I'd say, best case: the potion has no effect, and he simply goes through the transformation as he normally does. Worst case: potion wears off quicker than normal."

"How is that 'worst case,'" Willow asked.

"It's worst case if he becomes a mindless beast while not secured away. Or when loved ones are with him." Geoffrey looked over the tops of his glasses at Willow. A feat that was impressive, considering how far he had to lower his head to do so.

"That's fine. I'll stay locked in the cage tomorrow night after taking the potion, and we'll see what happens."

The look on Geoffrey's face was one of sudden excitement. He schooled his features as much as he could before turning back to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, I pride myself on the quality of my products, as well as the satisfaction of my customers. The last thing I want to come off seeming like is a Snake Oil Salesman…though I actually do sell snake oil; it's very good for arthritis…anyway, I'd like to make you a business arrangement."

Harry drummed his fingers on the counter lightly. "I'm listening."

"What I'm proposing is simple. As I said, no one has done any research on the effects of Wolfsbane potion on muggle lycanthropes, but clearly, such research would be invaluable. If you, Mr. Osbourne, and Miss…"

"Rosenberg," Willow offered up cheerfully.

"-Rosenberg would be willing to take notes of the potion's effects on Mr. Osbourne, and provide said notes to me, I'd gladly provide Mr. Osbourne's Wolfsbane potion, if proven effective, at a substantial discount."

Willow joined in the conversation, wanting to negotiate the best deal for Oz. "When you say 'his potion,' are we talking merely this dose, or are we talking 'for life'?"

Harry mentally applauded Willow's brilliant question. Geoffrey's smile drooped for a heartbeat. "'For life,' of course."

"What do you say, Oz," Harry asked genially. "Feel like being a lab rat?"

Oz nodded softly to himself. "Sounds like a good deal."

"Excellent," enthused Geoffrey. "If you could hand me back the receipt, Mr. Potter, I will provide you with a sixty percent discount for this dose."

Harry handed the receipt back, but stopped Geoffrey before he could open the register.

"Actually, I could use a refill of some Dreamless Sleep potion, and whatever's left over, could I get some first aid potions?"

Geoffrey smiled as he took the rack with the empty phials Harry had just pulled out of his expanded pocket.

Willow looked at Harry with curiosity. "First aid potions?"

Harry grinned. "Something tells me we'll need them, with this lot."

**Sunnydale - Buffy's House – 1:50p.m.**

"I can take care of those, mom." Buffy collected the plates from the now finished lunch, giving them a quick rinse and depositing them in the dishwasher. All of this without any prompting from Joyce. It was the last fact that had the mother a little curious.

"Do you wanna go out," Buffy asked. "Some mother-daughter shopping, or maybe we can just get some mother-daughter iced cappuccinos?"

"Who are you, and what have you done with Buffy," Joyce joked.

Buffy blushed mildly at Joyce's teasing. "Well, I get one of my rare 'days off' today, and I thought it'd be nice to do something, just the two of us."

"I appreciate the thought, and I don't want this to sound wrong, but what brought this on?"

Buffy heaved a sigh. Having finally said goodbye to Angel last night, she was pretty emotionally raw. The need to be near someone was so clear in her head; it was trying to find the words to describe it that made her pause.

"I was jealous of Faith," Buffy blurted out. "When she came to town, and got along so well with everyone, I was jealous. I had just got everyone back, and here she comes, and everyone loves her.

"I didn't want to lose any of you, so I was a bit of a brat. Then she tells me and Harry about her former Watcher, how she lost her." Buffy went silent for a moment. Joyce, not wanting to break Buffy's line of thought, remained silent. "And Harry…he told us about the Wizard War he was just in. How, the night it all ended, he called upon the ghost of his mother to keep him strong." A few tears managed their way into Buffy's eyes, and for a brief moment, Joyce saw the little girl that would come to her when she had a bad dream, or when she hurt herself playing. Joyce wanted nothing more than to grab her daughter in a tight hug at that moment.

"They tell me these stories, and I feel ashamed for my jealousy, because even though I have you, I take you for granted sometimes."

Joyce couldn't hold back any longer, and immediately clasped her arms around her daughter. Buffy returned the hug, burying her face into Joyce's shoulder. Joyce could feel a warmth and tenderness in this embrace with Buffy she hadn't felt since before they came to Sunnydale. A gentle smile crossed Joyce's lips as she realized that whatever remaining wall there had been between her and Buffy, was starting to come down.

"I love you, too, Buffy." Joyce pulled back from Buffy enough, to wipe a tear from her daughter's cheek. "Let me grab my purse," Joyce said. "Those cappuccinos sound good, right about now."

**Chase Residence - 2:27p.m.**

"So, how much longer is this going to take," Cordelia asked in a tone that was starting to annoy Harry. Queen C walked side-by-side with Xander as she led Harry around the Chase residence; though it should have been called a mansion.

"Cordy, let's not distract the nice wizard casting the protective wards on your house, just yet," Xander replied with his usual snarky tone.

'Thank you, Xander.' Harry continued the incantation for the anti-apparition wards, as the pair of Sunnydalians continued their banter.

"Look, I don't want my parents asking a whole lot of questions about why we have a foreigner walking around the house-"

"You mean other than the gardener?"

"Shut it, Xander. Anyway, I don't want them asking questions that would lead to having to discuss the whole 'demon thing.' So, it's better to just appear to be showing a new friend around the grounds."

Xander looked around the grounds, then up to the house. "Are your parents even home right now?"

'Just another fifty yards,' Harry stressed to himself to keep going.

**Harry and Faith's Apartment – 3:19p.m.**

Faith rested on her simple duffel bag, sipping slowly from a bottle of Pepsi. She had decided to make the first grocery run while Harry was out, but didn't buy a lot since she was a little strapped for cash. She would have passed the time unpacking, but there was no dresser in her bedroom; nor was there a bed. She had suggested they go look for some of the finer furniture left out on curbs in town, but all Harry had said was 'We'll take care of that when I get back.'

She didn't mind scoring free drinks off guys at the club, but Faith thought she would draw the line at having a guy furnish her apartment for her. 'Then again,' Faith thought amusedly to herself, 'In terms of Sugar Daddies, I could do far worse than Harry.'

Faith sat up as she heard a key slot into the door. A second later, a worn-out, but relieved looking Harry stepped into the empty apartment. He set several plastic bags on the counter before closing the door.

"Never again! Never again am I putting up protective wards at that house. I feel pity for whatever wizard goes to that house when those two are there."

Faith eyed the bags warily, assuming Harry had gone ahead and gotten groceries as well. 'Damn it, Harry. I told you I was going to go shopping,' Faith shouted in her head.

"I didn't know if you had paper plates and plastic cups on your shopping list, so I grabbed some. Figured that would be easier when we have everyone over tomorrow."

Faith frowned to herself; she had forgotten to put those items on the list.

"At the very least, we'll have plenty of space to mingle," Faith cracked dryly, waving her arms around the vacant room.

Harry acted as though he was just noticing the lack of furniture. "Oh, I suppose we should do something about that."

Faith rolled her eyes. "What are you going to do? Wave your wand and make a bunch of chairs appear?"

An exaggerated expression of hurt crested Harry's face. "Faith! I thought you had more respect for my abilities than that. Tell you what…" Harry playfully pulled his wand out of his pocket, handed it over to Faith.

"I will have this apartment furnished before dinner tonight, without touching that wand," Harry proclaimed.

Faith shot Harry a doubtful glare. "You got a second wand on you, don't you?"

Harry pushed up his sleeves, showing both sides of his arms, revealing nothing hidden.

"Okay, how do you plan to do it?"

Harry flashed a toothy grin that would have made Lockhart proud if he could have recalled who he was. "With a single invocation."

"With a wha—"

"KREACHER!" Harry shouted, cutting off Faith's question.

At that second, a quiet pop sounded just off to Faith's left. She spun on her heel, reflexively reaching for the stake she kept tucked in her waistband, before she laid eyes on the diminutive, wrinkled creature in front of her.

"Master Potter calls for Kreacher?" The ancient house-elf wheezed. His gaze remained on Harry, ignoring Faith's battle-ready stance.

"Yes, Kreacher. I'm going to be staying here for a few months," Harry warmly explained to the elf. "Could you expand the bedrooms a bit, then bring over some spare furniture from Grimmauld Place?"

"Kreacher shall do as his Master asks." Kreacher bowed before popping away right in front of Faith.

The brunette Slayer sighed as she stepped over to Harry. "Didn't even say anything to me," Faith said, teasingly. "A bit rude, if you ask me."

"You're lucky you didn't meet him a year ago. He would have been a lot ruder in the presence of a Muggle."

With a short dragging sound, almost as if someone had merely nudged it, a couch upholstered in worn, green upholstery appeared in the front room. Followed immediately after by a matching armchair, and a small darkly lacquered coffee table. They were positioned with the couch facing the wall and the chair facing the front door.

"He must have finished the bedrooms already," Harry thought aloud as a large rug appeared spread out on the floor of the small dining area.

Faith, curiosity winning out on her, went to open the door of the bedroom she had intended to claim for herself. When she looked inside, the room had nearly doubled in floor space, and a queen-sized bed was freshly made with a set of luxurious looking bed sheets. A five-drawer dresser was against the wall next to the closet, and there was even a simple writing desk and chair opposite the bed.

"No friggin' way!" Faith exclaimed.

Gentle laughter brought her attention back to Harry. "Yeah. Kreacher does amazing work."

"Master honors Kreacher with his praise." The pair turned to face the elf that rose barely to their hips. "Though Kreacher should not be surprised by the kindness of the Defender of House Elves."

Faith snorted at Harry's flash of discomfort. "How many titles do you have, Harry?"

It was at this comment that Kreacher finally deigned to look at Faith. His expression, initially one of snooty disdain—that would not have been unfamiliar to people who knew Cordelia—to one of thoughtful examination.

"Curious," Kreacher whispered aloud. "Master's companion is a muggle, yet not a muggle. Kreacher sees power in Master's companion."

Harry took the opportunity to step in at Kreacher's unstated question. "Kreacher, this is Faith; she's a Vampire Slayer."

Kreacher's expression was now one of awe; his eyes actually foregoing his usual disapproving squint. "Ah. That explains her power." Kreacher looked away from Faith, continuing to voice his thoughts aloud. "Master continues to associate himself with powerful, yet unorthodox people. No wonder the Dark Lord fell to Master."

Faith looked to Harry for some guidance on what to do. She read Harry's expression to mean: 'Go with it. I'll explain later.'

"It's cool to meet you, Kreacher." Faith held out her hand. Kreacher gripped her hand briefly before turning back toward Harry.

"Does Master require anything more of Kreacher?"

"Not today, Kreacher. Thank you for coming. I know how much you dislike leaving Grimmauld Place."

"Kreacher shall return home, then. Make sure the ancestral home of Black is in good condition when Master returns from his travels."

Kreacher then disapparated away unceremoniously.

"Guess you can't find good help these days," Faith quipped.

**Giles' Apartment – 5:30 p.m.**

Rupert Giles stared blankly at the open tome in front of him. He had opened it more than an hour ago, and had not turned a single page.

'It's the smell.'

He had hoped he could escape his thoughts by burying himself into researching whatever vague apocolypses (apocolypsi?) might be waiting around the corner. To get away from thoughts involving a certain ring mentioned by a certain wizard.

'Computers don't smell, Rupert.'

All was for not, because as soon as he opened the dusty volume of portents of doom, thoughts of her flooded his mind. Smell was a powerful trigger of memory, after all.

Some days it was easy for him to push past the pain. Others, he questioned how he was able to hold it together as well as he did. It had been less than six months since that night. Giving up the ghost, Giles closed the book and went straight for the bottle of single malt he kept in the top-most cabinet in his small kitchen.

Giles knew that there was no way to bring Jenny back. Her method of death, though caused by the hands of a vampire, was still a natural death. But Harry's tale of the Hallows had intrigued him.

'A way to see her again,' Giles thought desperately. 'A way to say goodbye.'

The only thing standing between Giles and this chance was an ocean, a school he would be unable to get near, and a forest full of dark creatures, and almost no idea of the exact location of where Harry dropped said ring. He quashed a flare of anger inside of him, at the thought of something so wondrous being casually tossed away with the thought of how easily the power could be abused.

'If I am desperate enough to use it, why would I ever stop?'

He tilted his head back, inviting the warm burn of his throat as the liquor went down. He knew the dangers of magic; had even experienced them first hand. He was certainly glad Harry learned to forsake certain temptations at his age. For that, Giles would envy him.

By the time the knock had come on his door, he had rinsed out the glass and returned the bottle to the cabinet.

**The Silver Dragon – 5:48 p.m.**

Harry whistled merrily as he stepped into the Wizard bar. The crowd was light, but Harry could tell that the expected atmosphere of a bar on the weekend was already taking shape. Those that were here were dressed for relaxation or enticement, instead of looking like they had just come work. The enchanted jukebox, full of some of the most popular recordings in the magical world, was blaring out a raucous tune that Harry recognized as the Weird Sisters.

Upon seeing Harry enter, Gil pulled out two envelopes from beneath the bar.

"Mr. Potter," Gil spoke with a playful tone of voice, "You've got mail."

"Got some outbound, as well." Harry laid three envelopes down on the counter, along with the rental portkey, as he collected his two inbounds. "You'll also be happy to know that I will likely be making less use of your fine owls in the future."

"Don't worry about it. The overgrown feather dusters need the exercise." Harry chuckled at Gil's joke. "Did you negotiate fewer check-ins with your lady friends?"

"Not quite," Harry grimaced. "I do, however, have a more permanent address for the letters to be sent to."

"We don't cater, if that's your next question. You'll have to find somewhere else for any parties you might throw."

Harry playfully pouted at the old barman's tease. "Alright, I'll just have to get my heavily-fired, and tasteless snacks from the store."

"Oi!"

Harry laid a few sickles on the bar and backed up a step. "Got to run. Have to meet up for a team briefing before going on patrol."

Approaching the door, Harry spotted the unlit lights of the detector that went off the other night as Faith encountered the Scoobies. Harry turned back to the bar, signaling Gil to come closer.

"My house elf made mention of something, and I wanted to ask," Harry whispered to the bartender. "Slayers, their powers are magic-based, even though they're not magical, right?"

With a grin, Gil simply nodded his head.

"That means, they're technically exempt from the statute of secrecy, right?"

"Kind of hard to fight against the supernatural if you're not allowed to know about it. Besides, Slayers have their own secrets to keep."

Harry pondered the status of some of his other friends. "Werewolves suffer from a magical disease, so they're exempt. What about wandless witches, uh… Wiccas? They have magic, even though it's different?"

Gil waved his hand in the air. "Bit of a gray area, but I doubt anyone would mind too much." Gil examined Harry with a suspicious eye. "Care to jump to what you're wanting to ask, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "Just curious if I could bring my friends in here, or not."

Gil started cleaning a glass as he considered Harry's question. "I guess being vouched for by the Man-Who-Conquered ought to be enough to allow them in. But, any trouble, and it's on you."

Harry gleefully slapped his envelopes against the edge of the bar. "Good to know. This time, I'll actually be off."

Gil watched as Harry Potter walked out the door, into the night. A deep frown crossed Gil's face, as he turned toward the large man in the worn suit at the opposite end of the bar. A non-verbal conversation was shared between the two men with just a few glances, and Gil knew that there'd be yet another letter sent out that night.

**Giles' Apartment – 6:34 p.m.**

"Okay, Willow. One more time," Harry said as he stepped back from the feather quill. "Swish-and-flick."

"And it's pronounced 'win-gardium,' right? Not 'wing-ardium?'"

Harry nodded with a warm smile on his face. "Whenever you're ready."

Willow breathed deep, focusing on the feel of

the unfamiliar wand in her hand. She had been waiting anxiously to try this all day, but was now experiencing some awful stage fright. When she imagined learning Wizarding magic from Harry, she did not picture the Scoobies watching in rapt attention.

Releasing the breath, Willow started the wand movement Harry had shown her just minutes ago. "Wingardium Leviosa."

Harry took in her wrist movements—'Nice and smooth, no hesitation'—and listened to her speak the incantation—'No stuttering, perfect inflection.' All leading to the end result—'The quill isn't budging.'

Willow returned Harry's wand with a sigh. "I don't think I'll be able to do any of your spells, Harry."

Buffy stepped up and rubbed Willow's back, giving her a sympathetic groan. "It's okay, Willow. We thought it might be a long shot."

"It might also be the wand is incompatible," Harry offered up, diplomatically. "My friend Neville had the hardest time casting spells with his father's old wand and improved by leaps and bounds when he got his own. We can look for a wand shop the next time we go up to L.A."

"I guess." Willow slumped down into the couch cushions, next to Oz. Buffy and Harry shared an almost desperate look.

"You know…" Buffy began, "turnabout is fair play. Willow, why don't you try teaching him how to do a spell without a wand?" The meaning of Buffy's urgent look was not lost on Harry.

"Oh, yeah. I'd be absolutely pants at that. The only times I've ever done wandless magic were accidents. Like the Wizarding world version of wetting the bed."

All the Scoobies, save for Willow, looked at Harry with expressions of mixed shock and embarrassment. Willow was too preoccupied with the floor to really process Harry's words.

With a loud clearing of the throat, Giles broke the tension of the room. "Perhaps we can call an end to the cultural exchange for the evening?"

"Seconded," exclaimed Xander.

Faith lightly smacked Buffy's shoulder. "Ready for patrol, B?"

"Sure. Any preference on where we start?"

"Depends on if bed-wetter is coming with us tonight."

Harry hung his head in exasperation. "I didn't actually wet the bed. It was the only metaphor I could…"

Harry stopped mid-sentence and hurried across the room when he noticed Faith and Buffy were already on their way out the door.

**8:51 p.m.**

Willow, Oz, Xander, and Cordelia sat around the small dining table in Giles' apartment. Willow, still bummed, was spinning the quill on the table's surface. Oz was contemplating the thermos in front of him with his Wolfsbane potion. Cordelia was skimming the latest issue of Cosmo, keeping up with the latest fashion, and Xander was wearing an expression those in the room would describe as 'Oz's Deep Thoughts face.'

Giles sidled up to the teens, torn between being a proper host, and wanting his apartment back from the loitering teenagers.

"Perhaps, if there's nothing else, we should adjourn to our own homes for the evening?" Giles collected the large tome off the table, carrying it reverently back to his bookcase.

"I'm sorry," Xander rose as he spoke, clearly agitated. "I tried to hold it in, best I could, but I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out about this whole 'horcrux-rip-your-soul-to-pieces' stuff. And I don't know how you all can stand it."

Giles was not alone in his confusion regarding Xander's words, but he was the first one to say anything in response. "Care to elaborate, Xander?"

"Okay," Xander paused to collect himself a bit. "Angel. I could grasp the concept of a soul actually existing. Has a soul, he's good. Soul go bye-bye, he's bad. Every story I've ever heard was about 'losing your soul,' or 'selling your soul,' it was a single unit. Indivisible. Now, we've got fractions."

Cordelia rolled her eyes derisively. "So, you're freaking out about math?"

Xander glared at her but held back a retort. "This Voldemort guy was a monster, worse than Angelus, but he still had a bit of a soul. An argument could be made it wasn't much of one if he made a horcrux in the first place, but he had one—a bit of one—in him. What's freaking me out is this: at what point did he stop being a man, and become the monster?"

"You don't need to actually lose your soul to become a monster, Xander." Giles returned to the table where the three teens still sitting were now looking up at him. "There are plenty of figures in history who metaphorically lost their souls, without doing so metaphysically. There have even been a few mortal men and women in this town who have crossed that line without rending their souls."

"And Buffy always did what she could to stop them without killing them."

"Yes, because they were human."

"But we would have had no problem with Buffy killing Voldemort," Oz interjected. "He was, by all the criteria, human, but we wouldn't have qualms with Buffy killing him. I think Xander's flip-out—

"Freak out," Xander corrected.

"—freak out, is coming from the implied double standard."

"But, Harry used a non-lethal spell against Voldemort," Willow defended. "It just bounced back on him. Technically, Voldemort killed himself; like Mrs. Madison did."

"So, crazed magic-users go in the 'lethal force' column," Xander asked sarcastically.

"Maybe," Willow replied bashfully. "If they're evil enough."

"But what is 'evil enough,'" Oz pondered aloud.

"It's not that difficult," Cordelia exclaimed, dramatically dropping her magazine on the table. "Vold-a-whatever stopped being human the instant he mutilated his soul. Like Giles said, 'metaphorical-versus-metaphysical.' You metaphorically damage your soul when you kill someone, but you can try to make amends. Ripping a part out and shoving it in a book, or a baby, you give up your humanity card. Plain and simple." Cordelia leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed, silently daring anyone to counter her.

The other Scoobies were stunned into silence. Even Xander was amazed at the clarity of Cordelia's statement.

"Wow," Willow murmured. "Cordelia Chase, unlikely voice of reason."

"Quite." Giles wiped his glasses as he retreated to the kitchen.

Xander slowly retook his seat next to Cordelia, never taking his eyes off of her. "That was kind of hot. Who knew smart was so sexy?"

Willow used all her might to keep from groaning at Xander. 'NOW he figures that out?'

**End Part 1**