Chapter 1

Willow shifted her pack and glanced down at the map in her hands, turning it the right way around. She frowned a bit, tracing the faint line of the trail from the lodge to the hidden lake and glanced to the trail marker on her left. 2.6 km to go. I wonder how long that will take. She glanced at her watch- it was only 2:30, plenty of time. She set off at a brisk walk, soaking in the afternoon sun.

You need a break, he'd said. You've been working so hard, and we're all so proud of you. She'd snorted then, but let him continue. The coven and I think it would be best for you to take a week or so and center yourself. There's a retreat they're fond of in the Scottish Highlands. Would you be interested?

Willow had nodded, Sure Giles, I'd be happy to go away until they turn Madeline back into herself again. I'm sure she's not enjoying her sojourn as a mop particularly much. Willow grimaced at the memory. Giles had protested, saying that wasn't the reason at all, but she knew. She saw their faces as she lost control at the end of the lesson, her eyes filling with ebony as her hand came up of its own volition, and wordlessly, Madeline had gone from a mildly annoying, ever present voice of caution to a slightly frazzled floor mop. Horrified, she'd ran almost the entire way back to Giles's bungalow before he caught up to her in the car, all soft words and encouragements. Ha, he probably thought I'd turn him into a dustbin. She wasn't sure which mortified her more, the mop incident or that she left before even considering how to turn Madeline back. She felt sure Giles was going to make good on the unstated threat toward her behavior. He denied wishing her harm, but she knew the Ripper part of him wanted to take her to task, to hell with reforming her. Never the less, here she was, walking a wooded trail in mid-afternoon, trying to find a hidden lake renowned for its beauty.

She knew she'd tried. But it was never enough; she'd never be quite the same again. Willow could feel the magic of the place swirling around her, dancing in the rare Scottish sunlight. It lifted the ends of her flame colored hair, swirling the tips and tickling her nose. It almost seemed to be comforting her, but she wanted none of it. She knew the blackness was still there, the anger, the hurt, the hate. And it terrified her.

She absently noted the scrubby trees and graying boulders along the path, worn smooth by many feet. Tara would have liked it here, the thought came unbidden. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and brushed the tears from the corner of her eye. Lifting her face to the sky, she closed her eyes. She walked as surely as if she could see the path, floating along the lines of magic tugging her to and fro. A change in the flow alerted her to the path's end, and opening her eyes, she gasped.

The lake was indeed beautiful. Crystal clear and glistening in the sunshine; the lake was a jewel of nature, hidden from men's eyes. I knew it; the moment I wanted to be miserable and get it over with, the stupid weather has to be nice. Why can't it rain like it always does, she harrumphed.

Despite the sunshine, the wind was brisk, and Willow was glad for the Anorak over her sweater. She scuffed her boots in the pile of pebbles lining the shore and turned to find somewhere to sit. At first the calm and silence was soothing. No one else was around, and she finally had some time to herself. No Giles, no coven, no wary concerned watchdogs guarding her thoughts. Without warning, the stillness in her mind was shattered and the world seemed to crumble in on itself. The last year's activities crashed into her, battering around with heightened emotions and nauseating memories. Her hands were clenched together; the nails dug into her palms leaving burning half moons that she didn't even feel. Tara. Unbidden, tears fell down her cheeks. A sob hitched in her chest and she screamed to the sky, a wordless explosion of grief. Broken, she collapsed on the ground.

*** ***

A concerned Dumbledore turned to his deputy headmistress, the twinkle in his eyes extinguished. "It is beginning, isn't it Minerva."

Wordlessly, she nodded, swirling her tea. After he had risen two years ago, Voldemort had lain quiet, planning, they supposed. Gathering resources, his strength grew, and finally it began. Last night, the Death Eaters struck a family of Muggles in Kensington, the Dark Mark rising over their home, a sickly shade of green. And next week the children would come back to Hogwarts to begin another year. All their planning for naught- they knew of no sure way to beat him. Albus Dumbledore was a great wizard, everyone knew, but he was only human. And his all too human countenance was shrouded in pain.

"What do we do, Albus?" Minerva worried at the tea leaves littering her cup. He gazed out the window into the gathering evening, the sun on the horizon.

"I don't know. Perhaps pray?" He laughed. "Ask and ye shall receive? So whom do we ask? What magic is there to help us now, Minerva?" He shook his head, and offered up his hands in supplication.

Minerva McGonagall sat up straighter as the room became deathly quiet. The air seemed to be listening and waiting and Dumbledore's eyes widened in response. He raised his hands and said quietly, "We need help. Whatever that may be." He bowed his head and lowered his hands to the desktop. The air crackled in watchfulness and almost as if heaving a breath of decision, the noises from the outside intruded again.

They remained seated in silence, a few minutes more. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled just a little bit as he offered McGonagall a candy dish. "Lemon drop?"

She laughed a high thin sound, and waved the dish away. "What was that Albus?"

He creased his brow, and murmured, "I really don't know, my dear. I guess we shall have to wait and see."

With that, they both turned to watch the sunset over the lake, rippling gently in the fading light.

*** ***

Willow roused herself reluctantly. The light was fading, and she was exhausted. Emotionally shattered, she pulled the frayed edges of her thoughts together. She would need to move quickly to get back to the lodge before dark. Part of her wished to stay just where she was and dissapear into the gathering gloom. It was no more than she deserved. She shook her head, blinking back tears. Standing carefully, and stretching aching muscles, she shouldered her pack and started back towards the path around the lake.

Only it wasn't there. The dancing gold shimmer from the lake wasn't completely gone in the sunset, but she couldn't see the path. Or any path for that matter. Startled, she closed her eyes to feel her way back, only to have them spring open instantly. It feels wrong, she waved her hand in front of her, but the currents were off. Where am I! She turned to gaze across the lake and gasped.

That castle is not supposed to be there. Involuntarily, she started to shake. Picking her way across the boulders, she headed towards the castle, looming high over the lake, warm lights glowing in the window. I suppose you should never go to the dark and looming castle looking for help, but I'll just have to assume I'm not stuck in a ScoobyDoo mystery. The light faded with each step, and by the time she reached the opposite shore, it was nearly dark. Think, Rosenberg, what now. There was a small hut at the base of the slope leading up to the ramparts, and working on the hypothesis that henchmen were usually slightly less frightening than whatever lurked in castles, she changed her path, cutting across the grass.

Summoning her courage, she raised her hand to knock on the door. After only a moment's hesitation, wherein she wondered about the likelihood of vampires living in the cottage rather than in the castle to better eat unsuspecting travelers, she rapped lightly. She could hear someone moving around inside, and the whine of a canine of some sort. Stepping back, she readied her hand by her side, energy crackling at her fingertips, Better safe than sorry. I can always apologize later if I turn him into a coat rack or something. Rolling her eyes, she steadied herself.

The door opened to reveal a rather large man, and his rather large slobbering dog. A very large man in fact, currently fiddling with his beard with a befuddled expression on his face. "Who might you be then? I ain't seen you round here before?" The dog trotted out the door to sniff at Willow's shoes.

At least it isn't my crotch, she thought, weighing the options of open flight versus finding out what this… giant… could tell her.

"Um, no, I'm rather lost you see. I was looking for the path back from the lake and well… there's this castle that wasn't there before, you see. I would rather like it to go away actually, so I can go back home. Or not home, the lodge… or even Giles, because this is way weird. I mean, conjuring a castle out of thin air- pretty cool trick. I don't know how I got here or, where here is actually. Or why you are about 15 times bigger than me. Or why I don't just shut up now." With that, she snapped her mouth closed and eyed the giant cautiously. He didn't seem threatening, and the dog gave up on her shoes to drool on her backpack, presumably after her old sandwiches.

The giant broke into a huge grin. "Lost are you? Well, I can help. We'll just go up to the castle and sort this right out. Fang, come here and get outta the nice lady's bag."

Fang? That sounds familiar. Willow's pulse started to race a bit. Actually, a lot of things started to seem familiar. A giant, with a giant dog, called Fang at a castle, on the side of perfect lake, in the middle of nowhere Scotland.

"Here we are, miss…?"

"Willow. My name's Willow Rosenberg. And your name?" Her hands had relaxed, the magic flowing away, leaving nothing but a mild panic in it's wake.

"Oh, my name's Hagrid, and this here is Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardy. There's none finer! Ms. Rosenberg?" Hagrid bent over in concern as Willow slumped to the ground in a dead faint. Her last thought was, Well, at least I didn't magic myself into a bodice-ripping romance novel… Hagrid stooped and gently scooped the unconscious girl into his arms, whistling to Fang as he moved towards the castle.


Chapter 2

Willow was gently jostled awake from the most fascinating dream. Tara had knelt by her sleeping body, brushing her hair away from her face with feather light touches. It'll be alright Willow. You're needed. It will be alright. I promise you. Willow had grabbed at the phantom hands caressing her cheeks only come up empty handed. The gut wrenching loss snapped her awake, and she struggled slightly in the massive arms cradling her body.

"I'm awake now, you know. I'd appreciate you putting me down if you don't mind."

Hagrid stopped and slowly lowered Willow to her feet, eyeing her carefully. "Have a bit of a shock there did you? You sure you're alright to stand?"

Willow nodded carefully and managed not to sway too badly when he released her arms. "I just didn't expect to be here is all. I suppose you'll take me to see Dumbledore to straighten this all out, won't you? That seems to be what happens around here, someone's in distress and Dumbledore makes it all better." She paused, frowning slightly. "It is Dumbledore isn't it? I haven't got the name wrong?"

Hagrid continued to watch her cautiously. "Yer right, headmaster here is Dumbledore. Do you know him?"

Willow squeaked out a semblance of a laugh, "Uh, yeah. I guess I do, though he probably doesn't know me." This is awkward. I hope there aren't too many people around; I have no idea what to do. So what do I say- "Hi I seem to have lost my mind! I know you're all in my head, but would you mind pretending to be real so I don't snap and turn everyone into office furniture." Oh God… Hagrid mounted the entrance steps ahead, and she drew a deep breath and straightened her back. Her pack still hung limply from Hagrid's massive hand, Fang sniffing around for any wayward crumbs that decided to liberate themselves from the confines of the bag. He sighed woefully as the floor remained crumb free.

Lost in thought, Willow smacked soundly into Hagrid's back as he halted at the closed oaken doors. He turned before opening them to assess the likelihood of another fainting spell. Satisfied, he shoved the doors open with a bang.

"Dumb'dore! Sorry I'm late, found a friend of yours wandering the grounds! Got room at dinner?" he said with a wink, completely oblivious to the reactions at the head table. Willow, on the other hand, couldn't look away. There were 5 people at the head table. The tall, elderly gentleman in royal blue robes with a long flowing beard must be Dumbledore, a wiry, elegant woman with a pointed hat and emerald robes would probably be McGonagall, and a thin, pale, dark haired wizard with deep black robes and a disinterested sneer she guessed to be Snape. Rounding out the group were a graying, frazzled, well-built wizard and a plump, friendly looking witch with mud on her elbows.

Willow glanced first to Dumbledore. He was staring at her intently, but without overt hostility. He actually seemed to be able to see right through her tightly wrapped self control, and it made her shiver. McGonagall sent her one piercing stare and turned to Dumbledore, an open question on her face. The grizzled wizard measured her up like a wild thing with its prey; he reminded her of Oz. Oz…The round woman merely regarded her with mild interest. It was Snape that held her attention. His first reaction was one of mild distain. A pause less than a breath long then his body jerked slightly and his head whipped around with a glare. He searched her face intently, then roved his eyes down her body, frowning her at her Muggle clothing. Willow met his eyes defiantly, and felt scalded at their intensity. What does he see? I haven't done anything!

Her attention was diverted as she reached the steps leading up to the teacher's dais. Her footsteps had echoed louder than she would have liked in the empty hall, and she wondered what it would look like filled with children. She hoped she'd never find out.

"Erm, everyone, this is Miss Rosenberg. Miss Rosenberg, this is Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Lupin, and Sprout. All of the rest of the teachers are away until the start of term, next week." Two extra place settings appeared at end of the table in response to Dumbledore's wave of his wand.

"Well, my dear. It's wonderful to see you. Won't you please join us for a bite to eat? It's roast night, and I do love a good roast." Willow followed Hagrid's lead around the table, taking the seat next to Professor Sprout. She smiled a bit wanly as the woman chirped a greeting and hoped she said the appropriate pleasantries. This is some complicated delusion I've dreamed up. They look so real! And smell real, I think she was working in mint- and is that motherwort?

Conversation, however stilted, picked up again. Hagrid happily nattered on about something or other he found in the Forbidden Forest that would make a wonderful new addition to his classes and Professor Sprout responded amiably about its possible foodstuffs. Willow nodded at the appropriate intervals and tried not to look at the other end of the table. Snape was still trying to roast her with his eyes and Lupin, now that she knew the name she remembered he was in fact a werewolf like Oz, looked like he was trying to sniff her out over the smell of dinner. It was most disconcerting. Dumbledore seemed perfectly happy to continue on as if random, Muggle attired strangers were a usual occurence and McGonagall followed his lead.

Thankfully, dinner petered to a halt, with Hagrid excusing himself to feed his critters and Snape mumbling something about checking a potion. McGonagall and Lupin exchanged glances, wherein Lupin politely asked if Sprout would be interested in bringing a nightcap to Poppy with him. Fairly beaming, she took his arm away from the table and left the hall, leaving Willow to face the headmaster with only McGonagall for company.

He turned serious blue eyes her way and leaned forward. "And now my dear, I believe we need to have a little discussion. Perhaps you'd join Minerva and me in my chambers for a spot of tea?" The tone of command left no room for argument, and Willow trotted after the two teachers, bag in hand as they left the Great Hall.

The magic that swirled around her as she walked the corridors was unlike anything she'd felt before. It tugged on her senses and begged to be used. It was taking all of her worn self-control to smash it back where it belonged. I don't have time to deal with this now… Just let me get through this and I promise… I promise? Her mind flitted back to the brief dream from earlier, Tara promised me I'd be fine. She took a deep breath, centering herself and concentrated on the figures moving away in front of her. Out of the corners of her eyes she could see the paintings looking on with interest, whispering to each other, none willing to speak loudly. The longer they wound through the castle, the more confused and exhausted Willow became until they suddenly halted in front of a carved arch watched over by an ornate bronze griffon.

"Creeping Clusters," Dumbledore said loudly and the griffon revolved slowly revealing an upwardly spiraling staircase. At the top, he gestured for the two women to take their seats, and arranged himself behind his desk; summoning a teapot and three delicate cups from thin air. The entire journey had been completed in silence.

Willow was feeling more and more miserable by the second. She felt dizzy and tired, and hadn't managed more than three bites at dinner despite not eating anything all day. McGonagall was giving her a look to peel paint and Dumbledore closed his eyes, as if to ward off the day.

"Miss Rosenberg. Perhaps you had better tell us who you are and how you got here. You are a witch, are you not?"

"Erm, well. My name is Willow Rosenberg, and I am a witch." Inwardly, she cringed- Am I? What have I become? Was that was Giles was attempting to do, turn me into a proper witch? "I was on a… retreat… in the Scottish highlands. I'd been training with a coven in Devon with my friend Giles, he's a Watcher. I had an… accident… and they suggested I take a few days off. I walked to this lake, and… fell asleep. When I woke up, my path was gone and your castle was on the other side of the lake…" She felt suddenly foolish. "Who'd have thought when I woke up this morning I'd be in a book. In a book and trying to explain how I got here! This is a new weird even for me. Way off the 'vampires are real and they ate one of my best friends' or 'the Mayor is a giant snake' or 'my boyfriend's a werewolf' weirdness scale. I don't see why I don't just wake up!" The last bit was directed at her hands. The others were staring at her like she'd grown another head.

"I'm sorry- did you say you were in a book?" McGonagall looked perplexed. Of all the things this young lady could have said to explain her existence, falling asleep and waking up in book was not one of them. "I assure you, we are quite real."

Willow's laugh sounded strained even to her own ears. "But you are in a book, and now I must be too. I read all about you, with Tara. We laughed about the wands and broomsticks and house elves. You're a fairytale! Aren't you…?" At that she seemed unsure.

Creasing his brow, Dumbledore reached across the desk and took Willow's trembling hand in his own. "Sometimes in this world, there are things we can't explain. I often wondered about the nature of creativity. You say, we were written about? Well, perhaps we could think of imagination and creativity as being outlets to see into other possibilities. You imagine that somewhere, somehow, there's a world with say… no mice. In that instance, you may have in fact somehow touched that world with no mice, seen it's existence with whatever piece of your unconscious that works the ether to come up with new images. Perhaps someone from your reality briefly saw into our world and wrote it down for everyone to read. How are you to know that you aren't being written about in some other reality?" Willow looked extremely uncomfortable. "That said- think of this as the world without mice. It's just a theory mind you, I have no idea whether this is provable or not."

Willow nodded slowly and whispered, "There's a world with no shrimp. She was allergic; I said we'd go one day…"

His eyebrow arched, "Yes well, perhaps there is. Do you mean, you've heard of other realities?"

Now her laugh was clear. "Oh, that is so a yes. More trouble than they're worth really, especially on a hellmouth. Some beasties want in, some beasties want out, and sometimes shit just happens."

"So something like this has happened to you before?"

"Ah well, not exactly me. I accidentally pulled my doppelganger from an alternate universe once." The silence in the room was deafening.

McGonagall choked on her tea, and Dumbledore leaned forward. "Well, what happened in that case?" Willow frowned.

"Uh… I was trying to help a friend of mine… well she wasn't then, but I guess she is… now," don't think about it, don't think about it, "find her power center that was smashed in the alternate dimension and I pulled the version of me back instead. It didn't go well, see… My double was kinda a vampire, and the other me was not happy about being here at all. In her world… what was it… they 'rode people like ponies' or something… vampires were the top of the food chain, and she wanted to go home. There was leather and lots of angst… I hated to kill her, even though that's what we do, so we sent her home. Anya never did get her power center back."

Dumbledore blinked. "What an interesting… story. But it doesn't explain why you're here. Did you cast anything today that would have sent you here?" He didn't miss the blanche that spread across Willow's flushed cheeks.

"No! I mean, no. I didn't cast… anything today." She narrowed her eyes. "Did you? Did anyone show up asking if there was anything you wished for? Cause if Anya did this I am so going to actually kill her this time. Someone should put D'Hoffryn out of business, that man is a menace. If some stupid wish sucked me into this world, there's going to be hell to pay and no resurrected slayer is going to stop me now." As her speech progressed, Willow's body language became more and more intense. Her posture straightened, her hands curled as if to hold something, and her eyes flashed.

Both McGonagall and Dumbledore sat back, raising their hands in peace. "My dear, I think you are a bit overwrought. I assure you no one here cast any wishes. I am not actually familiar with the D'Hoffryn you mention. Didn't you say that Anya was a friend of yours? Why would you wish to kill her? And what is a slayer? Your world seems rather different than ours."

Smiling a bit, he poured her more tea. McGonagall did not relax and cautiously watched Willow's hands. "Child, where is your wand?" Willow's attention snapped towards the other woman.

"I don't use a wand." She sighed. "If there is really no reason for me to be here, perhaps we should work on a way to get me home." Willow shook her head, her hair glinting like flame in the candlelight. "I'm sorry. I'm very tired. It has been… exhausting for me recently. I would be happy to answer any questions you have in the morning, once I can think more clearly. Would you mind terribly putting me up for the night? It doesn't appear that I have anywhere else to go."

Suddenly, the angry young women before them dissolved into a tired child, desperately in need of sleep. She hugged her knees to her chest, and dropped her head. Minerva reached out to touch her shoulder, starting as Willow flinched away from her touch. Her heart melted as Willow looked at her with such sad exhaustion, and she drew her up from the chair.

"Albus, I'll be right back. I'll install Miss Rosenberg in the guest quarters off this hall. This won't take but a moment." Fairly clucking, she led Willow away from the fireside, back down the stairwell and into the hallway.

One brief "Oriental Poppies" and they entered a plain but generous set of guest quarters. Barely awake, Willow noted a bathroom, small breakfast nook, and a lovely, deep four-poster bed. Shucking her shoes and anorak, she flopped onto the bed, barely hearing one last question.

"My dear, you said you read of us in books. What did you read, exactly?"

Mumbling, Willow answered. "Sorcerer's Stone, Chamber of Secrets, Prisoner of Azkaban and the Goblet of Fire. That was the last one, years ago… Way too long, took forever to read… When is it now?" She was asleep before McGonagall could formulate a reply.

*** ***

Albus was staring off into space by the time Minerva returned. She cleared her throat before sitting, and Albus turned to her with the faintest of glint in his eye.

"I've summoned Severus and Remus. They may have something to contribute to this conversation. Perhaps this is the answer to our little 'prayer' this afternoon, though I am fairly sure neither of us wished for anything. Seems awfully sensitive about wishing, our young friend. Perhaps wishing is different where she comes from as well." He picked up a sour worm from a bowl on his desk.

"Albus… do you think it's wise to involve the two of them?"

"I don't think that's your decision, Minerva. I'm sure you and Albus need all the help you can get." Snape sneered, lurking in the doorway next to Lupin. "Would you care to fill us in on the little dinnertime drama we just witnessed? Because, I for one, would love to know how she got here." Lupin nodded silently.

Dumbledore sighed and transfigured up two more chairs. "You may as well hear everything from the beginning, starting this afternoon…"

By the time he was finished speaking, the room had descended into utter silence. They sat quietly for a few minutes before Snape leaned forward in his seat. "You think she can help us with her brand of magic. That may be, but she's dangerous. And she's not telling you everything. Remus and I agree for once. She has quite a bit more power than she lets on."

"I know Severus… And I think she was sent here not just for us, but for her sake as well. Something has happened to her; she needs to heal. And perhaps we can help."

Snape snorted and Lupin waved his hand. "You said she read about us all? And the last book is related to the Goblet of Fire? That was two years ago, she has no idea what's going on now. What are we going to do with her? We can't very well say, 'Hey, there's a mad wizard on the loose and we'd love for you to tell us how to kill him!' I can't imagine that would go over well."

"No, Remus, it may not. But something tells me that sort of situation is something she's familiar with. Miss Rosenberg seems to have faced an array of situations with which we would not ordinarily come into contact, and it would behoove us to learn from her knowledge, whatever that may be." He steepled his hands. "I am not sure what to do with Miss Rosenberg. I believe her to be older than the students we generally house. Perhaps we can create a position of some sort here, something that would give her presence credibility- at least until we can send her home. Tomorrow, we'll ask her about herself; perhaps she'll be more communicative. In any case, I think this is no time to leave the child to her own devices. It is no longer a friendly world, and she is unfamiliar with our ways." He glanced around the room, surveying his friends and colleages. Minerva still looked shocked, Remus was cautious but hopeful, and Severus looked as if the poor girl was going to creep up behind him and whack him over the head with a bat.

Dumbledore smiled and summoned a crystal decanter. "Brandy anyone? I find I could do with a nightcap."

Chapter 3

Faint morning light streamed in through the thick window casements setting the swirling dust motes alight. Willow rolled over, snuggled deep into the down comforter. It occurred to her, not for the first time in the last day, that life sometimes takes a turn for the bizarre. Yesterday morning, she was forcibly placed on a train and told to take herself to Scotland and 'center herself'. She apparently centered herself so well that she ended up in another dimension.

A dimension she previously believed to be fictional, but clearly wasn't. Things here weren't exactly like the books, she supposed. The books certainly didn't allow you to feel the cold seeping in from the ever pervasive stone, hear the creaks and rustles of settling buildings, smell the faint odor of mildew and old things, or see the way the daylight played along the hangings of her bed. But some things obviously were. Magic was used here. Witches and wizards saturated their lives with it, made every action easier with it, and couldn't survive without it.

Last night, she had been overwhelmingly concerned about returning back 'to where she belonged'. In the brightness of day, on the other hand, she wondered just how well she belonged there. She was cast out, however well intentioned, of the only place she knew by her friends. Friends too afraid to be near her. Entrusted into the care of the one person they believed would be able to control her. What they didn't know was that she hadn't been controlled. Giles could never have prevented her ascendancy- she had chosen to stop, for love- the same emotion that precipitated her unraveling to begin with.

Xander had thought that that his little crayon speech somehow wicked the 'badness' out of her, cured her. She smiled a twisted, self-deprecating smile at that thought. Oh no, it was still there, the dark and the light. It always would be. The idea that she was addicted to magic was utter crap; she only wished she'd seen it sooner. You can't be addicted to part of yourself, she thought, it's like being addicted to toenails, and about as productive. So she got on the plane with Giles, docile and helpful, and came to learn control, stuffing the burning shame as far inside as it would go, eager to get away from the looks of mis-directed empathy.

It was all very confusing, and she'd had no chance to deal with her emotions and actions before now. She supposed that Giles and the coven had kept her busy, distracted her, to prevent another breakdown when she finally grieved for Tara. Tara. Willow buried her head under the covers and balled her fists. What they didn't understand was she grieved every moment she was alive, and she was still here. And so was the magic. It didn't go away; it never went away. She could feel it always, swirling just below her skin. It held no sway over her now, the lessons with the coven had given her that, but it called to her always. It hummed in her very soul, singing to her, loving her, craving her. She felt stretched thin.

I wonder if they'll ever come for me. Perhaps I'll sleep all day long, well into the night, and they will have forgotten about me. Somehow, I don't think Dumbledore will ever forget about me.

Dumbledore. He wanted something, she was sure. She wished she'd paid more attention to the books when she and Tara had read them to each other. Unfortunately, they'd had other things on their mind, and now she was a little lost. Characters she remembered vaguely, and the general plot gists, but more than that, she drew a blank. Sighing, she poked her head out of the covers and surveyed her surroundings.

Nope, nothing familiar. I hope the books will come in handy with the teachers. I don't even know how long has passed since the last one. Or whether the characters- no, people- are still alive.

Swinging her feet out of the covers, she suddenly realized how hungry she was. And how interested in eating she was; she couldn't remember the last time she had been hungry. Thinking a bit more, she realized it wasn't just hunger, it was freedom she felt. No one knew her; no one knew what she had done, or what she was capable of. The shy, nerdy Willow was gone, but so was the desperate, clingy Willow, and the hell bent on destruction Willow. She had what she had always wanted: a blank slate. The loss of her lover still gaped like an open wound, but if she couldn't have Tara, at least she could start over where she was free. She could become whoever she wanted to be. Feeling infinitely better about her situation, she headed through the doorway across the room to search out the shower.

For a drafty, chilly castle, the bathrooms couldn't be beat. An enormous tub with several taps lay along one side of the bathroom. On the other, a multi headed shower and vanity with two sinks, and a discreetly hidden toilet. There were jars and bottles in every shade of the rainbow, sometimes several at once. A massive pile of incredibly fluffy towels were stacked three deep on a low table, with washcloths and loofas in a basket on the floor. Selecting a few bottles of the most delectable smells, and a handy loofa or two, she stepped into the shower, melting under the hot water.

Finally warm, and clean, she snagged a few towels and wrapped herself tightly, scrubbing her hair to dry it as much as possible. Exiting the luxurious bath, she gasped in surprise. Laid on the newly remade bed was a set of beautiful gray robes, elegantly trimmed in black piping accented by ivy leaves along the buttonholes. Underneath, her undergarments had been replicated, or cleaned- she didn't know which. Pinned to the top was a note: I thought these to be in your size. I hope you find them to your liking. M.McG.

Willow smiled and ran her hands over the deceptively smooth material, and slipped the robes on without a second thought. They were much warmer than her jeans and pullover, and she could hardly wear an anorak inside all day long. She'd have to remember to thank McGonagall for her wonderful choice of apparel- the robes fit like a glove. Willow had always worn clothes to suit her temperament, regardless of fashion or current tastes. She wondered now why she had never tried robes, other than the obvious Southern California weather constraints- she couldn't believe the way they enhanced her figure.

Humming to herself, she decided to go exploring for breakfast. Swinging the door open, she peered left then right down the halls, and realized she had no idea which way to go. She vaguely remembered the headmaster's rooms to the right, but she had no idea how to get back to the great hall. Frowning, she turned to a painting adorning the wall to her left.

"Excuse me, I was wondering if you might tell me how to get to the great hall for breakfast. I seem to have lost my way." The lady in the portrait sniffed and waved her hand to the right, mumbling something under her breath about 'impertinent Americans'. Rolling her eyes, Willow swept off down the hallway, as regally as she could manage.

Time for the new me to start. And the new me is not going to be intimidated by some uppity long dead patriotic English floozy in a painting.

Willow wandered for a few minutes without seeing anything familiar. Huffing in frustration, she was about to ask another painting or suit of armor for help when a figure came barreling around the corner, black cloak flapping. Snape.

She stepped out of his path, and tried to blend into the gray shadows lining the halls. He nearly passed her without seeing her, but as he came abreast, he fairly jumped out of his skin. "Miss Rosenberg! Kindly tell me why you're lurking behind a distractingly ugly urn."

She stepped forward, smiling disarmingly. "Why, I was looking for breakfast, Professor Snape, and I thought that this lovely urn may conjure some up for me. What do you think?"

He humphed, and waved his hand dismissively. "I don't need your cheek this morning, young lady. As it so happens, I was sent to look for you. The headmaster requests our presence, so your attempt to wheedle breakfast out of hall décor will have to wait." Seeing her face fall, he relented. "And I believe he has breakfast waiting for you in his quarters. Will you please follow me?" After submitting her to an intense glare, as if he was trying to read her mind, and failed, he offered his arm in a gesture of gentility that surprised them both. He escorted her back to the large bronze griffon and up into the headmaster's office.

Seated in Dumbledore's office were McGonagall, Lupin and the headmaster himself. Upon seeing their entrance, he waved over two more chairs and removed the cover from a steaming tray of traditional English breakfast foods. Willow smiled gratefully as she filled her plate and sat back.

"I trust you slept well Miss Rosenberg. You've met Professors Lupin and Snape. They've been apprised of your situation and are most eager to talk with you. Once you've finished that bite, perhaps you'd like to tell us a little about yourself so we can find the best way to have you fit in at Hogwarts. You are older than the students we house, are you not?"

Willow swallowed and nodded. "First off, thank you for the lovely robes Professor McGonagall; they're wonderful! I don't know too much about how the British school system works, but I'll be a senior at University of California Sunnydale next year. I'm 20; I started school young. I'm from Sunnydale, a small town outside of Los Angeles and am studying Psychology pre-med in college."

Minerva leaned forward, a question in her eyes, "Do you mean to tell me you go to a Muggle University? Where did you do your training dear?"

Willow smiled. "We have no wizarding schools like you do here. I guess everyone's raised a Muggle, regardless of whether they practice magic or not. I actually stayed in Sunnydale as opposed to going to Oxford in order to be able to practice magic with my friends. I suppose it won't hurt to tell you that Sunnydale's real name is Boca del Inferno- it's a hellmouth." At their exchange of confused glances, she elaborated. "I think magic is used differently where I'm from. There's almost no formal training, unless you come from a family of witches, and even then, things can go poorly," she said, thinking of Tara's family's attitude toward the witches in their midst. "I only got into practicing magic because of the friends I made, and the need we had for it. Giles, the man who introduced me to the coven I'm studying with now, helped me along at first. Do you know much about Hellmouths?"

"No, my dear, I'm afraid we do not. It seems that our worlds are more different than we suspected. Here, you are either a magical person, or a Muggle. There is no in between. Magic is taught, schooled and regulated." Dumbledore surveyed the mood of the room. Minerva was listening patiently, her concern for the girl was palpable. Lupin was impassive, waiting till the end of the discussion to pass judgment. Snape was sneering, obviously not impressed with Hogwart's new visitor. "Could you explain a little more about why you needed magic, if you had no history with it?"

Willow frowned, unsure of how to begin. "As I said, I lived on a hellmouth. That's really just a place with heaps of mystical energy that allows beings, particularly demons, access between dimensions. Usually they're just trying to bring about an apocalypse, but sometimes they just want to go home… Anyway, the energy attracts all sorts of demons and magical folks, in particular vampires. We have bunch of them around, probably more than you do here. So where there are vampires, there's someone called a vampire Slayer. Do you know of Slayers?" At the universal no, she continued. "Giles would love this, a whole new audience. I'll see if I can do it justice. Into each generation one girl is born with the strength to fight the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the slayer. Or something like that."

Snape snorted, "So, you're this Slayer. You don't look like you could last two seconds in a fight."

Willow glared at him, the words rank, arrogant amateur echoing in her mind. She turned to face him fully, and the irritation of being underestimated bloomed. "I assure you, Professor Snape, I am quite good in a fight. You probably don't want to find out just how dangerous I can be." Her eyes flashed, and Snape shrank back from the glimmers of ebony that swirled thought the clear green depths. Her point made, she relaxed and faced the room once again.

Severus Snape had been feeling out of his depth. He didn't trust the girl, and he didn't appreciate her little intimidation act, or the fact that it worked. When Snape felt threatened, he resorted to sarcasm. Better to attack than be attacked. He knew it wasn't one of his most attractive traits, but he didn't particularly feel the need to psychoanalyze himself and fix it. So he was unpleasant. He had the right, he figured. And he was also going to watch this Willow Rosenberg very carefully.

"But he does have one point. I am not the Slayer. Her name is Buffy Summers, and she moved to Sunnydale my sophomore year in high school. I didn't really have any idea where I really lived until then, weird occurrences were sort of standard fare, and no one looked too carefully into random deaths. Anyway, Buffy showed up with Giles, her watcher. There's only one Slayer at a time, but they don't usually last very long. They're always young girls, trained to fight and kill, stronger than average humans, but still vulnerable. Eventually, the current Slayer dies, and a new one is called. Anyway, if you want to know more about the Slayers, ask me about it later.

"Being friends with Buffy had its risks, and most of us had some skill to compensate. There were a few of us that fought her battles with her over the years. Giles was her watcher, and he had had some magical experiences in his youth. Watchers are trained in all sorts of useful ways to help their Slayers, and Giles was a bit more unorthodox than most. Our little group of scoobies has changed over the years, but at one time or another, it's had a werewolf, a vampire or two, an 1100 year old ex-vengeance demon, a technopagan, a souped up uber-soldier, a cheerleader, Xander and myself."

"And you were the only witch?"

"No, there was another. Tara." Willow's face blanched.

Handing her a cup of warm chamomile tea, Dumbledore patted her hand. "And who is Tara?"

"Tara was my everything." The room sat in silence.

Clearing his throat, Lupin leaned forward. "The description of your world is fascinating. You say you battled demons and vampires and the like? It may be extremely helpful for our current situation if you could elaborate more on the subject. We are facing a very powerful Dark Wizard."

Willow nodded, "Voldemort. He was in the books I read. He'd just been restored after the Triwizard Tournament. There was no information after that, and I can only guess at the validity of the writer's accounts. So you want my help and information to try to defeat him? Well, I am research girl after all. Point me to the library, and I'll see what I can do."

"We would be most appreciative for any help you could yield, Miss Rosenberg," Dumbledore said. He looked at her contemplatively for a moment. "However, we are not sure that the techniques you used to defeat your enemies could be used to defeat ours. Incidentally, it has been two years and a summer since then, and Voldemort has been quiet, planning and plotting we think, until two nights ago."

Startled, Willow exclaimed, "Oh, so the kids are still here! Harry, Ron, Hermione and the rest! That is so cool!"

At Snape's sour expression, Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, my dear, Harry and all the rest are in their final year. Most of them are 18 or so, the older children anyway. It is most fortunate that you're familiar with their situation. It will make the adjustment much easier next week."

Willow squeaked out, "Adjustment? You mean, I'm going to be here when they're here? Ummm, do you think that's safe? I have a tendency to be… unpredictable sometimes. I would rather not be around children if I could help it." She had never liked babysitting, and would rather not be around children at all, regardless of her current inner-magical battles. It was one thing to hang on to her control with these teachers around; she didn't have any interest in testing her patience with 11 year olds.

Sensing her discomfort, Dumbledore smiled calmly, "Miss Rosenberg, I think you will find that your stay here is of benefit to both of us. You are in possession of some potentially very useful information. And we, as in Hogwarts, will provide you a venue to see magic studied in a more formal setting. Minerva and I have discussed what role you will play while you are here, and we think it best that we use a cover story. As it is obvious you are from America, it would be fairly easy to convince people that you are here studying how European magical schools train their children as part of a course you are taking at your university. Magical learning techniques, perhaps. That would also explain your slightly different approach to the subject. We think it best for you to spend time with each of the teachers here, both listening to their teaching style and how the students react. We can set up a loose schedule and will work in time for you to study our situation, if you are amenable, as well as talking with both Professor Lupin and myself. Does that sound alright to you?"

Her thoughts whirled as the possibilities flashed by. She could receive training without overt teaching and no one would judge her- they would encourage her. For once, she was the most important part of the team, not Buffy. A small part of her that had long been thwarted blossomed. She smiled. "I'll do it."

Dumbledore clapped his hands together happily. "That's wonderful! Since it appears that you will be staying for a while, or at least until we find a way to send you home, I thought you and Minerva could take a daytrip to Hogsmeade to purchase anything you may want to make your quarters more comfortable. We have some funds set aside for unexpected circumstances, and I definitely think you qualify. She can fill you in on what's changed here in the past two years, as well. So, have a lovely afternoon shopping!"

Grinning, Willow stood up and followed McGonagall down the staircase once more. The men could hear her light laughter float back to the office. Fawkes ruffled his feathers in response and flew onto Dumbledore's desk. Absently petting the phoenix, the headmaster frowned.

"We have to be careful, Severus, Remus. You were right; she is very powerful. But she has a good heart, and I believe she can help. She obviously has no prejudice working with persons of questionable backgrounds, if demons, werewolves and vampires are her friends. And she must have some unorthodox methods of fighting the forces of darkness as she puts it. Miss Rosenberg will have some difficulty adjusting, and it would be best if we all, Severus, do what we can do to help make her adjustment to our world easier. She will also be able to help us in other ways. If she is presented as an assistant to the faculty, she will be able to help maintain order as well as aid you as much as you need. She wants to learn, I can feel it, and we have every obligation to provide her with whatever knowledge she has lacked."

Lupin nodded, and mentally ran down the list of magical creatures that could be classified as demons. He wondered how she dealt with them, and other aspects of dark magic. She would be fascinating to consult before classes began.

Snape had a bleak look on his face, but he was not wholly displeased. The girl was dangerous. Even he, who wasn't particularly adept at reading auras, felt the magic around her. It settled around her like a cloak. The only people he had ever known that felt remotely the same were sitting at opposite ends of the magical scale, Dumbledore and Voldemort. He had no idea where she fell, and it unnerved him. That said, she was willing to help, and they needed every bit that they could find.

Sighing, he murmured, "I have some potions to check, but I would be happy to help Miss Rosenberg with whatever she needs later. Just let me know." Besides this way, I can keep an eye on her.

The headmaster nodded and stroked his beard, deep in thought himself. "Very well, Severus. We'll see you at dinner then. Remus, care for a chess match, or do you have lessons to plan?"

The werewolfe smiled apologetically, "Sorry, Albus, lesson plans call. I'll take a rain check though." Inclining his head, he preceded the potions master out of the office. Dumbledore continued stroking Fawkes, his eyes staring off to a distance that only he could see

Chapter 4

The sky was high and blue; a pair of kites whirled against the backdrop of a few wispy clouds. It was a typical brisk summer day in the Scottish highlands, and Willow was falling in love with her surroundings. It was the most intense place she had ever felt, and that didn't just take the magic into account. It was Old, capital O. The rocks and trees and dirt and air were old; she felt as if she could see back through the millennia. It was exhilarating.

Along the path to Hogsmeade, McGonagall kept up a steady stream of questions about the life Willow had left behind. How she had managed without magic, what classes she had taken, what the weather in LA was really like. Willow was grateful for the mindless chatter. As they approached the gate into the town proper, McGonagall dragged her back to the here and now by asking about her friends.

"You mentioned several friends you left behind. They sounded like they were good friends."

Nodding, Willow murmured, "Yes, they were good friends." Her companion merely raised an eyebrow at the past tense.

"You mentioned someone named Tara. She was your…?"

"As I said before, she was my everything. I don't know what people's attitudes towards same sex relationships are in this world, but I loved her with all my heart." She closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sky.

Placing a comforting hand on Willow's arm, McGonagall continued, "What happened, child."

Head bowed, Willow whispered, "She died. And now I'm here. It's all I could do. Sometimes I can still feel her around me, and sometimes I even think I can talk to her in my dreams. She seems happy where she is, encouraging me to get on with my life. I don't know; I feel like if I do, I'd be betraying her memory. Then again, I could be just dreaming what my unconscious wants to dream, rather than what she actually feels. It's so complicated, and I had to leave before I could even think about dealing. And her awful family came back and took her away, and I don't even know where she went!" Stunned at the sobs bursting from her lips, Willow turned away, only to find herself wrapped in the teacher's wiry arms. Shaking, she curled her arms around the woman in front of her and briefly gave into the sobs. When they slowed she sniffled, and fished around in her bag, looking for tissues. Finding none, she laughed.

"You don't think you could conjure up a Kleenex could you? I seem to be fresh out." A faint smile of relief later, Willow had a ball of fluffy white tissues clutched in her fist.

Gently taking her arm, the older woman led her to a low stone bench at the side of the trail. "You know, Willow- may I call you Willow? You may feel free to call me Minerva, if we are to be working together. Life and death are inexorably linked. We can no more have one without the other. That said- death has the capacity to wreak havoc on all aspects of our lives. I have lost more than I could possibly comprehend. I lost my husband during the first uprising of Voldemort. I have lost more friends than I can count. But in the end, you must move on, begin living again. If you don't, the dark wins in the end. And if nothing else, the deaths of those you love give the fight meaning."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Willow reached for Minerva's hand, "Thank you. No one wanted to deal with me about this. They were probably afraid I would go all psycho or something… I sort of… overreacted… when she was… shot. Maybe my friends thought if they didn't mention it, I wouldn't fall apart. All I needed was someone to listen. So thank you." She bowed her head once again, gathering her thoughts. "Minerva, I don't know how I'm going to fit in here, but I am profoundly grateful for the chance to prove my worth. I'll help in anyway I can. You know that don't you?"

At the naked search for approval, the witch brushed Willow's hair from her blotched cheeks and smiled. "Of course, my dear. We have the utmost faith in you. Come now, we have shopping to do, and I promised to tell you all that's been happening since you've been away."

They stood and continued into Hogsmeade. Willow gasped in delight. It was just as she'd imagined, narrow cobbled lanes, bustling witches and wizards, fascinating shops and stores. She grinned. "This is so cool. I can't believe I'm really here!"

Minerva responded wryly, "Frankly, neither can I. Let's see about some new robes, fit for a young witch. I know just the store for you."

An hour and four shopping bags later, Willow was the proud owner of several pairs of everyday robes, new shoes, sundry underthings, a few pairs of pants, skirts and shirts, and a set of stunning dress robes the same green as her eyes. McGonagall steered her into the Three Broomsticks for a bite to eat.

Rosemerta bustled over to the table as soon as they sat. "Minerva! You didn't visit nearly enough this summer, but at least you finally showed up. And who's this you've brought with you?" The barmaid's eyes checked every last inch of Willow- it wasn't often a new source of gossip traipsed into her shop without warning.

"Rosemerta, this is Willow Rosenberg. She's visiting from America, studying the English wizarding education system. She'll be staying at Hogwarts until her study is finished. Willow, this is Rosemerta, our resident gossip. Everyone will know who you are by the end of teatime." The last statement was only partially in jest, but Rosemerta grinned from ear to ear.

"No doubt about it, Minerva. It's not everyday such a lovely young lady stops by with no warning. The boys will be lining up for a look at you!"

Willow arched her eyebrow, "I'm sure. It's nice to meet you, Rosemerta. I've been dying to try one of your famous butterbeers. Could I trouble you for a pint?"

As Rosemerta bustled off to fill their order of butterbeers and sandwiches, Minerva turned to her young charge. "That was nicely done. I thought we'd be stuck with her forever."

Smiling, Willow whispered sotto voce, "It's like Cordelia and the hair. You've got to distract with the one thing they value most of all."

By the time their orders had been filled, the bar had begun to fill up and the barmaid was pulled in other directions. Thankful for the gossip respite, the talk turned to Hogwarts.

"I thought Professor Lupin had been forced into retirement? How'd he get reinstated?"

"Hmm, well we've worked out a more permanent wolfsbane potion, so the transformation could be held off for longer with fewer doses of the potion. That, and there was severe dearth of eligible people to fill the position, after what happened to Moody. Remus was one of the few people Albus trusted, so he overrode the board and brought him back. Thank goodness for that, he's been a lifesaver."

Frowning, Willow responded, "You know, I used to date a werewolf. He left me to learn how to control his wolf, and when he came back, I was already with Tara. We got a chance to talk though, and he had found a way to suppress the wolf indefinitely, as well as retain his human consciousness during the transformation. Perhaps I could talk with Professor Lupin about it later. He may find some of the meditations helpful. Wish Oz was around to ask questions, but he left… and isn't in this dimension…" Her face twisted into a rough grin, "That will take some getting used to. I can't exactly phone home, not that my parents will notice I'm gone. Giles will probably think I turned myself into a rock or something and haul the whole lake home with him. That'd be a sight to see." Shaking herself, she started in with the questions once again.

"What about the students- Harry, Hermione and Ron? Harry was the focus of the books, pretty much everything was told from his perspective. Is he alright?"

Minerva snorted, "That boy, he'll be the death of me. He's fine- a typical Gryffindor. Always in trouble for something or another, thought we've not had problems with Voldemort in two years. The students' lives progressed pretty much like all do at that age; outside intrusions were rare. Harry's godfather was eventually exonerated, and he now lives with Sirius Black in a wizarding suburb and sees absolutely nothing of his awful Muggle relatives, thank Merlin. Ron finally asked Hermione out last spring and as far as I know they've been dating all summer. I don't know how she puts up with the Weasley charm, but I think she manages. She'll be head girl this year, with Draco Malfoy as head boy." At Willow's startled look, Minerva expounded, "He's very bright and has excellent grades. As questionable as his allegiances are, he has a way with the students, none dare step out of line around him- for fear of being turned into a gnat if nothing else. No one willingly crosses him." She sighed. "We don't know what to do with him exactly. His father's political leanings are still shrouded, and Minister Fudge refuses to hear anything negative about one of the most prominent wizarding families. When Draco's father, Lucius, demanded he be head boy, Fudge spent an hour in Albus's offices browbeating him into acquiescing. It was not pretty."

The noise in the pub somehow had become exponentially louder as the alcohol-for-afternoon-tea crowd swelled. Their sandwiches long consumed, the two witches surveyed the room. Tutting low in her throat, Minerva continued.

"It is close to open war, but no one is willing to make the first move until Harry has graduated. Voldemort most likely wishes to eliminate the Potter threat in a most public fashion before beginning his new public reign of terror. It is only a matter of time. The last attack on Muggles a few days ago was a warning- he is still out there and waiting until the time is right."

"Out of the frying pan into the fire. I think apocalypses follow me around. I think it's been seven in the last six years," Willow mumbled, leaving out the fact that the last apocalyptic event had been of her making- and the fact that she wasn't sure how guilty she felt about it. "I'm sort of an expert on the end of the world. Not so familiar with mad wizards trying to dominate it though. I wonder if the Mayor counts… he just wanted to become a giant demon snake as far as I know. He wasn't forthcoming in his motivations." She chortled, "Man, I can't believe I'm thinking fondly of the Mayor. Distance sure does make the heart grow fonder. That and he was so… predictable. Get the books, eat the spiders, create havoc, eat the graduating class. Those were the days."

Minerva was fairly astonished. Here was this delicate young woman who was calmly discussing the end of the world as if it happened every day. She couldn't believe their good fortune. She could very well be exactly what they needed.

"Well, Willow. If you've finished, we should be getting back before dark and have a bit more shopping to do. I know you said you didn't use a wand, so we could probably forgo that stop. You should probably keep the fact that you do wandless magic quiet. It is not a common ability in this world, and it could be misconstrued." At Willow's nod, she continued. "We'll stop to pick you up some parchment and quills, as well as some books for you to read to familiarize yourself with our ways… not that you haven't read about our world already… Just out of curiosity, how do we compare to the descriptions in the book?"

Grinning, Willow responded airily, "Oh, Dumbledore is about dead on, you are much more intimidating in person, and no one mentioned Professor Snape was hot." With a wink, she was out of her seat and into the street, a bemused McGonagall in her wake.

Chapter 5

It seems one can never escape one's past, no matter how much one wishes. Willow sat in the front of the Transfiguration classroom, center seat of the center aisle. As Minerva asked her a question on some aspect of her magical abilities, Willow could see her shadow self in the seat next to her. The old Willow, the Willow before the world of vampires and demons, had her hand was thrust high into the air, the answer ready to burst from her tongue. This Willow, the Willow of here and now, was more cautious. She paused the think how best to phrase her response without alarming the woman she hoped would become her friend.

"I am not exactly sure how to explain this. I can do transformations, but I don't use words like you do. See this pencil?" She waved her hand over it slowly and it shimmered into a long thin snake. The snake curled around her fingers as she picked it gently up.

"Well, Willow, that was… impressive. How exactly did you do that?" The professor eyed the snake warily as Willow stroked its smooth head.

"I didn't used to be able to do this sort of magic. I could follow spell books, do what the papers said, but up until last spring, it was sort of stilted. I needed a form to follow, and sometimes I made mistakes- big mistakes. Last spring… something happened… and I unleashed some magic that is much more free form. I can see what an object is, and what I wish it to be. Then I follow the lines of the original object and… bend… the lines into the new object. Words would only separate me from what I'm doing, I suppose." She laid the snake back onto the desk and blew softly, smiling as the pencil reappeared.

Lost in thought, McGonagall absently picked up the pencil and inspected it closely. "Most interesting. You have just described the nature behind transfigurations, but almost every wizard I know needs the interface of words to accomplish it. Does this apply to you as well? Can you transform yourself into other shapes, or creatures?"

"Like a cat?" She grinned at the other woman's startled reaction. "I remember you're an animagus, but I've never tried before. My appearance I can change as easily as my clothing." Willow-in-robes was suddenly replaced by Willow-in-jeans-and-a-My-Little-Ponies-t-shirt. "But I was discouraged from this sort of thing. I've never tried to turn into an animal, probably because I saw what happened to Amy. She turned herself into a rat to escape from a bunch of parents that tried to burn us at the stake. She got away, but never could turn herself back again. I finally managed it a few years later, but I never had any interest spending quality time in a habitrail. Not my cup of tea." She touched her t-shirt and the robes returned.

"Er, your parents tried to burn you at the stake?"

"Another complication of life on the hellmouth. This Hansel and Gretel demon tried to stir up trouble and Buffy's mom was sort of possessed. She started M.O.O. and organized the torching of her daughter, me, and another witch named Amy. Luckily Buffy killed it before we died. It's sort of funny in retrospect, but at the time I was convinced I'd be a crispy critter. Would you mind showing me how you transform? I'm fairly sure I could learn from feeling what the magic does around you."

Nodding, Minerva McGonagall stepped away a few paces and suddenly a black and gray tabby was sitting on the teacher's desk. Willow frowned and held her hands near the cat. "Would you mind transforming back again? I'd like to see if I could do it." A mere second later, Minerva the woman was restored.

"Do you have any questions, dear?"

"No, but can you change me back if I get stuck? Here goes!" Willow closed her eyes and the very air around her frame lit up with sparkles. She let out a huge sigh, and vanished into the form of lynx. The Willow-lynx sniffed the air and gave one experimental leap to the top of the desk, from the desk to the display case, and from the display case to the floor at the transfiguration teacher's feet. Laughing, Willow reappeared.

"That was wonderful! You feel so different as an animal, don't you! Let me try something else." Before Minerva had a chance to say that wizards had only one animagus form, Willow became an elegant golden eagle. She flapped her wings and tried to launch from the desk. Unfortunately, becoming a bird didn't automatically teach her to fly, and she flopped to the floor. The eagle disappeared and Willow sat on the cold stone rubbing her wrists.

"Well, I won't try that again without some instruction. Flying's hard! Um, are you alright? Did I do something wrong?"

McGonagall was white as a sheet. She had never heard of a wizard or witch with more than one animal form, or of one that had obtained animagus status so easily, without the help of a potion or charm. The implications of this were astounding.

"I'm fine, child. I think we'll stop with the lessons for this morning. The students show up this evening, and you'll want to freshen up a bit, I suppose."

Willow nodded warily. Something had upset the teacher, and she didn't know what it was. I came back fine both times. Maybe she didn't like the eagle form… too American perhaps? "Sure, I'll just go check with the other teachers to see if they need anything from me tonight. I'm to come to the great hall with the staff this evening, correct?"

As much as she would love to explore what she had just seen, Minerva knew that it was best to continue as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. "I think you'll be free till the feast. You are to meet with the staff and head boy and girl and be seated before the Sorting. I always oversee that part of the ceremony, so I'll be along somewhat later. Just remember to relax, you'll do just fine."

Gathering her belongings, Willow headed away from the classroom towards her ever increasingly permanent guest quarters. A quickly whispered "Oriental Poppies", and she flopped on her bed, books and papers thrown to one side. She'd added a few decorations of her own, and changed the sheet colors to cream and steel blue. Her clothes were hung in an impressive armoire. All in all, it was more comfortable than any college dorm room, bath aside. The bath made it palatial. Deciding that a nice long soak was in order before the stress of 'opening night', she wandered into the bathroom and twisted a few taps, adding her favorite strawberry bubble bath. She twisted up her hair and sunk in up to her neck.

This is heaven. I could stay in here all day if I wasn't afraid of wrinkling myself into old age ahead of my time.

Gently batting at the bubbles swirling around in great pink tinged mountains, she reflected just how fast a week could pass. Willow had spent time with each of the teachers as they returned. All of them believed the cover story concocted by Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall and Lupin. She'd spent one day in the greenhouses, learning her way around and more about snapdragons than she ever wanted to. The Muggle studies teacher, Rendall, had been most delighted to make her acquaintance, and wanted to know just how much American muggles differed from British ones. She and Trelawney had taken one look at each other and with only a modicum of self-restraint, informed the headmaster that perhaps their time could be better spent in other ways. That shuffled her off to the dungeons and Snape.

Snape. She'd meant what she told Minerva; he was handsome. Maybe not in a traditional way, and he could do with a hair wash or two, but he was compelling. All dark and looming, he reminded her of Angel- they were both masters of the brood. And both of them made her jumpy. Snape was always watching her; it was almost as if he knew. It gave her the creeps. Oh, he was always polite and only half as snarky as he could be, but she knew he didn't trust her.

Sighing, she re-twisted her hair back into its clip. She was surprised at how long it had gotten; it was well past her shoulders now. How did it get so long without me noticing? Was I that oblivious to the rest of the world, I didn't even pay attention to my hair? She shook her head. It was entirely possible.

Her day with Snape in the dungeons had gone well enough on the surface. He'd given her a few potions to concoct to watch 'her technique' as he put it. She'd performed each one perfectly; one thing she was good at was chemistry, and this was almost no different. He was almost annoyed that she didn't mess up, and snarled in frustration while waving her out of his laboratory. She didn't need to be told twice.

Willow had bi-weekly meetings set up with Professor Lupin anyway, so she hadn't met with him again aside from mealtimes. She'd also found the library. It was fascinating, and she'd be willing to bet Giles would give his eyeteeth to take a look at it. Most of the books were more practical than the ones in his library, but she had yet to see one describing the exact technique for taking off the head of a Brachnar demon, though she wasn't even sure there were Brachnar demons in this dimension.

She stepped out of the bath, wrapping herself in an enormous fluffy towel. She wandered over to her armoire and looked carefully at the robes inside. The everyday robes would do fine for the school year, and the dress robes were too dressy for tonight. The gray robes again, then. She carefully combed out her hair twisting it up in a half knot, and peered into the mirror. She knew some girls in this world used makeup charms or whatnot, but there was something soothing about the ritual of grooming by hand. Carefully lining her eyes in a soft green and layering on mascara, she tried to see herself as strangers would.

Thin, very pale, long red hair, greenish gold eyes, slightly haunted circles under my eyes. Ugh. I wonder if those will ever go away.

But they couldn't see her past, couldn't see her faults or fears. Satisfied, she smoothed down her nearly dry hair and put on the robes. A pair of neat black leather boots finished her outfit off.

I'm alright. I'm ok. They'll never know. I'm just Willow, and that's all they'll see.

One last breath and she was out of the door. The halls were already ringing with noise of hundreds of children bustling and hurrying into the Great Hall. Willow peered through the throng, heading to the entrance to the teachers' room off the Great Hall. Suddenly she caught sight of a familiar white blond head and grabbed the person, the words "Spike!" leaving her lips before the absurdity of that possible encounter crossed her mind. Already regretting the action, she pulled her hand back as the man in question turned to face her.

Tall, pale with long white hair pulled back into a ponytail, he towered over her by almost a foot, and his granite gray eyes gleamed. He does remind me of Spike somehow. He's so hungry looking, like he can't find what he's looking for.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were a friend of mine…"

He stepped closer and sneered, "Spike, what a charming name."

Backing away, she murmured, "It's a nickname." Her thoughts turned back to Sunnydale, the man in front of her almost forgotten.

"What did your friend do, spike the punch?" Her eyes jerked upwards, not really seeing.

"He tortured his victims with railroad spikes; his real name is William the Bloody." With that she turned away and melted into the crowd. Faintly she found a seat near the wall, avoiding the crush of children. Spike, I haven't thought of him since I left Sunnydale. He wasn't there. Why wasn't he there? He was gone before Tara died, but no one mentioned him. He would have fought… and I would have missed him if he'd died. Surprised at that revelation, she nearly missed the final trickle of schoolchildren into the hall. Jumping up, she almost ran to the doors at the end of the hall, ignoring Snape's glower as he closed the door behind her.

*** ***

Draco Malfoy had been startled by the touch on his arm. No one touched him; no one would dare, much less call him someone else's name. He'd turned; expecting to have to threaten some soon to be sniveling new first year, but instead had found himself face to face with someone he had never met before, someone who nearly knocked him off his feet. Her touch had burned through him like wildfire. He didn't entirely mind the feeling though, unfamiliar as it was. She was intoxicating, beautiful, intriguing, and it seemed she had some interesting friends.

Draco didn't do interpersonal relationships. They tended to thwart the image he carefully concocted around himself from the first day he arrived at Hogwarts. His father had held him back a year before starting school, ostensibly because his mother couldn't bear to have him apart from her. Thinking back on it, Draco reasoned that it was most likely because he had been small. Waiting a year would provide him with two willing flunkies and bodyguards in Crabbe and Goyle. Lucius wasn't a Slytherin for nothing. So Draco had waited, and entered Hogwarts the same year as that atrocious Harry Potter.

Grimacing, he took a seat in the teachers' waiting room and snarled softly to himself. Draco, despite all his hype and rhetoric, wasn't brainwashed. He was much more intelligent than most people gave him credit for, and he used his not insignificant intelligence to get what he wanted- power. It seemed to him, up until this summer, that Lord Voldemort would be a likely source for that. But then something interesting had happened. After his initial rise two years ago, Draco had asked his father to be included in the meetings, or at least some part of them. Lucius had refused, saying his son was too young. Then he refused saying that Draco was still too close to Dumbledore, and most recently, he'd refused saying that Draco was almost out of school, and his grades shouldn't be compromised. It was then that Draco saw what the game really was.

Lucius was threatened by his son. Draco, if allowed to join the Death Eaters, could outshine his father, and that would never do. Lucius was a selfish man, and did not share power well. Seeing comprehension dawn in Draco's eyes, Lucius had come up with this ridiculous plan for him to be Head Boy- a consolation prize, no more. And Draco had taken it, nodded his head like a good son, and went off to practice this summer's project.

His parent's didn't really care what he did during the summer as long as he didn't harm himself or the manor in any fashion. Dark magic was fine by them, just as long as he wasn't caught. The summer after Lord Voldemort's rise, he'd learned to apparate. This summer, it was taking an animagus form. It had taken him weeks to prepare the potion successfully, but once it was done, he was beyond pleased. His form had turned out better than he'd hoped, and it would be a great aid for any extra curricular activities come the school year.

And now here he was back again. The school never changed. Neither did the people. That Granger girl sat across from him, trying her hardest to pretend he wasn't there. The acrimony had gotten stale over the years, and other than a few token threats and hexes each week, the golden three and the Slytherins pretty much ignored each other. The teachers flitted about, like they always did. He watched Snape stalk in the door to the hall before turning to snarl into the hallway.

A slight figure in gray skirted under his arm, paying his glare no mind. It was her, the girl from the hallway. What's she doing in here? She looks young enough to be a pupil, maybe. He watched under hooded eyes as she turned to face the rest of the room, her eyes widening in surprise as they passed over him. Draco arched an eyebrow in response, and he watched her repress a giggle. No one ever giggled at Draco. Her red hair caught highlights from the fireplace and swirled around her face like flame. She nodded at Lupin and Snape before winking at him. She winked at me! Who does she think she is! He stood as they moved to walk to the teacher's table. The girl walked out after Lupin, and Draco was startled to notice the way Snape's eyes followed her.

He looks at her as if he's not sure whether she'll turn him into a toad. Interesting.

Draco followed Hermione out the door, and took his seat at the end of the table. He couldn't see the girl from where he was sitting, but he could hear her light laughter as Lupin made some sort of witty comment. She certainly seemed familiar with the faculty. He turned to face the rest of the room as McGonagall led the first years up for their Sorting, thinking that this year was definitely looking up.

Chapter 6

Willow never thought of herself as an actress. After the deplorable events of the sophomore year talent show, she'd avoided all forms of acting like the plague. She wasn't even a very good liar. I always come off acting like I drank too much coffee or something. Somehow, she was convinced that if she ever lied, the world would see right through her, and everyone would know she was hiding something. So she was mildly surprised to find herself seated at the head table at Hogwarts, laughing at Professor Lupin's light banter next to her, feeling as if the world wasn't seeing through her act. She was a mildly flirty, confident young woman. Her hands didn't shake, she was pretty sure she wasn't glowing like a red tomato, and whatever she prattled back to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had him laughing behind his hand. It was as if she was moving on autopilot, playing a part. She went through the motions in this complicated play and didn't miss a cue. Thank goodness there doesn't seem to be a musical number coming up, she joked silently. That was a nightmare she didn't think she'd ever get over. Stupid opera in stupid Japanese robes.

Seeing Draco, for that's who the young man in the hallway must have been, in the teacher's lounge before seating the previous evening had given her a turn. She hadn't remembered how silver white his hair was supposed to be, and he definitely didn't act like the spoiled brat from the books. Then again, that had been a few years ago, and she was beginning to realize the way Rowling portrayed everyone wasn't always accurate. Draco looked intensely self-controlled. No petulant child was in evidence here; he moved with grace and polish, every inch a gentleman. Sure he'd been sarcastic and snarly, but she had startled him. She hoped he wouldn't pay too much attention to the remarks about Spike; she didn't need to explain about where she came from any more than she had to.

The look on his face when she ducked into the room was priceless; he had as surprised to see her there as she was to see him. The surprise had been carefully masked, but she couldn't resist teasing him, just to see his reaction. Now he was sitting at the other end of the table, trying his hardest to get a good look at her, but to no avail.

Last night's dinner had gone well enough. McGonagall had clapped her hands and silence fell over the Great Hall. A nervous crowd of first years, so small and young looking, huddled at the base of the stairs before the teacher's table: the next generation of witches and wizards. One by one, they came to sit under the hat and were sorted; Willow only offhandedly noticed which houses they were sorted in.

What she was really doing was scanning the hall for faces to put to the names in the books. The Ron and Ginny Weasley were easy. They were the only two people in the room with hair as red as Willow's, though theirs ran towards orange. She picked Harry as the dark haired boy sitting next to Ron, mouthing something up at the head table at whom she assumed was Hermione. Willow hadn't gotten a good look at Hermione before eating dinner; her back had been to the doorway. Willow had glimpsed her today between classes, a diminutive girl with a large mane of hair dashing along with an arm full of books.

Dumbledore's opening remarks had been a bit of surprise. "Welcome everyone. I have a few announcements before we eat. Just a reminder to all returning students as well as first years, the Forbidden Forest is forbidden for a reason. Please stay out and keep all of your limbs intact. I'd also like to introduce a new face at Hogwarts this year. I would all like you to welcome Willow Rosenberg. Miss Rosenberg, if you will please stand."

Willow had frozen at the sound of her name. After one brief second when she wondered if she would faint or run away, she stood and smiled out at the hall, a very picture of poise.

"Miss Rosenberg is joining us for a short time from America where she is studying wizarding educationa