Chapter Three

Rothchild had left with Cornelius Fudge a few hours ago. The Minister had seemed even fussier and more neurotic than Willow had been expecting, but then again, that was the whole reason why she was going undercover, wasn’t it? Be the Council’s super-spy since the big kahunas in the wizarding world were seriously bungling a very, very bad situation.

She cringed a little at that thought. The more she thought about this whole assignment, the more nervous she got. Okay sure, she was the Council’s official BFG when it came to magic, but being a spy seemed to have a lot in common with acting, and well, everyone in Sunnydale High could attest to exactly how well her last foray into theatrics had gone. The words ‘crash’ and ‘burn’ described the event, which she still revisited in the odd nightmare, pretty well.

And speaking of burning, she had to admit that watching Fudge and Rothchild willingly duck into a roaring fireplace had been rather alarming. She supposed it was residual M.O.O. trauma, but that still didn’t keep her from hoping that she would be travelling another way, almost any other way, than via the immolation superhighway.

Buffy and Willow had said their goodbyes early over café lattes and scones, and the slayer was currently off with the younger trainees, working on disarming techniques. Giles was greeting their newest guests and whoever Dumbledore had sent to bring her to the school, which left Willow to finish her packing alone. She had really expected this entire process to take a little longer. Barely a week had passed since they had met with the representatives from the Order of the Phoenix; Giles must have put some serious juice into his letter. From Minister Fudge’s response, which had arrived in hours by way of a large, rather alarming horned owl, to her own current slapdash packing, things were going incredibly fast. It was looking like this Mrs. Vance seriously knew how to grease the gears of government.

One smaller suitcase was already stuffed to bursting and waiting next to the door of her suite. In it, she had stuffed the various tools of her magic interspersed with some photographs and other personal knick knacks. Her spell books were there, of course, along with the contents of her altar. A few books on basic demonology which she had been eyeing as potential textbooks, two stakes, a couple other basic tools of the trade. It seemed like they should take up more space. Then again, the fact that she was now able to perform the vast majority of the spells in her arsenal without much other than maybe some chalk, a candle or two, and sheer force of will had probably cut down on the literal volume of her ‘professional’ necessities.

Even so, leaving behind the resources of the Council’s library was going to be a jolt to her system. The loss of her laptop, as well as any other kinds of electronics, was going to suck too. Apparently the wards around Hogwarts didn’t play nicely with anything high tech. She’d make do and probably have her hands more than full exploring Hogwarts’ various resources. It still bit the big one though, she had just found this old scroll on methods for healing major injuries that had looked really promising. Maybe Giles could send her a copy later. In the meantime, she had made sure to cram lots of notebooks, pens, and pencils into whatever room was left in the smaller bag.

As for now, Willow found herself glaring at the contents of the second suitcase. Toiletries were packed in one corner, minus her hairdryer and electric razor of course. Towels and straight edges it’d have to be, unless something better presented itself. No, it was her clothes that were giving her fits. None of it seemed, well, teachery enough. A few dresses were neatly folded in the bottom of the suitcase, buried under a smattering of nice slacks and skirts, some blue jeans and t-shirts, and a variety of blouses that ranged from the formal to what Buffy liked to call ‘earth mother chic.’ She had the sneaking suspicion that every single other person in the school was going to be wearing robes, but she didn’t want to try wrapping her brain around the idea of fashion in the wizarding world without at least some basis of comparison. Besides, it wasn’t like she wanted to kick off her role as good will ambassador from the wild and wooly world of wandless witches by going totally native. That seemed more than a little counterproductive in the long run.

Not that having some robes wouldn’t be nice. They looked pretty comfortable, and flowy stuff was always good.

And now she was thinking too much again.

“Ugh!” Willow’s exclamation of sheer disgust was soon followed by a rain of shoes, various underthings, and socks into the offending suitcase. Two quick jerks had the thing zipped tight. She grabbed a little box she had rescued from her bathroom cabinet on the way out and slipped it into her sling bag before determinedly leaving the safety of her suite behind.

The elevator ride to the New Council’s main floor felt like it took days.

She finally staggered out into the hallway that lead to Giles’ office, dragging her larger suitcase with both hands while the smaller one rolled obediently behind on a thread of magic. Now that she had handed over the reins of the building’s various wards to other witches in the Council’s employ, her magical subconscious was free to roam far and wide. She usually kept this particular talent on a tight leash, as she still sometimes got lost in the sheer magnitude of the life forces around her, but she wanted to be absolutely sure of what she was about to face. Her senses didn’t have far to go before finding something interesting.

The familiar sensations that said ‘Giles!’ to her had been joined by one other. Feeling more than a little trepidation, Willow gave it a ‘taste.’ The other person was a woman, obviously, with a strong maternal bent and a quick mind, but there was something fuzzy saturating her aura that just screamed ‘cat’ to Willow. Weird. She’d have to figure out a non-tactless way to find out what was up with that. She was still trying to figure out that mystery, feeling out the new aura from all conceivable angles, when she reached Giles’ office.

Screwing up her nerve, Willow managed to free a hand from her overstuffed suitcase and push the hardwood doors open.

She was greeted by the amused face of one watcher and one drawn wand being held by an alarmed older witch dressed in greens and plaids. Willow froze for a second in shock, instinctively tossing up a defensive shield, just in case. “Um, hi?” she finally said weakly, waving a nervous hand. The wand in the woman’s hand started to droop, but not entirely.

“Willow, this is Professor McGonagall. Unless I am too much mistaken, you have already found some way with which to introduce yourself.” There was a wry note to Giles’ formality which made Willow’s heart drop a little. Her shield melted as well, the invisible wall of force flowing back into her and through her into the earth below.

Of course this woman could feel Willow scoping her out, and the shield as well. She was too used to being around people who either couldn’t sense her magic or were too used to it to care. She flushed pink, overwhelmed by the desire to explain herself. “Sorry about that, I just wanted to test the waters a little, and your magic feels really different from anything else I’ve come across, and are you a cat?” That last bit just seemed to slip out before she could stop it. The woman, this Professor McGonagall, seemed more than a little taken aback by the question. Willow winced and found a very interesting pattern on Giles’ area rug to study.

Open mouth, insert foot. Smooth, Rosenberg. This was really starting to be embarrassing. She really thought she had left her spaz-like tendencies far behind her, perhaps some time between resurrecting Buffy and then nearly destroying the world. The stray thought earned a guilty wince, as it had at least once a day for the last few years.

“How did you…? How can you see…?” The older witch was sputtering in surprise, but at least her wand had finally dropped completely to her side. Finally, she huffed a little and put her wand into a deep pocket in the folds of her robe. She smoothed her long tartan skirts and gathered her dignity back around her. “Since you asked, I am an animagus,” she finally said with a definite Scottish burr, as if that word was supposed to mean something. Not that Willow couldn’t get the gist from the etymology, but still. Huh? “My name is Minerva McGonagall and I am the Transfigurations professor at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” Willow just replied, stepping completely into the room, bags in tow. The door shut firmly behind the smaller case which trundled obediently inside after her on its little plastic wheels. Her hands were clenched in a stranglehold around the handle of her suitcase. “I’m Willow Rosenberg, um, soon to be Applied Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. And sorry about that. Sometimes my mouth gets a little ahead of my brain.”

At that, the stern-looking woman finally smiled, a thin, but still kindly expression. “It’s quite alright, dear. It’s not like it’s a secret. I was just surprised that you could tell.”

“Oh, it was right there in your aura. All of you give off pretty strong vibes. Speaking of which, are the others not here yet? I thought I felt something earlier, but then, poof!” That was aimed at Giles. “I’ve got some stuff for Arthur and I was kinda looking forward to meeting another werewolf.” Professor McGonagall’s sudden gasp drew Willow’s attention back to the expression on the woman’s face, which was teetering somewhere between shock and profound worry. In a panic, Willow was off again, “Which I’m apparently also not supposed to know about, or… or talk about… or how about I just shut my mouth before I get myself in more trouble?” she finished miserably. Oh my goddess, what am I? Six? There was just something about authority figures that turned her into a gibbering idiot.

Giles looked like he was about to either lecture her sternly or burst into laughter. “Ms. McGonagall, to clarify matters before this conversation degenerates further, yes, we are aware of Mr. Lupin’s condition. This will in no way affect our working with him, as we have had many successful relationships with lycanthropes in the past. Also, the nature of Willow’s magic makes her extremely sensitive to the core natures of those around her, a useful talent, if somewhat alarming to those who are not expecting it.” That was partnered with a stern look which sent Willow’s heart sinking into her sandals. “And to answer your question Willow, our guests are currently being taken to a tailor by Mrs. Montgomery. Other than Mr. Shacklebolt, the rest of their attire was not conducive to blending in well in their new positions.”

“Oh,” she said in disappointment. Considering her conversation with Mr. Weasley, she wouldn’t have been surprised if they had all shown up in orange galoshes and formal kimonos. “Could I leave some stuff with you then?” When Giles simply nodded, she walked over to his desk and started pulling things out of her sling bag. A universal adaptor, which had been collecting dust in her cabinet, settled next to a cheap paperback she had found on the Wright brothers. She had written a short note and placed it in the front cover of the book for Arthur. It was probably silly, but he had seemed so excited about the whole airplane thing, and the paperback had been in the bargain bin at Elliot’s Book Store.

Two letters also found their way onto the desk. One was for Dawn, who was starting her senior year at Stanford this year, and the other was for Xander, who was living it up in the Bahamas on his honeymoon with Serena. Both letters had instructions on how to contact her and brief summaries of what was going on here at slayer central. Her hands shook a little as she arranged all of the stuff on the edge of Giles’ desk.

She hadn’t realized that the watcher had moved until she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Willow, I have full faith that you will excel in this endeavor, as you have done with every other task you have truly set your mind to,” he said quietly.

She gave him a watery smile, refraining from hugging the man for all she was worth. She’d already made enough of a fool of herself in front of Professor McGonagall without looking like a clingy child as well.

Giles even managed a smile of his own before turning back to the piles of papers and books on his desk. “Now, I have some items for you as well.” He picked up a small stack of books topped with a manila envelope, all tied together with heavy string, which had been sitting next to his phone. “I believe that these might prove useful, but do take care of them.”

Willow could feel magic pouring from the bottom three books. Her fingers itched to open them right here, but something in Giles’ demeanor told her that discretion was the order of the day. She took the books and hugged them to her chest. “I’ll take good care of them,” she said, which earned another smile and a nod.

“Now, I think it’s time that you got on your way. Don’t you?” Giles prompted, all business again.

At his encouraging expression, Willow steeled herself and turned back to face their guest. The Hogwarts professor was standing very still with the oddest expression on her face. It wasn’t worried, or shocked, or condescending, or any of the other things that Willow had been expecting. If anything, it was an odd blend of hope, and maybe guilt? No. Couldn’t be.

I can do this.

“I’m ready to go, Professor,” she said, pleased that her voice remained steady.

And then the older witch’s face changed once again, falling into its natural plains of serene confidence. “My dear, I tend to insist that my co-workers refer to me by my first name, at least when we are not in front of students. Please call me Minerva.”

So maybe she hadn’t totally stepped in it. “Okay Minerva.” There was just enough room in her bag to stash Giles’ books. She settled the satchel against her hip and grabbed the larger of her two suitcases again. “Can we not take the fireplace, though? That was kind of oogley.”

Minerva’s eyebrows rose, but her voice remained kindly. “Is this everything you are bringing with you?” she asked, gesturing to the bags.

Willow nodded, firmly stomping down her renewed clothes worries.

“Well then, I was planning to simply Apparate to the edge of the school grounds. Mr. Giles has kindly told me that your wards should not be a problem, but Hogwarts is shielded against that kind of direct entry. I believe that you might find that the view more than makes up for the walk.” Minerva was all briskness now, taking the smaller of Willow’s bags by the handle. “Do you know how to Apparate?”

“Um, Apparate?” Willow asked dumbly. Apparate. Sounds like apart. To come apart? That doesn’t sound very pleasant. Or is the root ‘to appear?’

“Disappear from one place and appear at another,” Minerva answered evenly.

“Oh, you mean like teleportation?” Willow asked rhetorically. This whole language barrier thing might get to be a problem. “Yeah, but it helps if I’ve already been where it is I’m going. I still sometimes get nose bleeds when I do it blind.”

Apparently Willow wasn’t the only one getting lost in translation. Minerva just looked at her oddly and said, “Yes, well, I can bring you along as long as we are in contact with each other and your luggage.” She extended a hand, palm up.

“Oh, okay,” Willow stepped forward, suitcase in tow. “Like this?” she asked, tentatively sliding her fingers into the older woman’s hand.

“That will do nicely. It was a pleasure, Mr. Giles,” she said politely.

“Likewise, Professor,” he replied, still standing next to his desk, glasses in hand and being subjected to thorough polishing. “Goodbye Willow. I will keep an eye out for any errant owls in case you feel like writing.”

She grinned at that. “Will do, Giles. Just keep the slayers from, you know, slaying the messenger.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled. Buffy’s initial reaction to the Ministry’s owl had been comical to say the least.

“Are you ready?” Minerva asked, her grip on Willow’s hand tightening.

Willow took a steadying breath before nodding firmly. She felt a lurch, and suddenly here wasn’t here anymore. It was… well, she didn’t know where she was.

And at the moment, she didn’t care.

“Oh Goddess. Oh my Goddess,” she whispered, totally unprepared for what was happening to her.

The basic foundation of Willow’s magic was forming and manipulating a connection with the earth, but she had never felt anything like this. Everything, the ground, the air, the plants, everything around her was infused with magic of one kind or another. The vast majority of it was concentrated into some kind of wall or field right in front of her. It felt like she was trapped in it, like a fly in a web, torrents of magic flowing unchecked through her body. Light, dark, all the shades in between, but mostly white magic. Enough to drench the entire world in sunlight. It kind of felt like she was holding the scythe again, or perhaps a live wire. Or the scythe and a live wire.

She probably looked the part, too.

Her hair had gone white, shot through with a few wisps of red and black, and was dancing as if on some unseen breeze. And she was glowing. Oh, this is bad. “Goddess,” she repeated, trying to wrestle herself into control. But it was hard, as hard as fighting her control of the dark magic had been, except this time the power tasted like springtime instead of anger and raw ambition.

Slowly, so very slowly, the flood slowed to a manageable trickle. Her blood was pounding in her ears. She found that she was crouched near the ground, right hand still clenched on the handle of her suitcase above her head. Her left hand was pressed, fingers spread wide, against the hard packed earth. Having regained her internal equilibrium, she now had to get rid of all of the excess magics she had inadvertently taken in. She could feel them draining out of her, through her feet, her bracing hand, like water onto the parched earth. Red bled back into her hair, where it hung around her downturned face.

When the power was gone again, Willow managed to look up through a curtain of disheveled hair. Minerva was quite a distance away now, wand out and at the ready again. This was turning into a bad pattern.

Willow wanted to explain herself, tell the other witch that everything was okay now, but the world seemed to be tipping on its axis. “Sorry,” she managed to croak. “Too much magic… Too much. I think I need… need to sit.” And sit she did, or more like collapse, right there in the dirt, her satchel sliding from her shoulder next to her. “That was kind of intense,” she wheezed. If the world would just stop spinning for a second…

Minerva’s voice cut through the mad tilting mess that was Willow’s senses. “What precisely just happened?” The question was delivered in a taut, controlled tone of voice.

Willow put a hand to her head, trying to clear her thoughts of the residual buzz that was lingering there. Before she could form a coherent answer for the woman, another voice rang out behind her. “Yes, I would also be interested in hearing some kind of an explanation.”

The voice teased Willow with recognition. She looked over her shoulder and found Albus Dumbledore standing there, casual as can be, framed by a huge gate flanked by… flying pigs? Okay, this was getting entirely too surreal. Willow shook her head, attempting to clear it, and tried to focus on Dumbledore. His expression proved that he warranted the attention. There was a flinty gleam in his eyes. This whole situation was just going from bad to worse. She managed to totter to her feet and tried to brush the worst of the dust from her skirts. This was so not the first, well technically second, impression that she wanted to make. “Sorry, there was just so much magic,” she finally managed to say weakly, combing her hair away from her face with shaking hands. “It just took me by surprise.” She slumped to one side again, plopping down on her suitcase. Taking another deep breath to steady herself, she looked back towards the headmaster, but then her eyes were drawn up.

And up.

And up.

And holy crap, that was a castle. With turrets and ramparts and everything. Back in the now, Rosenberg. “I’m okay now.”

The headmaster’s demeanor softened somewhat, but not by much. “While I am glad to hear that, Miss Rosenberg, I’m afraid that the school’s wards are not.”

“What?” Willow said in alarm, vaguely registering that Minerva had just made the exact same exclamation.

“Severus is currently in my office, holding them together as best he can, but the power behind them is just gone,” he replied. “We thought this might have been the prelude to an attack.”

Willow could only gape.

“Have any of them failed?” Minerva asked, suddenly at Albus’ side.

“Not yet, but I fear it is only a matter of time unless we both can join him in bolstering the spells,” his voice was grave. “Even then, we will remain vulnerable for some time, but if they fall apart completely...” he trailed off, hinting at dire consequences.

“I can help,” Willow blurted out, standing up quickly enough to overturn her rolling suitcase and send her head spinning again. She didn’t know what exactly was going on, but she caught on just enough to know that in old Willow fashion, she had managed to epically screw up on her very first day here.

The two looked at her in surprised, sharp appraisal.

“Look, I’m sorry that happened, and again, not explaining this really well right now, but dumping me into this kind of an energy sink, not so much a good idea if I’m not prepared. And that’s so not the point, the point is the magic’s not gone,” she said desperately. “I can bring it back, just take me to this Severus guy.”

Minerva was thin lipped in thought, but Dumbledore just nodded. “Ironically, the situation allows for us to reach my office by much more direct means than usual.” He took Willow by the wrist. “Follow us if you can, Minerva.”

There was the odd lurching sensation again, but firm hands, gnarled by age as they were, kept her steady this time. Again, she was a little thrown by the swirl of new magics around her, but she was ready for them this time. She got the vague impression of a bright swirl of riotous colors, but all of her focus was on the magics this time, and they drew her attention to a single source.

A man was bowed over a cluttered, wooden desk, shoulders hunched in strain and concentration. One hand was firmly fisted around an ebon wand while the other held onto the edge of desk as if for dear life. She couldn’t see much of his face through its curtain of concealing black hair, but it was plain that he was pale and thin, dressed all in black robes.

And positively radiating power.

These magics were different shades of grey and much more familiar to Willow, not the blackest black of her darkest temptations, nor the pure white she had touched but a few times, but the balance point between black and white that had been driven into her very bones ever since she had dabbled too hard in things that would have been best left alone. She felt her eyes shift to dark red-black, hair following suit. She staggered forward, still frazzled from the incident outside, but determined to do whatever it took to make this right.

Reaching forward, her hands clamped like vices on the man’s wrists. Suddenly she found herself looking into jet black eyes, cold with a determination to match her own, but also anger and indignation. There was perspiration on his scowling brow, an expression which did nothing to compliment the sharp plains of his face. His mind was a blank page, walled and warded powerfully against intrusion, but his aura was seething around her and she could read that like a book. Among other things, this was not a man who welcomed physical contact of any kind.

“Well, too bad, bub,” she heard herself saying out loud. “It’ll make this a whole lot easier, and I am not getting fired on my first day. Now you steer and I’ll provide the juice.”

His eyebrows looked like they were going to crawl into his hairline, but there wasn’t time. Projecting her intentions on all psychic levels she could muster, her eyes locked with the wizard in front of her. She reached down, down into herself, and through to the earth below. Careful to avoid any kind of magic that was already in use, she plunged into the primal core of her power, drawing it forth. She knew her eyes had to be blacker than pitch as she pulled the raw energy up, up into herself and out through her hands.

And he caught it, eyes going as onyx as her own, sending it into the intricate weave of magic that surrounded the school grounds in a perfect sphere, shielding Hogwarts from intrusion from any direction. Willow felt like a pressure valve, teeth gritting in the concentration needed to keep providing energy for the shield without blasting the wizard in front of her into a million little pieces.

He fumbled at first, probably taken as off guard by a foreign kind of magic as she had been outside, but when he growled, “More,” in her face, she gave it to him, pouring more and more magic through the connection of their hands.

An explosion of power slammed into the weave, buoying up their work briefly before moving on to other minor wards, filaments of more specialized, if weaker, spells. Another blast, less powerful than the first joined it. Dumbledore and Minerva, Willow noted dreamily. She was starting to slip, and she knew it. The magic was starting to sing in her veins, inviting, tempting.

If she kept this up much longer, there was going to be at least one chicken fried witch in the room.

Thankfully, it looked like they were nearing an end. The individual threads in the web of magic were thickening, bleeding into one another until there were no gaps to provide a weak point.

The second she felt the man relax, she severed their connection, funneling the power away again. Her hands felt stuck to his wrists though, but when her hair settled in its normal red waves, eyes shading back into green, the man, Dumbledore had called him Severus, jerked away violently. He stumbled back, looking for all the world like he had seen a ghost.

“I left my stuff outside,” she said weakly, inanely. “And I think I might pass out,” she added as an afterthought.

And she did, slithering down until two sets of hands caught her and eased her way as the darkness overtook her completely. Her last vision was of a set of haunted eyes, still blackened from her magic, but also torn with grief and pain.