The First Meeting

Title: A Witch's Story

Author: Sugatyme

Summary: Three little fics about Hermione and Spike, and the love they find in each other.

Warnings: Some explicit language

Pairing: Hermione/Spike

Author's Note: I got the inspiration for this when I was scrubbing fat and oil out of pans at work. Never let it be said that I am not a freak.

Story One: The First Meeting

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Spike, also known as William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, a member of that foul, bloodsucking species known as vampires, was doing the one thing no one would ever expect him to do.

He was sitting in a public library, in the daytime, reading a book, and he was enjoying it.

The circumstances that had led to his newfound love of reading were quite simple. Before the apocalypse which had killed the members of Wolfram and Hart, back when he was still a ghost, Spike had found it very difficult to pick anything up at all. When he had managed to find a way to pick things up, the first thing he’d done was to learn everything he could about the evil law firm. He did think ahead sometimes, and, since he had a rather large brain, he found reading to be a great pass-time for when he wasn’t averting apocalypses or pondering Peaches’ sexuality.

And after the apocalypse, he’d awoken in a white room…a hospital room. He still didn’t know quite how it happened, but it seems the Powers had decided they needed a souled vampire who could pass as a human. He now had a heartbeat and brain activity, but his temperature, need for blood to survive, and supernatural strength and speed had remained the same. In fact, Spike had an inkling that he was stronger and faster than he had been before the apocalypse which should have taken his unlife…again.

“Excuse me,” Spike was interrupted from his musings by a polite feminine voice, “may I sit here?”

He looked up and smirked at the petite, bushy-haired brunette before him. “ ‘Course you can, luv.”

She blushed. “Thank you.” She said politely. “I apologise for interrupting you, but the library is surprisingly popular today and there aren’t any spare tables.”

“That’s alright. Pretty thing like you can…‘interrupt’ me any time you like.” Spike’s tongue curled up underneath his teeth, and he watched in amusement as the young girl turned an even darker red as she sat down.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She said dryly, opening her large bag and pushing her hair away from her face. This act caused her scent to waft over Spike and he inhaled unconsciously.

She smelt wonderful, a mix of old books, cinnamon, pimentos, and deep red roses. But underlying all this was the smell of magic. Not magick, like Red’s and Glinda’s, but magic in the truest sense of the word, the kind that came from a person rather than nature. Hers was warm and soft, like buttery shortbread, but underneath it lay a strong layer of white-hot strength that left a salty taste in Spike’s mouth. He knew this was one witch he’d never mess with unless he suddenly developed the death wish to end all death wishes.

“What’s your name, pet?” He asked, suddenly desiring to become much better acquainted with the girl, and not just in the usual way, for a fuck and a feed, but in the way he’d wanted to be acquainted with Buffy.

She looked up from the thin leather-bound book she was reading, startled. “Hermione Granger. Why?”

“Wonderin’ what I should put on the invitations to our wedding.” Spike said, blue eyes twinkling.

“In your dreams.” Hermione retorted.

“How did you know?” Spike asked with an air of great amazement.

“I’m good at Divination.” Hermione said with a straight face.

Spike snorted. “Divination. The majority of prophecies are bullshit and those that’re real can be interpreted in so many different ways that by the time you realise what they actually mean the true meaning if so far from what you thought they meant that you wish you’d never seen the fucking thing in the first place, not that you don’t anyway because whoever heard of a prophecy about meeting the love of your bleedin’ life and living happily ever after?” He finished his rant.

Hermione raised one eyebrow, hazel eyes full of mirth. “I can see you have about as much like for prophecies as I do.”

“Well considering my bad luck with the sodding nightmares I think I’m entitled.” Spike said sarcastically.

“I must admit, my luck has also been rather unfortunate when it comes to destinies.” Hermione’s full lips raised upwards into a smile. “And since you seem so eager to get to know me, and there’s almost no way we’re going to actually get any work done here now what with the way the librarian is glaring at us, how about we go out for coffee?”

Spike nodded. “That sounds like a plan, ‘Mione.”

Hermione, who had been in the process of packing her book and writing materials back into her bag, looked up, frowning. “What did you call me?” She asked.

“‘Mione.” Spike thought it was a lot better than some of the nicknames he’d assigned to his friends, Whelp and Vampire Layer being two of them.

“Oh.” Long lashes swept down to shutter hazel eyes, then came up again, revealing happiness, and something more…desire, perhaps? in Hermione’s gaze. “I like it. Speaking of names, I don’t know yours.”

“Spike.” Spike said casually.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “I’ve read about you.” She said, her voice full of breathless awe. “You’re William the Bloody, Childe of Drusilla the Mad, Childe of Angelus, the Demon With the Angelic Face, Childe of Darla the Seductress, Childe of the Master, of the Line of Aurelius. You killed people with railroad spikes, which is how you got your name. Before you died you wrote poetry, which, while not good, wasn’t bad either.”

She held up the faded red volume she’d been reading and Spike recognised his human name on the front. “You’re famous. You slew two Slayers and fell in love with a third. You gave your life to close the Hellmouth in Sunnydale. You’re the only known vampire in history to ever willingly get a soul! You’re a living-or in this case unliving-legend! I can’t believe it’s you!” Her lips quivered slightly. “I always thought you’d be taller.”

“Oi!” Spike yelped, flattered that while she knew of his past, she wasn’t disgusted. “‘m as tall as I need to be. Never heard anyone complain. ‘Sides, pet, isn’t this the part where you a) run screaming in terror, or b) threaten to kill me?”

Hermione giggled. “I’ve seen scarier.” She commented. “My best friend before her morning coffee drip for example. Besides…” her cheeks pinkened, “all the accounts detail how devoted you were to Drusilla the Mad, and to Buffy Summers. So…you were sort of my idol. You were good-looking, smart, brave, strong, kind, devoted, loving…everything I’d like to be but am not.”

“Now what made you think that, luv?” Spike asked. “ ‘Course I can’t say you’re brave, or kind, or loving, but I can say you’re smart, you’d have to be to know that stuff about me, you must be devoted or you’d never know how bloody awful my poetry is, and you’re definitely good-looking.”

“What about strong?” Hermione whispered, eyes full of painful hope.

Idly, Spike wondered if he could find out who’d crushed this beautiful witch’s spirits so completely, and how much pain he could bring out of said person before they died. “Well, though your physical strength probably isn’t anything to write home about, I can tell you that your magical strength is. It shines as bright as the sun, with all the fervour of a thousand stars.”

Hermione’s full mouth trembled. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Her voice was wobbly, and Spike noticed tears brimming in her hazel orbs.

“Yeah, well, weren’t we gonna get out of here?” He asked, embarrassed.

Hermione grinned. “We were, you’re right.” She packed the rest of her stuff away. “Y’know, I’m really glad I met you.”

“Me too.” Spike admitted cautiously.

Hermione’s hand moved to take his, and Spike relished the feeling of her soft, warm fingers wrapping around his cold ones. “Must be fate.” She said lightly.

End Ficlet