Chapter One - The Heart of Darkness

Summary: Maeve Flynn, Graduate of Hogwarts class of 1999, Ravenclaw House and Liaison of Albus Dumbledore to Wolfram and Hart and the Newly reformed Watcher's Council under Rupert Giles is sent to LA to aid the Fang Gang.

Characters: Cast of Angel, Spike and OC: Maeve Flynn for now
Pairing: None as of yet
Warnings/Spoilers: Mentions of death, torture, violence against blonde vampire secretaries.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

The very beginning of this story is a brief summary of the first appearance of Spike in the Angel Series. It is there for simple introduction into the storyline and seemed a good place to start the chapter.

The Heart of Darkness

Angel ripped opened the envelope and out poured an amulet onto the floor, an amulet that was very familiar. The grey gem sparkled moments before a whirlwind appeared, flashing with an ethereal fire and ash accompanied by the high keening of immense pain. The Fang Gang all stepped back from the swirling mass. It suddenly materialized in a bright flash to reveal William the Bloody.

Spike gasped for air, air he didn't necessarily need, but that he craved none-the-less. The cave was gone, the white, hot burning of death was gone and now he looked at the confused faces of people, and a green skinned demon, all of whom he didn't recognize. The all looked as confused as he felt, but he doubted they felt as dizzy as he did.

“What-w-what?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Spike?” Harmony said, stepping fully into the room, her hand on her hips.

“Harmony, Please,” said a man Spike thought he recognized, the memories were coming back all woolly. Random thoughts, Watcher, Wesley something, Buffy didn't like him; Spike didn't remember he seeming so, so, well, sure of himself the last time he'd been in Sunnydale. But that was years ago, before the chip, before his and Buffy's, whatever they'd had; and time changes everything, even a spineless, stuttering Watcher it seemed.

“This is Spike? The Spike?” A young black man in a suit asked, boy smelled of magic and lawyer, Spike didn't like either smell.

“Wait a minute, whose,” a little twittering bird of a girl tried to speak above the men, she was pretty but too slim for even Spike's liking.

“Easy there slim, easy, no one is going to hurt you,” The green demon spoke, his clothing horribly bright, but his tone was at least not as aggressive as the others.

“Speak for yourself, Green Jeans,” the boy again, definitely too much like the Whelp for Spike's taste.

“Okay, would somebody please tell me who,” the little bird was tweeting again, focusing was becoming easier, thankfully the room had stopped spinning.

“William the bloody, he's a vampire, one of the worst recorded, second only to,” that stupid Watcher, he was starting to sound like a self-righteous Rupert, but that was kind of redundant in and of itself.

“Me,” Spike recognized that voice, would never forget it and the feeling of hatred it invoked. He turned, squinting his eyes in confusion. Then recognition hit his face and he saw Angel, all pomp that one is, Spike thought. “But, you're dead,” Angel said, his voice not concealing his denial of the subject standing before him. Spike was rooted to the spot, staring at his grand sire until Harmony, stupid, ditz of a girl, spoke, not realizing the situation.

“Well, yeah who here isn't? Besides him, and him, and her,” she paused now, but Spike kept his eyes on the vampire in front of him, “And, what are you again?”

Spike changed into his game face, the sound of bones crunching as it did so, baring his fangs as Angel, with a growl he lunged. Angel didn't even move to protect himself, he didn't have time with the speed Spike came at him and then suddenly through him. It had felt like wind going through his body, not cold or warm, simply movement. Angel turned to see Spike standing directly, well, in his desk. They all stood staring at the blonde vampire, until he looked up.

“Bugger?” he said, the inflection in his voice sounded unsure that was the proper word for it.

The next few days were spent trading insults with Peaches, being scanned by the bird, Fred, and making an all out annoyance of himself until Wesley finally got on the phone to a man named Weasley in England.


~

Maeve Flynn walked into Wolfram and Hart with her head high but her fear in her pocket. Her dark hair was pulled back, small curls fluttering out as her Victorian style boots clicked on the marble floor. The battles of the light side were not merely kept in the new world. The dark had its feet firmly planted in the old countries and she had fought too many battles there for it to have any comfort of home to her anymore. Her people kept themselves separate from the world of the non-magical for a reason, to keep their battles small and to take care of their own. But a letter delivered by a snowy white owl instructed her to the United States; Los Angles, California to be precise. So here she was, stepping into the heart of darkness as it were, intent on doing as she was instructed; no matter what her gut told her. Walking through the doors of the mystic law firm Maeve went straight to the front desk.

“Maeve Flynn to see Mr. Wyndam-Pryce,” she said, her voice full of authority and strength. The man, dressed in a red blazer, looked down at his clip board, perusing the names he found there. Checking one with a red pen he nodded to the diminutive woman, only glancing once at her Wizarding robes.

“Ms. Flynn, welcome to LA,” he said coming around from his desk. “I'll have to ask you to check your wand, you may retain it, however we at Wolfram and Hart insist on being able to monitor you while you are in the building,” he said his voice pleasant enough and his hand out. With years of experience garnered from visiting the Ministry of Magic, Maeve pulled her wand out of her sheath and placed it in the guards hand. He nodded, placing the wand on a scale that appeared on top of the desk before them. The wand glowed faintly, the man writing something next to her name before returning the wand to its owner.

“Thirteen inches, Rowan wood with a Dragon heartsting core. You'll take the elevators up to the top floor and Miss Harmony will see you to Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. Please have a good day, Miss Flynn,” he said politely with a smile. She wondered when evil had become so friendly, it could be so easy to fall into their trap with them seemingly so nice. Then she thought of her last year at Hogwarts, where evil had shown itself to be a frog-faced woman dress in pink, and shook her head as she rode the elevator alone. The doors opened to reveal a very pretty, smiling blonde woman. She wore a brightly colored tank top and a revealingly, short skirt.

“Hi, I'm Harmony, it's so awesome that you're here. My Blondie Bear needs your help pronto like,” she said, offering her hand to the overwhelmed witch. Something changed in the air when Maeve took the blonde bombshell's hand, the scent of her demon flooded the brunette's senses and she crushed the vampire's hand even tighter. The smell of her crackled against the witch's skin causing it to crawl. Harmony winced in pain as the woman that had been sent to help Spike crushed it with strength no ordinary woman should possess.

“Slayer,” Harmony hissed, changing quickly into game face.

“Vampire,” Maeve spit in the same instant, reaching into her robe for a stake cleverly hidden there and lunged at the snarling vampire. She had landed only one kick to the chest and single punch to the jaw when one of the red blazered security guards had her pinned to the ground with the threat of a taser to her throat.

“Please stay down, Miss Flynn, this is all a misunderstanding,” one of them stated while three others tried to hold her down. But they were no match for her and she had them thrown off of her nearly effortlessly and was on the escaping vampire in moments.

“Boss!” She screeched as she made it to the heavy double doors across the room. Maeve followed the creature into the room, only to pause in shock when the blonde didn't burst into flames. The room was flooded in raw sunlight, the occupants of the room stared in wonder at the girl that had just chased one of their own.

“Boss, the guards let a vicious, crazy Slayer in here,” she whimpered as she stood behind a broad, dark haired man. The closer Maeve got the stronger the stench of vampire became.

“Angelus,” she crowed, her wand out and ready, her stake forgotten in the lobby, discarded in the initial attack. “Perfectus Totalus,” she shouted, whipping her wand at the two vampires. They stiffened, falling to the floor with a thud. She began advancing on the helpless demons when a man rushed into the room, blocking her access to the vampires.

“Move aside, Muggle,” she shouted, her wand pointed at the man's face.

“Muggle? Hardly, Witch, hardly. I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, formerly of the Watcher's Council and 1975 graduate of Hogwarts, Prefect and Head Boy. Stand down, there's been a misunderstanding and I can not allow you to slay my boss,” he stated, his bravado never faltering. Maeve held her wand, cursing Albus Dumbledore, the Minister of Magic, and whatever deity that had deemed her to be a Witch and a Slayer at the same time, all her mind. Searching the eyes of the man before her; he could be telling the truth, someone had to of contacted Minister Weasley. Why had the Headmaster sent her so under prepared. This, Wyndam-Pryce, would have spent time at Hogwart's with Professor Snape and the self-proclaimed Marauders; it was inevitable they were the least and most popular people in school, respectively. With her wand still posed at his face she began an array of questions, about Hogwarts, about the Wizarding world in general. He answered each one correctly but she needed a more specific information.

“Who are the Marauders?” she asked with a smirk on her face. She watched his eyes, and found laughter reigning there.

“The Marauders were a bunch of Gryfindor pranksters by the names of James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black,” he answered. Maeve let go of the breath she hadn't even be aware that she had been holding and lowered her wand after releasing the two vampires from their frozen imprisonment. Wesley had her calmed down and was about to take the wand out of her hand when Spike came through the wall. She had merely been startled at the presence of the newest intruder. But the moment Maeve looked into his grey-blue eyes, his stock of white-blonde hair and the confident swagger with which his walked she felt a panic grip her that she hadn't known since the final battle. She scrambled away from him, pushing Wesley back in her attempt to escape.

“Flipendo,” she shouted, flicking her wand at the new intruder. A gust of magical wind knocked everyone else in the room down with the sheer power of it, but the blonde man remain unharmed. In fact it appeared to have no effect on him at all, his hair didn't even move out of place. She placed a large couch in between herself and the now, slightly startled man, her wand still pointed evenly at him. Though she appeared calm, her stance unmovable, her eyes were wild and her nostrils flaring for breath.

Spike held out his hands to the woman, Slayer if he'd been hearing right from the whisperings about the Office of Evil. He was amazed to see she was a Witch as well, a proper one unlike Red, who was all element and goddess. This was his kind of magic, Wesley's too if he were to believe what he'd heard before materializing. He'd just gotten the knack of that, going in and out, and loved to scare the shit out of Peaches when he could. But this woman, her whole body snapping with power and energy, was not who he wanted to frighten. He'd thought Wesley had everything under control.

“Put the wand down, luv, I'm a ghost, I think, you can't hurt me with it,” he said, stepping through Wes to make his point, “See, I can't hurt you either.” Then she said the one word that made him pause, the one word that could have made sense of all her actions, the one word that could have brought the world crashing down upon him.

“Malfoy,” she spat, her breaths coming with a harsh and labored sound as she began to sob, though her wand never wavered. Her body ached in remembered pain at the sight of his familiar features; it remembered the hours of white hot hexes thrown at him in a dungeon and in battle once she had been free of him. But most of all she remembered the violation of his touches on her raw flesh and his laughter at her tears. Maeve had felt this same panic before, when she had seen Lucius Malfoy across the field during the final battle.

Mad-Eye had always said you needed to really mean it to cast a successful Unforgivable curse and when that jet of green light came from her wand she had meant it with every core of her being. But when his body had fallen, his eyes still wide in shock, she hadn't felt much of anything; she still felt the emptiness of the victory. Had he even known it was her at the end of the wand? The battle had raged all through the night against Voldemort's followers; the Werewolves, Troll, Giants, Dementors and Vampires charging through the darkness. The tide of the battle was against the Hogwarts Witches and Wizards and the small group of Slayers that had found refuge at the school. They were losing and everyone had decided on one last full onslaught; give everything or lose it all had been their motto as they rushed the demons in the black night.

But she remembered, in the moment she was down, her back on the wet ground next to Hagrid's hut with a vampire snapping at her throat and her wand a few feet off when the power had rushed over her body and she knew with all that she was that she had full Slayer powers. The war was won that night with sixteen young girls and women taking out a legion of demons with swords, wands and their bare hands.

Spike took a step back, lowering his hands as the girl's wand hand began to shake from fear. He had never had this kind of reaction and wondered what one of his brother's kin had done to the girl to cause such a pain filled look in her dark eyes. She was a pretty thing, strong but somehow a look of sorrow seemed to float out of her, a look that made a guy want to protect her, keep her safe even though she could take care of herself. Her hair and eyes were dark, her clothing a mix of Wizarding and Muggle that instead of making her look odd gave her a romantic quality that was timeless. Spike watched as Wesley started to talk her down but her large eyes never left his and he felt oddly responsible for the woman. And when the former Watcher had gotten her calmed again he slipped back into the shadows while they called for Lorne to read the girl.

End Chapter 1