For the Defense of Puppies
Author: Runewolf (Runewolf@writeme.com)
Genre: Angel (Season 5)/HP post OOP Crossover.
Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, et al. All things HP belong to JK Rowling, et al.
Distribution: Twisting the Hellmouth. Otherwise, please ask with URL, so I know where to go or direct.
Inspired by the following quote from Buffy’s fourth season-
Spike: “What’s this? Sitting around watching the telly while there’s evil still afoot? That’s not very industrious of you. I say we go out there and kick a little demon ass! What, can’t go without your Buffy, is that it? Too chicken? Let’s find her! She is the Chosen One after all. – Come on! Vampires! Grrr! Nasty! Let’s annihilate them. For justice - and for - the safety of puppies – and Christmas, right? Let’s *fight* that evil! - Let’s *kill* something! Oh, come *on*!”
Spike gazed at Fred earnestly. She was his last, his only hope. She had turned away from him, gazing out over the lab floor to collect herself. He guessed that his appeal had worked. “Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”
Fred whirled away from the window and looked at him. “Obi-Wan?” She grinned. “I always pictured myself more as a geekier Leia. Or not. Thats the flaw with Star Wars... so few really capable women. Would it have hurt them to have a sexy yet competent female sci...” Her voice cut off and Spike felt himself hover over the abyss once more. Not dead and yet not of the living, indeed. His footing was unsure and his finger scraped rock. And he fell, then felt himself caught and swept aflight in a flurry of burning feathers.
Spike came back to his senses in a study. Unlike the utilitarian confines of Fred’s lab, this room was filled with STUFF. Portraits, objects, a phoenix glowing with unnatural light. “Thanks, I think.” He addressed the bird. He’d never met a phoenix. Perhaps they were intelligent. Early on in his unlife, William the Bloody had learned that what looked intelligent and what was were often different things.
“I’m sure he’d be pleased to thank you for coming, if he could.” Spike turned slightly to see the form of an old wizard with long white hair in a bright blue robe. “I’m afraid he’s not much of a talker though, dear Fawkes.” The bird cooed. “So I must do so myself. My name is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.”
“School of Wizardry and Witchcraft.”
“There’s a school for wizards in Los Angeles?”
“Scotland, actually.” Dumbledore smiled. “Do have a seat.”
Spike sat. He was no longer in Los Angeles. “How? I’m anchored to that bloody amulet.”
Dumbledore smiled. “In the real world you were. But when it faded, you hung in the balance between the world of the living and the dead where few may go. Phoenixes, born as they are in magic, go there willingly. And return out of love and truth.” He beamed. “We were discussing my staffing problems and all of the sudden, he was gone and then there you both were.”
“I’m looking for another teacher.” Dumbledore beamed. Spike blanched.
“Teacher?” His normally arrogant voice blanched audibly. “I’m no soddin’ teacher.”
“Oh.” Dumbledore paused. “Then I can cease in interfering in your fate, Mr. Bloody.” He rose. “My apologies for the interruption of your... fate.” Dumbledore paused again.
“Bloody hell.” Spike paled. He could still feel the call of the abyss. And he had every intention of not being available.
“I was under the assumption it had more fire than blood myself.”
“Teacher of what?” Spike's voice was resigned.
“Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor.”