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Worlds Wrought & Ruined

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Summary: Spike, the Seer for Wolfram & Hart, had a vision of a death at Hogwarts. When trying to prevent the vision, the extent Second War is revealed. As Harry Potter dreams the Seer’s dreams, a new world is wrought. It is time to reap what has been sown.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Multiple PairingsennuideMorteFR15844,1842204,4443 Feb 0415 Jun 04No

Pro: Dreams of the Dead

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and
all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Joss Whedon,
Mutant Enemy, UPN, etc. Harry Potter and all associated characters, setting, props,
etc., belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Inc., etc. No copyright infringement
is intended.


Spoilers: Buffy Season 7;
Angel Season 4; Harry Potter, Books 1 thru 5


Variations on canon Jossverse at the end.








Dreams of the Dead





The subway screeched and swayed, but the noise could not
overcome the sharp crack of bone crisply breaking. A quick snap, a quick jerk
of the hands, and the Chosen is gone, her neck cleanly broken,
leaving him kneeling over her, staring into her wide dead eyes.


He was here, again, in this memory. Remembering— But why?




He jerked back slightly and then stared down in horror. She
had spoken. She had never spoken
before and with good reason; she was, after all, dead. Alright,
not a memory, a dream.


“You died. For me.”


The girl under him shifted from the dead African American
woman into a small Chinese girl clad in red with puncture wounds in her neck. His puncture wounds.
The words were in Chinese but somehow he understood.


“For me.”


The form then shifted into a dark girl, her hair in
elaborate braids and her throat slit. She spoke in heavily accented English. A bizarre dream.


“For me.”


Finally, the girl shifted into a small blonde, lying still
on top of a pile of rubble, peaceful, eyes closed and a small smile. No
indication of the cause of death.


At the sight of the blonde, he jerked up from his kneeling
position, stumbling backward, finally standing and taking another step back.


She spoke without opening her eyes. “For


She opened her eyes and looked at him directly, still
smiling serenely.


“Until the end of the world, even if it
happens to be tonight.”


He choked at hearing his
words coming from her.


She stood slowly, moaning slightly and grimacing, grumbling,
“That fall stung.” He chuckled softly at that and she returned his smile, a
smile of happiness.


“Do you remember this night?”


His smile faded immediately. “How could I forget?” he said
tersely. “I still have nightmares.
Over and over—seeing you take that bloody
swan dive and powerless to do a thing.”


“Yes, there is a lot of pain and death,” she said, nodding
slowly. “But something else happened this night. You were given something you
thought forever lost to you. Remember?”


He drew his head down; trying to think what good had come of
this horrible night.


What had he gained?


They had all lost the Slayer.


An older sister.

A best friend.

A pseudo daughter.

A hero.

A warrior of the people.

The Chosen one.

And a tentative friend.


He began shaking his head—he had gained nothing—he had
failed—failed to protect Dawn, failed in his promise to her, the Slayer, failed
Buffy— He had promised to protect Dawn until the end of the world and the
Slayer had trusted him to keep his promise—


He jerked his head up sharply, the tears still in his eyes
as he looked into hers and he spoke softly, “Your Trust.”


The blonde nodded. “I knew you would figure it out.” Her smile
widened. “And you have proved, over and over again, that it is well deserved.
It was never misplaced. We have never doubted, never revoked the invitation, never wavered in out Trust in you. That is why we have
chosen you.”




She ignored him and continued, “You died. For us,” and
morphed from the blonde to a brunette with long, straight hair, taller than the
blonde, with bright blue eyes. Dawn, the
girl he had failed to protect.
Her hands rested on her cocked hips as she
glared at him.


“Buster, you just stop that right now.” She stalked up to
him and started poking him in the chest as she continued to scold him. “Who was
it that let Glory nearly kill him rather than endanger me? Who was with me when
I found out I was the Key? Who stayed, even after
Buffy died, keeping his promise? It was you, Spike, you. You never failed to
protect me.”


“But—“ he said weakly, gesturing to
the rubble pile that her older sister had previously been lying on.


She shrugged, slipping her hands in the pockets of her jeans.
“You did as you were meant to that night. You delayed the bloodletting long
enough to allow Buffy to reach me, before it was too late, before I died. I
survived that night; you protected me just like you promised, so stop feeling
sorry for yourself and stop being— oh, how you would say it— a bleedin’ arse.” Then
she stuck out her tongue at him. He chuckled at that and her horrible imitation
of his accent.


She took a few steps back and then crossed her arms, face
screwed up in concentration. “Shoot, now you made me forget what I was supposed
to say.”


I made you?”


“Shush you. Where were you before you started your pity


She earned a glare for that, to which she just smiled. “I
don’t quite know. Your Big Sis was just here
and before her, there were other Slayers—“


“Right. I remember—now don’t
interrupt or else I’ll forget again—Oh,” remembering something and perking up
again, “tell the Powers that I totally
approve. They made an excellent choice. Both of you deserve a second chance and
I’m glad you get it. Ok, back to the reason I am really here, not that the talk
wasn’t nice. I am glad that I get a
chance to say this: Thanks. For everything.” She smiled with watery eyes and then stood straighter, shoulders thrown back, and continued.


“You died for me, too. And now,” her American accent slowly
changed into a crisp British accent, “I have to ask you to go back.”


He blinked and looked again. She still looked like Dawn; her face hadn’t changed but—


Her clothes slowly melted together and reformed into a blue
robes as she walked closer to him, her hair became braided and swept up; a
small wand appeared, tucked behind her ear. He drew in a sharp breath.


“Back? Elizabeth?


She nodded and smiled warmly at his shocked expression
before continuing. “Back to the world of wizarding you had long ago forsaken.”


It was they who had forsaken him, he thought. And her. Not the other way around. Why would he evergo back?


“It is time to reclaim what was lost long ago and time to
remember what was forgotten. A new world has been wrought and it is time for
you to walk in it.”


The blue eyes darkened to almost black, her hair coming
loose and curling, wand disappearing, skin paling dramatically.


“You walk in worlds the others can’t even begin to imagine.”


The voice took on a sing-song quality and the accent became
rougher, more like his.


“She is right; it is time, my Dark Knight. After all, it is


Eyes flash to feral yellow. The dream jerks away, flying
fast, blurring into a Vision, allowing only glimpses—a castle school surrounded by magic, a lake deep and clear, a forest, forbidden, and the flash of those feral eyes from within its depths.





Time:           10:17 GMT

Location:     Potions
Classroom, HogwartsSchool of Witchcraft and Wizardry







A slam reverberated through his head and, combined with the
bellow, ripped him from—whatever the hell that was—and Harry’s eyes opened. Only to close them immediately, wincing from the light.


“Open—Your—Eyes NOW!”


Harry, still wincing in pain, cracked his eyes open and
found himself staring into the furious black eyes of an outraged Potion Master.
Hands firmly planted on the desk, Professor Snape leaned over the cauldron and hissed angrily, “Mr. Potter, my classroom is not meant to be used as a bedroom. If you are not getting enough sleep, I suggest that you curtail your illegal nocturnal activities.” He paused, still glaring.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself!!??!” He ended in a low roar.


Harry cringed at both the volume and the tone of his Professor’s voice. He already had the beginnings of a horrible migraine and Snape was not making it better. He was in trouble no matter what he said. Harry closed his eyes and began to rub his temples. “Professor,
I—I had a—“


A throat being cleared made him stop speaking and open one
eye, peering curiously at his professor. He looked less angry now and a
little—concerned? The black eyes were no longer staring into his eyes, but were
higher, on his forehead, where he was unconsciously rubbing his scar. Harry
immediately stopped his hand and opened both eyes fully as his professor again
looked into his eyes. An almost imperceptible nod told Harry that the Potion
Master understood.


Snape straightened and sneered
down at the Gryffindor. “Can’t think of an excuse? Creativity
failing you? Oh well, 20 points from Gryffindor.” He started to stalk
back to the front of the classroom and said without looking back, “And Mr.
Potter, you will stay after class.”


Hermione looked at him, her face caught between concern and
reproach. Harry shook his head and mouthed, “Later,” before closing his eyes
again and mentally groaning. What in the
hell was that? A vision? From who?  And why, in of all classes, did it have to
happen in Potions?
The year was off to a great start.




Time:           04:17 CST (GMT-6)

Location:     Airplane




Dawn jerked up violently in her seat and banged her head on
the overhead compartment. “Owwww!” She sat back, moaning softly and rubbing the top of her head, looking around. Why was she awake—no one else was—the plane was still dark. Maybe it was her dream—she stopped, her hand stilled in her hair and choked. She closed her eyes, trying to stave the tears. She croaked out one word before she began to cry.






Time:           02:17 PST (GMT-8)

Location:     Suite, Wolfram & Hart Law Firm

Angeles, CA  USA




Spike flinched, his eyes flying open; suddenly awake in bed
and sitting up quickly. Too
quickly evidently, because he moaned and grabbed his temples, falling back into
his bed.


“Damn it all, those buggering, interfering arses,” he began grumbling. “First you bring me back to this rock, alive I might add, when the cheerleader died. Then, you tell me I
have to work with Peaches, a chore in and of itself. But finally, finally, you stick me with these incomprehensible visions that feel like they are melting my brain!”


He then looked straight at the ceiling with a threatening
fisted hand and started yelling, “Why can’t you leave me the hell alone!! I was
sleeping, albeit having a bizarre dream that I can’t quite remember now because
of the POUNDING in my head from that blasted vision, but I was sleeping!!! Feels like a bloody chainsaw…”


Grimacing, he adds in a slightly amused voice, “Angelus is
just going to love this. Ergh!”


He started struggling to sit up again. “Why can’t the
important visions come during the day, like, say, when we are all at the
office, together. No, dead of night, waking up tired, overworked demons.” He sighed, “Well, timeto spread the joy.”


Finally managing to sit up again, swaying only slightly, he
leaned over to the bedside table and punched a button on the phone.


“Call. Vision. Code: Alpha-one,” he clearly enunciated.


Responding, a mechanical voice echoed through the dark
bedroom, “Calling: Angelus; Gunn; Winifred; Watcher Junior; Destroyer. Begin
Recording. Vision: William – 02:17 September 20 PST. Priority: Alpha-One. Connecting.” A pause, then a series of clicks and unhappy grumbling. “Connected.”


Spike took over again, wearily rubbing his eyes. “Rise and
shine Fang Gang. The Powers are cranky and so am I.” He paused and then added,
in a heavier voice, “And so, evidently, is Dru. It seems we will be taking a trip to the Mother Country.”


The grumbling turned into groans that echoed through the
darkened room.





[Spike’s Dream was the
part that we read. The Vision is the really fast, blurred part at the end and
only Spike saw it.]


Notes: Variations on canon Jossverse.


Two major changes to the Buffy/Angel universe that I am


(1) Connor,
Angel’s son, did not have a psychotic
break at the end of Season 4. He was just extremely traumatized. Therefore
Angel did not send him away; he kept Connor with him at Wolfram & Hart,
decided to actually spend some time with the kid and got him some good
counseling and anger management classes.


(2) Cordelia, Angel’s Seer, dies shortly after Angel Investigations assumes control of Wolfram & Hart. As a Champion for the Light, Angel still needs direction from the Powers That Be, the good ones that
used to determine what slayer will be Chosen next, and the best way is through
another Seer. The person they gift with visions is Spike and he brought back to
life* for this task. He is no longer a vampire, but now a part-demon,
part-human as were both his predecessors: Cordelia Chase and Francis Doyle.


Assumption: Buffy
and co. left to collect the new Slayers before Cordelia died and, assuming that if Buffy needed them she would contact Wolfram & Hart, Buffy & co. did not leave a number for contact.


*Spike, aka William the Bloody, recently gave his life to save the lives of the Slayer Buffy Summers, her friends and the new army of Slayers by destroying the First’s army of
Neanderthal-like vampires. In the process, he also closed the Hellmouth and destroyed the city once known as Sunnydale. This same force burned Spike’s vampire body to ash.


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