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Summary: AU: What if Drusilla and Spike had another member in their gang when they came to Sunnydale? A young vampire named Severus Snape shows up with the pair.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Willow-Centered > Pairing: Severus SnapecelestialsilenceFR15210,859062,7033 Apr 043 Apr 04No

Lying In Sunnyhell

The More They Change

Chapter 1
Lying In Sunnyhell

The familiar and comforting shroud of night covered the land for his eyes, as it had ever since that fateful night nearly two decades ago when he had died. The sun was indistinct memory, as was the way it lit the earth, but he had no need of it since colors were brighter to him even in under the blanket of blackness and the silvery disc of the moon. Severus had always held an appreciation for long moments of silence, preferred it to the bustle of activity. He had never been a social creature, and though many things had changed in him, that had remained an undeniable constant.

A cigarette burned between his fingers, and though his lungs no longer needed to draw air, he needed to draw in its comforting plume. When he was human he had abhorred all things Muggle, and to a great extent the old prejudices still held, made even greater with his demon, but this was one of the few exceptions he indulged in. A habit he had picked up from Spike, who had been his model for this new way of walking without living. Though the two disagreed on many things, and Severus held much contempt for the impulsiveness of his fellow Vampire, they were family. Severus never held much stock in his blood family, even though he was raised to listen to them without question, he had a deep love for his new family. A family he was closer to than any relative he’d ever had while alive, including his bastard of a drunkard father and his week willed mother who aloud his beatings simply because she loved a shadow of what he’d been.

Drusilla looked to him like a child, but Severus held no boyish love for her. His love ran deeper than that, more than even that of a fledgling for it’s Sire; she was his dark goddess to be worshipped accordingly. Each step she took was precious to him, and the words she sang he listened to with avid attention, though they rarely made any sense. Spike, that first night, had been right. She was quite mad, and it was part of her charm. When an angry mob, spurred by the recent killings, had nearly set fire to her, Severus had been filled with such rage he’d never known the likes of before his death or since. While Spike took her to recover, Severus went on a quest for vengeance. Tracking every single human who had been in that mob down, and brutally exacting his justice upon not only the participants, but often their families as well.

Two years after he had been made, and ever since he’d been seen with new eyes by the scourge of the demons that walked by night. A reputation grew around him, same as Spike had earned his with crude railroad spikes, and the pair was generally given wide berth when they passed. Unlike both Spike and Drusilla, Severus had been a cruel man before being turned, and now that a demon fed his blood lust, that cruelty only exuberated upon itself a hundredfold.

But a talent for murder and torture were not his only unique qualities. He had retained the ability to wield his magic, and though he hardly ever used the Killing Curse since he preferred to complete the deed with his own bared fangs, it was enough that he could. In the usual case of a Witch or Wizard being turned, the Aurors would make him or her their top priority. Yet Spike and Drusilla knew the game of hide and seek well, and the Aurors sent after him found themselves in their carefully constructed traps like so many little mice easily lured by the promise of food.

Eventually they had all agreed it would be easier to leave England and the Ministry of Magic behind, which led them to Prague. For reasons Severus could not recall, they had decided to hunt in one of the outlining villages. The sort of village where the denizens still believed in their superstitions, and where the people had known them right away for the creatures they were. Drusilla, caught above the body of a small boy, had barely escaped their wrath born of torch and pitchfork.

She was weakened, unable to hunt for herself. Spike and Severus traded off the duty of bringing fresh blood back to her. They traveled, Severus learning more and more of his new powers every year that passed. He spent the early nights bending to Drusilla’s whim. Subjecting to her innocent caresses and child-like play as if he truly were her moving, life sized, doll. Never in life would he thought to fall so completely under any woman’s spell, but Drusilla had made him hers in as complete a sense as she could.

Later in the night he would hunt with Spike. The bleach blonde was completely in charge, dominant, and Severus followed orders simply because he had too. He held power, true, but he was still young in comparison to Spike. What at first he’d done grudgingly because Drusilla had wished it, he found a bond of genuine friendship developed between he and Spike, a friendship born of rivalry and the shared love of carnage. Spike may have been born an elite in Muggle society, but he was a pure rebel now- doing as he pleased when he pleased. Severus found him uncouth at times, lacking finesse, and entirely unpredictable- but his own control and subtle nature balanced it out with a perfection that was undeniable. Individually they were dangerous, together they were a tide of destruction that, until recently, none could stand against.

It had been Spike’s idea to move to the Hellmouth. He was sure it would restore Drusilla’s strength, and Severus had followed without question at such a promise to see her hunt again. Slayers were explained to him early on, a raucous and drunken Spike proclaiming his two kills with a pride. Sweetest blood you’ll ever drink, he’d gone on in a slurred cockney twang, and infused with power that would make a strong Vampire even more powerful. But, he had cautioned with a wagging finger Severus had to resist snapping in half out of annoyance, they weren’t easy to take out. You had to know your enemy, study them, and then move in for the kill at the opportune moment when the Slayer was ready. Till then, it was folly that would only get him killed until he was ready.

But all Spike had known of Slayers did not seem to apply to this blonde bitch. She had friends, she had Drusilla’s own Sire helping her and whispering their secrets in her ear before enfolding her in his arms, and she had a style that served to keep her alive. She thought fast on her feet, and was able to foil anything Spike or Severus threw at her. Severus was the planner, and his plans were fool proof. Or they had been, until Buffy Summers and her little gaggle of helpers.

She’d killed the Master, leaving a vacuum of power Spike had naturally filled after burning the Anointed one to a crisp. Severus had to hand it to him, Spike had flare. The flashy sort that burned just as quickly as a vampire in the sunrise, but flare none-the-less. They had other vampires, stupid creatures really, following their commands like faithful dogs wagging their eager tails. Even though most were older than Severus himself, they recognized his unique talents and were quick to ascent to his will. It was his first time being surrounded with lackeys, and Severus found it an intoxicating opiate that satiated his old personality’s desire for power.

But there was still the problem of the Slayer, and her friends, that were more than a mere thorn in their arses. She was a damn briar patch, and Severus was growing distinctly annoyed. Being annoyed never led to anything good for the subject spurning his annoyance like a soft breath encouraging a birthing flame to rise and consume even higher.

He hated the Slayer to the heights he had rarely known before, but Spike insisted that he be the one to deal with her personally. That left it Severus’ job to take care of her little friends. Something he felt confident in doing, since they were only mortals. He followed them when he could, anyone he caught her scent on, and even Angel was under his watchful eye.

His favorite to track was the redhead. Severus had long held a special place in his still heart for girls with fiery hair. His first kill had been Lily Potter, the sweet Mudblood, and though he hadn’t been able to get to her son or her husband, she had satiated his bloodlust to a point where he actually went a week without desire to feed again. Since that night, redheads always quenched that thirst for him as no other innocent morsel could. He enjoyed taking them as he had taken Lily, them coming into his arms of their own choice, and consummating with flesh till their burn warmed his cold skin, and then burying his fangs in that heat for the kill just as passion ran to it’s peak. Truly, there was no better way to feed.

So Willow Rosenberg was his pet project. He had interesting things in store for all of them, but his Willow- he had something very special in mind for her. She was the first prey he’d ever tracked that reminded him so fiercely of himself at that age. Shunned by her peers, brilliant beyond simple intelligence, and gifted in her chosen interests. Though his black eyes had never held the same naiveté hers did, that innocence was part of her draw. As was the kindness, and the stalwart courage befit any Gryffindor.

Not only that, but she had what Drusilla called the spark. She was a Mudblood, he was certain of it; he could feel the magic humming untapped just under her skin. He wanted to call to it, encourage it, watch it blossom.

Severus was convinced it was simply meant to be.

So he sat on the limb of a tree outside the sliding glass door separating her world from his, smoking his cigarette, and content to watch his Willow typing away at her muggle contraption. He had even entertained the notion of procuring one for himself, just so he could speak with her and begin the seduction in earnest. He had a way with words, and knew she would be under his spell even without his voice or eyes encouraging her to fall.

So far he had limited himself to sending little messages to her, anonymously, left in her locker at school, along with roses and chocolates. All the things teenaged girls enjoyed, and doubly so since all the other foolish boys surrounding her failed to see her uniqueness. Their loss was his gain.

The boy, Xander, was the only one becoming suspicious. Buffy was foolishly encouraging her friend with winks and nudging elbows. The Watcher was too involved with his own romance to notice, and even if he did was unlikely to think anything more of it than a boy finally taking note of little Miss Rosenberg. His love of red heads was well documented by the Watcher’s diaries, he was sure, but he doubted Giles would make a connection until it was far too late to do anything about it. Severus’ other skills were of more pressing concern then his personal tastes.

Angel had never known him, and couldn’t predict his moves as easily as he knew Spike’s. Angel regarded Spike with caution, but Severus could smell the unease the other Vampire held towards him. Angel did not like being out of the loop, and Severus enjoyed toying with the Vampire that had broken his Drusilla.

When the cigarette finally burned it’s last bit of leaf, Severus flicked it aside and withdrew the shrunken parchment, quill, and inkwell. It was not easy for him to procure Wizarding items, but a few contacts in the black market left him well supplied in everything from books to potions ingredients. Severus flicked his wand, expanding all the items, and carefully balanced the inkwell on the branch before him before dipping his quill and composing his next little note to Willow.

It was ritual for him now, writing them as he watched her in the cover of shadows without her knowledge. It seemed fitting for her to be present, being she was the inspiration to him. The scratching of his quill broke the stillness of the night, and he let the words flow onto the parchment. A small poem of her beauty, one he was certain she would appreciate. He only wished he could be there to see her reaction, to watch the blush he could imagine appearing over the pale skin. He wanted to be close enough to smell that lovely blood warming her flesh.

Soon enough old boy, he thought with a smirk.

“Well, lookie here, got ourselves a kitty in a tree.”

Spike’s voice carried up the branches, and Severus peered down to seem him leaning against the wide trunk and gazing up. Humor glittered in his eyes, and they slowly moved towards Willow in her room before wandering up to Severus again. “Knew I’d find you outside Red’s door, mooning away.”

Ignoring the amusement in the his tone, Severus quickly finished his note, signing his usual ‘Yours’ with a flourish before carefully packing his items away to be shrunk. All but the note he cut cleanly off with a quick draw against the parchment with a razor sharp nail. “Wouldn’t do for her to forget me, would it?”

“Spose not. Then again, all this wooing is your territory,” Spike said. Severus’ ears picked up the click of a flint as Spike lit his own cigarette, and the tendrils of smoke that curled up towards him in its wake were somewhat soothing in their familiarity. “Got my Dru. All I need.”

“Mm,” Severus hummed.

He had no wish to go over Spike’s feelings for Drusilla. A knife of jealously still twisted in his gut when he thought of it, and it wouldn’t do to be upset when Spike had obviously sought him out for something.

“What do you want?” Severus then asked.

Pale fingers folded the small letter with a reverence, each new crease a perfect straight line. He heard the deep draw of breath as Spike drew in the smoke from his cigarette, and could nearly hear the cogs turning in his mind.

“Got a plan,” his finally answered, “good one this time. Little bird came while you were away, sang in Dru’s ear.” There was a pregnant pause as he blew out all the smoke. “There’s a book I want you to get for me from the Watcher.” Severus could feel the eyes shifting to look at him through the leaves and twigs of the tall tree, though his own stayed fixed on the small square slip of parchment. “Since you’re headed that way to deliver your little note. Sent a few helpers over already, in case the Slayer shows up.”

“Cannon fodder,” Severus replied.

“Exactly,” Spike said, his own smirk one to match Severus’. “Dru’d never forgive me if I lost her favorite toy.”

Severus arched a brow at that, but made no comment. Shrinking his items with a simple charm, he tucked them back into his robes before lithely hopping from the perch and standing before Spike with a light spring. Their eyes met in understanding, Severus reaching out lightly to pluck out what memories he could find of the bird he spoke of.

He watched as a human boy walked into the warehouse, and made a devil’s deal with Spike. Drusilla’s cure and the Slayer in return for being changed. Severus nearly laughed at the boy’s stupidity, but had to admit it was a golden opportunity. A chance to restore Drusilla couldn’t be anything less.

“I’ll get your book for you,” Severus finally told him.

Spike nodded once in answer, before taking off into the night as quietly as he appeared. Severus’ eyes were able to follow him as he weaved between the houses until he disappeared over a fence.

They shifted again until his eyes found Willow once more, still blessedly unaware of his gaze roaming over her. He drank in the sight to sustain him for the day they’d be parted before he’d be able to return. With a final mental farewell, he disappeared from the lawn of the Rosenberg residence with a quiet pop.

The view of the small blue house was replaced with the large structure of Sunnydale High. In the stillness of night the campus was free of the bustle that would accost it during daylight as one child after another scampered off to classes. Severus knew the layout of the building well, and headed right through the front doors of the building, no need for an invitation since it was a public institution.

Traveling the length of the halls like a phantom, his boots silent as he stepped upon the tile, and only the slight rustling of his robes as they trailed behind him as dark wings marked his passing. Severus turned near the science board, smelling the hint of cork, before passing further into bowls of the school. He was passing lockers now, all shut and locked in the shadowed hall, a few glinting a metallic green as he passed. When he was half way down the row, he began counting silently each one he passed.

The first time it had taken him two hours to catch her scent- a mix of sunshine, strawberries, and books- before he found it, since then he knew exactly which locker was hers. He stopped in front of it, his robes catching around his ankles at the sudden halt of his body. A single finger trailed down the steal surface, as if it could catch a trace of warmth left by her passing. Shaking the sensation off, Severus withdrew his wand and whispered a soft Alohamora.

The lock clicked, and he lifted the handle without resistance, gaining entrance. As he’d done countless times the past few weeks, his eyes combed the still muggle photographs taped in a half-hazardous fashion to the inner door. All the photographs- with the Watcher, another with the Boy and Buffy, and one of Einstein- were very telling in their own ways. Severus enjoyed gazing at them every night, knowing that she looked at them every day.

The rest of her locker was neat and orderly. A few books on demonology here and there, but otherwise mostly Science magazines and books his Willow hadn’t needed to take home. Severus pulled his note from his robes and tapped it absently as he wondered where to leave it this time. Spying her folder for French Class, he picked that out and opened it. There, written in her precise looping hand, was the reading to be done by tomorrow. Her French Book was within as well, she must have read ahead he supposed, and he replaced the folder for it instead. He flipped to the first page of the reading, placed the note carefully into the binding, and gently closed the text once more before replacing it exactly as he’d found it.

Taking a moment to appreciate the fact she would find it in French Class, the language of amore, his lips twisted into a satisfied smile before he shut the locker as quietly as its hinges would allow. With a quick spin of its dial, it was once again locked.

His personal task for the night completed, he swiveled silently on his heel in a flurry of black robes and made for the library.


Willow approached her locker the next morning with something akin to anticipation. Though she tried to keep her mask in place, she was a notoriously bad liar and could imagine that repeatedly forgetting her combination wasn’t helping matters. Xander was watching her like a hawk, and it wasn’t helping her nerves any.

Finally managing to pull the door open, happily blocking Xander’s view, she was greeted by… absolutely nothing.

Willow’s lower lips stuck out in disappointment before she shook it off and began transferring to and from her book bag, getting ready for her morning classes.

“No happy squeals,” Xander observed from beyond the shield of the door. “Romeo forget to send the flowers for Juliet?”

Willow peeked around the edge and gave him a look saying it was absolutely none of his business before hiding back in her locker. Disappointment twisted in her stomach, but she simply thought maybe he, whoever he was, got to school late and wasn’t able to drop anything off for her. She was still unsure just how he’d managed to find out her combination, but then again Willow could pull them up with little problem.

She’d been watching everyone the computer science lab very carefully since the gifts had started arriving a few weeks ago, but so far no one had so much as glanced her way. Buffy had reasoned he was probably just very shy, being anonymous in the first place, but Willow hoped he’d reveal himself soon. He wrote the most beautiful poetry about her, and wrote little notes like ‘thinking about you’ that just made her heart flutter like butterfly wings. Buffy said she was officially jealous, wishing Angel would be so- word crafty. Willow had to admit whoever her secret admirer was, he did have a way with the English language.

Closing her book bag, she decided to not jump to any conclusions and wait to see if anything showed up tomorrow. Her locker was shut next, revealing Xander leaning against his- arms crossed- and giving her his own unhappy look. Since her admirer had started sending little gifts, her crush on Xander had receded to the background. Still, she didn’t like his looks.

It wasn’t as if he had a claim on her, and she wished he’d stop acting like a jealous—guy friend. “What?”

“I don’t like him,” Xander announced.

Willow rolled her eyes and shouldered her bag before starting down the hall, but soon Xander was right on her heels.

He was obviously still fuming. Willow could tell by all the stomping. “He could be a freak, or some sort of stalker. Hello? Have we already forgotten about the little thing with Malcolm? Our demon robot boyfriend?”

Willow nearly stumbled at the reminder of Moloch, a demon she’d scanned into the internet who started chatting with Willow, and eventually blinded her until it was nearly too late. “No,” she replied finally.

“This secret admirer is just as fishy! Not showing his face! Running around like some sort of… hidden… guy,” he finished lamely. “Just look at ‘secret admirer’. Means he has a secret! I looked it up.”

Rolling her eyes, Willow was luckily saved from saying anything back when Buffy jogged up. The normally perky girl gave off a vibe of being in full Slayer mode. Willow hoped it had nothing to do with Angel dropping by to check on Ford, Buffy’s old friend who mysterious showed up from L.A. and happed to have a membership to a club that worshiped Vampires as ‘Lonely Ones’, but saw from the anger shining in her eyes it probably did. “Buffy, Angel…”

The Slayer held up a hand to stop her. “I know. He told me.”

“He was just really worried,” Willow went on, “and we didn’t want to say anything if it was just… normal stuff.”

Buffy stared at her for a few minutes, causing Willow to nervously shift her bag, until the Slayer finally nodded in a sad sort of acceptance. “It’s okay.”

“Did you find out what Ford is up to?” Xander broke in.

Buffy’s lips pressed together, before she lightly shook her head. “No, but I will.”

Before Xander or Willow could say anymore, Buffy walked off, leaving the two of them watching as she marched with a soldier’s purpose back down the hallway. They exchanged an uneasy glance, and then Xander’s brain seemed to catch onto something. “Angel was in your bedroom?”

Willow nodded seriously; content to dig back for the Romeo comment. “Ours is a forbidden love.”*


The morning classes slipped by slowly, Willow growing increasingly nervous about Buffy’s cold demeanor throughout all their classes. By the time they got into French, Buffy not even freaking out over the assigned reading, Willow knew she was distracted. What she wasn’t sure of was if she was still angry.

With a sigh, comically enough shared by the rest of the room as the teacher instructed them to open to chapter seven, although hers was for an entirely different reason. When she finally flipped open to the chapter, her earlier sigh changed to a loud gasp of astonishment.

Buffy, Xander, and a couple other students all gazed quizzically at her. Willow gave nervous little smiles to the other kids, and when they turned back around met Buffy’s own eyes just as the Slayer mouthed ‘what is it?’

Excited, Willow picked up the small folded piece of parchment, showing the Slayer the admirer’s calling card. Willow had no idea where he got his stationary from, but it was so much cooler than the usual notes passed around class. Buffy’s eyes widened in recognition, and she made a shooing motion with her hands to open it.

Nothing like a little romantic note from a boy to make girls forget about an earlier fight, Willow mused giddily as she unfolded the parchment. She risked a peek at Mrs. Carmile before unfolding the last half and revealing the slashed calligraphic writing.

I know you cannot feel my eyes on you,
Though they burn intently every time they catch sight of you.

I know you cannot imagine how I dream of you,
Though you haunt me each time my eyelids close.

I know you cannot hear my heart,
Though it whispers for you to take notice of me.

I know you cannot find me,
Though I can always find your brilliant light in any darkness.

I know you cannot fathom how deeply I crave you,
Though I hold hope one day you will come to crave me.


Willow read it silently several times, letting her teacher’s words go in one ear and out the other as she etched the small poem into her heart. Finally she sighed very gently, still staring at his signature as if it would relinquish the mystery of his identity to her, until a feather capped pen flew under her nose.

Resisting the urge to sneeze at the ticklish barbs, she turned to see Buffy making frantic grabbing gestures with one hand, her eyes going from Willow’s to the note and back again. Willow blushed a light pink before refolding the parchment and passing it with only a bit of hesitation on to Buffy.

She watched with the avid attention of any spectator as Buffy unfolded the note and began reading. She took in all the surprised lifts of the brow, the curve of the lips into a silent ‘awww’, and the dreamy gaze in her eyes that could only come from flowery prose. After several successive readings, Buffy folded it back up and turned to her notebook. Glancing up towards the front of the room, she tore a single piece from one of its pages and made to write- when she realized her hand was empty.

She turned in her seat towards Willow, pointing to the pink, feathered tipped pen in Willow’s hand and pantomiming in the air. Willow passed it back with a little smile, which Buffy returned, before she turned back to her desk and wrote in quick strokes on her torn paper. When she finished, she piled it atop the folded parchment and slipped them underhand to Willow, who took them in her stretched out hand.

Willow quickly pocketed the parchment, and then glanced down at the torn scrap of notepaper.

He is sooo going to say something soon.

Confused by this observation, Willow picked up her own pencil before writing a reply beneath the single line.

You think?

Making sure Mrs. Carmile’s attention was still on the blackboard and the next phrase, Willow stretched out towards Buffy with her reply. Buffy took it and read it over before she’d put it flat against her desktop. Without hesitating, she scribbled something else and passed it back to Willow.

It screams of ‘HELLO? NOTICE ME!’

Thinking back to the poem, Willow eventually had to agree with Buffy. The notes had started out relatively simple, but then grew more and more personal as the next arrived. They never revealed anything about the admirer himself, other then the fact he seemed to be smitten completely with her. They were full of compliments, promises, and wishes for the two of them to eventually be way more than just friendly buddies.

Noticing Buffy was still watching her, Willow nodded her agreement and couldn’t keep a goofy smile from lighting her face. Buffy returned it with a knowing grin of her own, before reluctantly focusing on her book and muttering phrases of broken French to herself.

Willow spent the rest of class daydreaming of her admirer finally revealing his identity on one knee and holding up a great big bouquet of fresh, perfume-laden roses.


Severus absently flipped through the writings of Du Lac while Spike paced back and forth in front of the long line of Vampires, giving instructions for the nights ‘all you can drink buffet’. It had been disgustingly easy to slip into the Library unnoticed, even with the Slayer, her Watcher, and that Ms. Calendar right there. Using another stupid chit of a Vampire as a decoy, Severus was able to quickly locate the writings under a pile of discarded scrolls covered in a fine layer of dust, all kept inside the Watcher’s office.

While his decoy was dusted, Severus simply apparated back to the warehouse, book in hand.

The book was written in rather heavily worded Latin, and consisted of the usual ramblings of any madman. However, when he reached any spells, the Latin suddenly became impossible to decipher. Severus had grit his teeth together more than once when translation after translation came out as one useless page of gibberish after another. Casting charms had no effect, and eventually Severus had conceded defeat and decided a key was needed to translate the entire mess.

Now he combed through for any hint of a decoder, whether spell or artifact, while Spike continued to give his speech to rouse the troops.

“The boy, Ford, and the Slayer are to be left to me. You lot couldn’t kill a fly without smacking ridges. Sometimes I wonder if the mortuary took out your brains before burying you.”

Severus smirked in appreciation, skimming another section of text that said absolutely nothing other than a purported great recipe for cheese soufflé.

“Otherwise the mass morsels are going to be ripe for the biting. Right from the tree, my friends. Keep your game faces off till we get in there. We don’t want to scare the little lambs off too soon, do we?”

A collective chuckle met this question, except from Severus. He instead snorted softly at their incompetence; all too absorbed in the bloodlust to control their urges, and Severus had no doubt that at the first sign of a pulse the demons would be out and hungry.

Sensitive ears picked up the creak of Spike’s leather trench coat as he rounded towards him, nearly bristling at the interruption. “Got something to add, Sev?”

It was impossible to miss the unspoken warning in the question. Once more, Severus wondered if they weren’t so much Vampires, as two dogs snapping and bearing frothing teeth over territory.

Without a hint of trepidation, he slowly lifted his eyes from the book. “I would make a few suggestions…”

Spike folded his arms, evidently expecting this reply, and then tilted his head and granting permission for Severus to continue.

“Feed quickly,” he began, “don’t bother with games. If you want to play,” he smirked cruelly at the word, “bring your human back to the warehouse first. The Slayer’s Merry Band could still interrupt us, and I for one would rather leave a pile of bodies for them to find. Much nicer than tempting targets trapped in a small space. Easy to be shot down like fish in a barrel.”

While Severus and Spike remained locked in a tension laden stare, the rest of the Vampires gazed from one to the other with uncertainty. Clearly questioning if they should add these orders onto Spike’s. The uncertainty was laid to rest when Spike chuckled quietly, his lips pinched shut, before twirling back to the line of lackeys with his unique flourish. “You heard the man. In and out, gents and ladies.” He waved his hands. “Now bugger off till I need you.”

The Vampires scattered like fallen leaves of autumn under a heavy gust, stampeding in a great heard up the stairs. Spike watched them with a pleased twist of the lips. As an after thought, he then called out, “and let’s STOP allowing any wanker to wander in off the street this time, shall we!”

“Ms. Edith says its time for tea.”

Drusilla’s voice, filled with the sleep-tinged fantasy, caused both men to turn back and watch the dark princess immerge from the shadows. She swung her arms side to side, more swaying to them then actually walking, wading through a sea of her own making. “What are my precious boys doing? Playing nice?”

“Peas in a pod, luv,” Spike answered immediately.

He crossed over to her, wrapping her securely in his arms and resting his pointed chin on her shoulder as he stood pressed behind he, molding exclusively to fit her curves. “Sleep well, pet?”

“Lovely dreams,” she answered thickly. “The little lambs screamed as wolves gobbled them all down.”

“That’s a good sign, then,” Spike stated, obviously assuming Drusilla was referring to the bounty about to be served.

Severus himself was not quite as comforted by this as Spike. Drusilla had many dreams, and though some of them were visions, more were products of her insanity. Though her dreams were always of the interesting variety.

Her eyes shifted for a moment before finally settling on him. “Has dolly found mummy’s cure?”

Severus shook his head, agitated with his lack of success, holding up the book to their eyes. “Rubbish, for the most part. And what isn’t rubbish is in code.”

“So,” Spike said. “Wave your stick there, and make it all right again.”

“That was, naturally, the first thing I tried,” Severus answered, his voice thick with derision. Waving his stick, indeed. “Unfortunately, it seems to have rather advanced safe-guards in place.”

“Dolly needs his crucifix,” Drusilla announced so softly Severus had to strain to hear it. “Shiny bit of gold holds the key.”

“A golden crucifix?” Severus questioned skeptically.

Drusilla gave a heavy nod, extracting herself from Spike’s arms, and making her way to Severus with all the deliberateness a courtesan would take in approaching a man of gentile nature. With a graceful shift she was seated next to him, her hands automatically going to stroke his slick hair in her curling fingers. “Find it in the wall where he was laid to rest, and mummy will be all better.”

As her fingers caressed his scalp with the most tender of touches, his eyes closed of their own volition. Soon he was leaning into her touch, as if he had never experienced such a thing before, and his world became no larger than the tips of her nails scraping against his scalp.

So few people had been willing to touch his hair, but Drusilla seemed to love petting him as an exotic and precious animal. Severus could honestly say he had never experienced a caress before her own, and for that he would always desire her. “Buried with him, you say?” he eventually asked with his voice as thick as molasses.

“Mhm,” she replied easily.

“So, should I send someone after it then?” Spike asked, far louder than necessary.

Slowly their attention turned towards him, and Severus was hard pressed to keep his lips from smirking at the jealousy radiating from the other Vampire. He had little cause to worry, Drusilla was completely devoted to him, but Severus enjoyed prodding Spike to walk on pins and needles whenever he could just to enjoy the reaction. “Using everyone we have for tonight.”

“Tomorrow night, then,” Spike replied in a low growl that caused the hair on Severus’ neck to stand on end.

Pulling away from Drusilla, and ignoring her whimpered protests from being denied her toy, Severus again regarded the text. “Sounds good.”

“I wasn’t asking your opinion on it,” Spike snapped back.

A thin brow arched even higher on Severus’ countenance before he gave a shrug of indifference and concentrated again on the spell. Drusilla continued in her hum, a lilting tune she often sang, and Severus tried to make heads or tails of what was written. Finding about what he expected, nothing, he finally shut the book with a loud crash that startled the princess beside him.

An apologetic look soothed her into humming again, while he slid off the table to his feet. Crossing the expanse of concrete that served as their floor, he came to his old school trunk. A flick of his wand had the wards dropped, and he pried the worn leather surface open before dropping the book inside. It took longer to re-weave the complicated incantations that sealed it safely once more, and when he finished he pulled out the smooth silver pocket watch from his frockcoat. “Nearly time,” he announced to Spike who was restlessly pacing back and forth like a caged lion.

His head lifted from its droop, and the smile that greeted Severus’ words could only be from anticipation. “Don’t want to be late for our little party,” Spike stated.

He went to Drusilla, hand extended in a courtly manner. Offering her own pleased smile to him, she accepted his hand and then was pulled into his waiting arms. He twirled her on his own feet till she giggled aloud with dizzying joy, and only then did he reluctantly stop. Her face turned thoughtful. “I’ve no dress for a party.”

“One you’ve got is lovely,” Spike stated, propping her back on her feet. “Fit for a Princess, pet.”

She smiled rather dreamily. “Yay.”

Severus was not quite as pleased. “Are you certain she should be going?”

Drusilla rounded on him, her face falling with disappointment. “I want to dance to the music.”

His frown deepened, and he was about to protest further when Spike held up a hand. “Dru wants to go, then she’ll go.” He took her arm in the crook of his own and escorted her past Severus to the staircase. “Can’t stay cooped up all the time. Pet needs excitement in her life.”

“Dancing,” she agreed. “Musical screams.”

“Exactly,” Spike replied before opening the door once they reached the top. He allowed Drusilla to precede him through before glaring down at Severus. “You comin'?”

Uneasy with the idea of allowing her around the Slayer, his frowned remained fixed on his face. Even if he wanted to stay back before, which he certainly hadn’t, he wouldn’t leave Drusilla in the hands of a rash Spike filled with bloodlust and equally dunderheaded Vampires.

Severus heaved a great sigh, wondering why he bothered with the bunch of them. Having no answer, he was left climbing after Spike.


The club was dark but for a few lights left on like beacons in the window. Spike and Drusilla led the way, Severus a few steps behind, his robes snapping out behind him as his long legs led him quickly for the door. Past him, nearly fifteen vampires were bringing up the rear like three tidy rows of legionnaires.

Spike pushed Drusilla back as they reached the door, and her hands immediately found purchase on Severus’ chest. Spike narrowed his eyes at it, but made no comment before flinging the large door open. He cautiously stepped inside, head turning to take in all angles of the room. “Empty,” he stated to Severus and Drusilla, motioning for them to follow him inside.

“Where are the humans?” Severus asked as he guided Drusilla in with a steadying arm.

The top floor was little more than the garden-variety club, with several televisions displayed on all corners. A few posters of the stereotypical muggles’ idea of what a vampire resembled, down to the cape and large collar, were decorating the walls. Chairs, couches, and other gathering spots were laid out, but to Severus it seemed to be more of a welcoming area than the main room.

“Downstairs according to the boy,” Spike answered before spying the heavy metal door, one that seemed nearly two-foot thick solid steel. His eyes glinted in anticipation for the bloodletting, and he stepped over. “This way,” he announced.

Waiting until they were all gathered around him, his face suddenly shifted into its demonic visage of bumps, ridges, and two yellow eyes. Severus rolled his eyes, thinking there went the plan already, and mused it was no wonder everything backfired on them. No finesse.

As the door was wrenched open, revealing it was indeed a good few feet thick, Severus decided if he couldn’t beat them…

His own demon flew to the forefront, taking over much of his mind in a haze of feral lust for death- death and blood.

The scent of flesh and sound of several excited hearts nearly tore his control to shreds, but he once again mastered control enough to help Drusilla past the threshold and make way for the rest of the Vampires. With a cursory examination of the scene below them, they were standing on a balcony overlooking the main room he’d knew must be around. The tellies were off, but the couches and chairs beside them were occupied with one anxious looking human after another. Though they put on brave fronts, he could smell the tang of adrenalin that filled the air with fear.


A girl was making her way up the stairs towards them, and Severus noticed Spike nearly began to salivate in anticipation. “Get your fill boys, but save the Slayer for me.”

Needing no further invitation then that, Severus gave a little fanged smile to Drusilla before grabbing the railing of the balcony and flinging himself over its edge. One thing he absolutely loved about his robes was the dramatic entrance they afforded him in these flying leaps. He landed in a perfect crouch before one of the couches with five occupants crammed onto it like sardines.

Rising slowly, flicking his robes out behind him, he allowed his eyes to roam over their frightened faces. He had to wonder why they weren’t fleeing in terror, and was a bit disappointed in the change of pace. The chasing was one of his favorite parts.

Crossing his arms before his chest, he assumed a casual pose that towered over them with his imposing height. “Eenie meenie mini mo,” he began turning his face from one to the next. “Catch a Muggle by its…” his head stopped a young girl with curled black hair, “throat.”

His hand snatched her by the neck, and he felt the windpipe constrict beneath his cold skin. Her skin, heated as only living flesh could be, was intoxicating, and he could remember what the sun felt like on a particularly warm mid-summer’s afternoon. When he yanked her up, her toes barely touching the ground as he grinned at her, mouth opening in a silent scream, the others on the couch quickly scrambled and ran off- only to find more Vampires waiting for them.

Severus quickly shifted his grip to her shoulders and crushed her to his chest before bringing his mouth down. His teeth fond their target with natural instinct, and soon the sweet gush of blood was spilling into him mouth as his lips enclosed the tear around her artery. His eyes slipped blissfully shut, one arm snaking around to her back and crushing her even closer to him in a parody of a lover’s embrace, and he drank deeply of her life’s essence. It flowed down him, sweeter than honey, and filling his nose with the smell of her sweat and fear.

His demon howled within his head as he drained her without hint of mercy.

So consumed with his feeding, he only fuzzily heard the Slayer’s voice call out Spike’s name. However, the next thing he knew Spike was shouting in a frightened voice for everyone to stop.

Not being able to recall fear ever being present in Spike’s voice, Severus reluctantly withdrew his fangs and licked his lips before lifting his head. His vision was blurred in ecstasy for a moment, but then cleared with a speed that crashed into his awareness as he spotted Drusilla with a stake poised right over her heart above them.

“Let them out, or your girlfriend fits in an ashtray,” the Slayer demanded, and Severus did not doubt her sincerity.


Her frightened call constricted Severus’ chest. Before he realized what he was doing, he shoved the Muggle away from him and leapt up onto the balcony.

Spike’s arm knocked into his ribcage, physically holding him back. “It’s gonna be alright, baby.” Yellow eyes met Severus’ own. “Calm down,” Spike hissed furiously before shouting to the rest of the room. “Let them go!”

Severus was pushed back forcefully by Spikes arm as the other Vampires followed his orders. He hit the railing hard as humans rushed passed them and out the door. When the last was out, Severus had calmed enough to pull out his wand and aim it at the Slayer. She was busy angling Drusilla in front of her, stake still poised over the frightened Vampire’s heart, and eyeing Severs and Spike wearily. “Down the stairs, boys.”

Spike nodded sharply, and snarling Severus complied. Walking down each step backwards, Spike to the side of him, and his wand pointed only for the Slayer. If anything happened to Drusilla, Severus was not sure what he would do, but he knew it would start with a Killing Curse at a blonde bitch.

When they reached the bottom, Spike still ahead of him but to the side enough to give Severus a clean shot, the Slayer regarded Drusilla thoughtfully. For a terrifying moment, the curse poised on his tongue, Severus was certain she was going to plunge the stake into Drusilla. Suddenly the Vampire was flying down the staircase, right into Spike’s waiting arms.

Before Severus could shout his curse, Spike tossed Drusilla at him, and he had to use both hands to steady her in his arms. Spike was taking the stairs three at a time, just as the Slayer turned out the door, closing it firmly behind her. Spike slammed against it, fumbling backwards for a moment, before moving forward again. As his hands sought the handle, Drusilla was clutching fearfully to Severus’ chest, whimpering.

Severus wound one arm around her, pressing her close, and stroking her hair before murmuring soothing nonsense into her ear.

“Uh, where’s the doorknob?”

Spike’s voice, completely stumped, caused Severus to gaze back at him. “What do you mean ‘where’s the doorknob?!’”

Spike spun on his heel, glaring angrily down still in his demonic mask. “I mean WHERE’S THE BLOODY DOORKNOB!”

A snarl bubbling from his chest and out his throat, Severus handed Drusilla over to another Vampire who regarded him wearily, before bounding up the steps to the door beside Spike. One glance over it told him it was solid steel, flat, smooth, and not a hint of said bloody doorknob.

“One of those Muggle fallouts,” Severus growled. “Opens from the outside, I suspect.”

Spike’s own chest rumbled, and suddenly his own fist was winding back. Severus opened his mouth to warn him, but it collided dead center with a thunderous clang. Spike howled, hopping rather comically up and down for a moment, cradling his fist to his chest.

Severus’ face shifted back to its human visage, and he gave an exasperated sigh. “I was going to warn you, the door looked thick.” He glared at Spike. “But apparently not as thick as your head.”

Spike’s eyes snapped to his, and a snarl erupted from his mouth just before his good hand backhanded Severus across the face, flinging him bodily into a railing. Severus felt his temper explode, and he rounded back, raising his wand again and pointing it at Spike’s face.

The Vampire gave him a ‘don’t you dare’ look before breezing past him and back down the steps. “Do something useful!” he shouted at the others before taking Drusilla and running a hand down her hair.

Severus, had he been able to breathe, would have been panting in anger. As it was, he shoved his way past the other Vampires rushing up the stairs, and ended up next to spike on the bottom level.

“Can’t you pop out?” Spike suddenly asked in an annoyed voice, glaring at him.

Severus returned the glare before tapping his wand next to his thigh and closing his eyes. He concentrated on the greeting room, and then willed for his body to shift.

Soon he was outside the banging door, glaring spitefully at it. “SHUT UP!” He shouted to the other side as he crossed to it. The banging stopped, and Severus turned to the large handle, twisting it up and opening it. The Vampires poured out like bees from a hive, swarming through the front door and heading after the humans that had just escaped.

Severus himself just walked coolly back downstairs, knowing it was pointless, and met Drusilla and Spike at the bottom. “Next time you hit me, I’ll let you stew in here for a week.”

Spike snorted, one arm running down Drusilla’s arm, before he glanced down. It was then Severus realized there was still a beating heart in the room, and since it definitely wasn’t any of them, he looked down as well. The boy he had seen earlier in Spike’s mind started stirring, groggily sitting up and holding a hand gingerly to his head.

“What happened?”

Severus and Spike exchanged a look and Spike answered the boy. “We were stuck in the basement.”

Ford blinked, gazing around and noticing the apparent lack of bodies. “Buffy?”

“She wasn’t stuck in the basement.”

The boy looked startled, and then straightened in resolve. “Well, I delivered. Handed her to you.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “I suppose you did.”

“So? What about my reward?” he questioned, staring straight into Spike’s eyes.*

The two locked into a battle of wills for a moment, and Severus was tempted to just take Drusilla and lead her back to the warehouse when Spike’s voice snapped out, “give him what he wants Sev.”

Severus’ eyes widened, even as the boy’s grin grew wide. “What?” he snapped- irritated. “I’m not changing this- this-“ Severus pointed to him with a furious finger, “Muggle!”

“Yeah, you are,” Spike answered. Then a feral grin lit his face. “Just, you know, make it hurt. Really bad.”

Suddenly finding his bravery fleeing, the boy glanced uneasily at Severus while Spike snorted with mirth and led Drusilla back up the steps and out the door.

Severus watched them go, face fixed into a dark scowl. His eyes then turned accusingly to the boy, burning with an angry fire. “You are going to beg for death, boy.”

With that ominous promise, Snape reached out for him, not even bothering with his fangs, and using his nails to rip the throat wide open at the jugular, watching without care as blood poured down the front of his shirt. While the boy tried to cover the wound, eyes wide in shock and disbelief, Severus drew out his bottle of healing potion.

He intended to drag this out for hours before sharing any of his blood with this filth.


A/N: Chapter 1 spans Episode 7: Lie To Me of Season 2. You can find its transcript (if you wish to compare Episode to Fan Fiction) at:

* Means scene was taken, more or less word for word, from the episode. Don’t sue; don’t think I’m a creative genius.

Forgive the crappy poem, as I suck at writing them. X.x, I’m sure Severus would have written something much smoother. Use your imagination if that one falls too short for you.

The End?

You have reached the end of "The More They Change" – so far. This story is incomplete and the last chapter was posted on 3 Apr 04.

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