The Subtle Art of Persuading Vampires

Title: The Subtle Art of Persuading Vampires
Fandom: Crossover (Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Harry Potter)
Characters: Spike, Drusilla, Minerva McGonagall
Rating: SFW
Summary: “I suppose,” the vampire said, “you expect me to be sympathetic.”
Notes: Inspired by the Random Fandom Pairing Generator of Doom

“I suppose,” the vampire said, “you expect me to be sympathetic.”

The vampire was everything Minerva disapproved of. She had no trouble with so-called half-breeds, it wasn’t that. It was just him: the dyed-blonde hair and the sneer and the studied Cockney accent. If he truly was Cockney she’d eat the Sorting Hat.

She said calmly, “I only expect you to hear us out.”

“Listen, luv,” he said, jabbing his cigarette at her, “no one is my Dark Lord. No one decides what I do.” He leaned back, taking a drag, and slung his arm over the shoulders of the female vampire beside him.

“The lion and the unicorn,” she said dreamily. “Rambling through the town.” She smiled at her companion and said, “Not the lion and the unicorn. The phoenix and the snake.”

Minerva said briskly, “We only want to know if you’re approached and what he offers you if he does.”

“And what if we’ve already been approached?” the blonde vampire said. “What if I’m spying on you right now?”

Minerva straightened her already-rigid posture and said, “We know for a fact that you have not, as you’ve only been back in Britain for the last two days. We also know for a fact that you, William the Bloody—”

“Hey. The name’s Spike.”

“Spike,” Minerva repeated impatiently. “That you, Spike, as much as you enjoy feeding on the Muggles you aren’t interested in wholesale slaughter.” She glanced at the female vampire—reports on her said she was very interested in slaughter, the more creative the better, but Minerva had no wish to bring that up here.

Spike flicked ashes onto the table and took another long drag, his eyes on Minerva. The female vampire smiled, catlike, her eyes at once clever and vacant. A madwoman, the reports said, driven mad before she was made a vampire by another vampire so evil Minerva wondered if he wasn’t just a tale.

“A big black cat in a witch’s hat,” the female vampire said. “What do you think of that?”

“Hush, Dru,” Spike said, and the vampire pouted, caressing the doll in her lap.

“Miss Edith says you’re cruel.”

“Toss Miss Edith. Listen, witch,” he said to Minerva. “Whatever happens to them,” he gestured around the pub, “we don’t care. We’ll be fine. We’ll be the survivors. We’ll survive the end of the world.”

“What will you feed on if everyone else is dead?” Minerva said. “Rats?”

“I don’t like rats, Spike,” Drusilla murmured. “They bite back.”

“You won’t have to eat rats, pet.”

“I think you do care,” Minerva said. “I think you care very much, and not just because they’re your food source. You were a good man once, William the Bloody.”

Spike said nothing, his sharp eyes watching her, and quite abruptly Drusilla began to keen. “Oh, oh, oh. Who will look after the boy? The little boy without a mum? The boy with lightening in his eyes?” She clutched at her cheeks, rocking.

Minerva glanced around—the girl’s caterwauling was beginning to draw attention. She gathered her robes about her and rose from the table. “You know how to contact me,” she said to Spike, who nodded absently as he stroked his lover’s hair.

“Hush, now. Hush, Dru. It’s not our concern.”

Minerva left the pub without looking back, and didn’t exhale until she was on the street. The sooner she got back to the relative safety of Hogwarts the better. She had to wonder why Albus had asked her to go instead of someone more experienced with supernatural creatures—Severus or Remus, either of them would know how to persuade a vampire.

She heard footsteps behind her and clutched her wand beneath her robes. She feared nothing in the Muggle world but it was foolish to be unprepared.

She turned: it was the blonde vampire, Spike, without his companion. Minvera lifted her chin and waited as he jogged to a stop in front of her.

“Dru says,” he began, “that is, Drusilla thinks—”

Minerva relaxed her grip on her wand a fraction. “Yes?”

“There’s a baby who must be protected. That’s what Dru says.”

“Yes, we know. We just don’t know who he is.”

“The boy with lightning in his eyes,” Spike said. He stepped closer to her and Minerva’s fingers gripped her wand again. “She says the father is already dead.”

Minerva felt herself gasp—no, James, Frank—”I need to be away—”

He grapsed her arm and to her surprise, kissed her. Minerva’s breath shuddered. She pulled away, startled and confused, and brandished her wand. “You know I can protect myself.”

He looked at her with sorrow in his eyes. “You taste like sugar cookies,” he said. “And honesty.” He licked his lower lip. “And . . . tuna.”

“I think your mad girlfriend is rubbing off on you.”

“Go protect the boy,” he answered and turned back towards the pub.

“Which boy?” Minerva cried, but he had already gone through the darkened doorway.


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