"I know more than you, witch," said Drusilla, in a sharp voice. Her tone was often as light as air, but now it was as hard as steel. The anger crackled through her, the anger and ... there ... what was underneath it?

"You were careless and you've lost him. Your spells won't bring him back. He's slipped through your fingers, like sand and dust." Sand and dust, and maybe he'd never be able to be anything else, now.

That was it. That was what was underneath. Hope. The more Scoobys that disappeared, the closer she'd be to having the Slayer to herself. Even here.