Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. They are the property of J. K. Rowling and Joss Whedon respectively.

WARNING: In case you somehow missed it, this story is rated 'M' and will contain both slash AND violence. If this is not okay with you, I recommend you turn back now!

A/N: Hello all! Me again with yet another Harry Potter crossover, this time with Buffy the Vampire Slayer!

I just recently got into Buffy, but so far, it is amazing! I don't know how I managed to go this long without seeing it! Of course, like with all things I watch, it spawned a crossover idea, which is how this story came to be.

Anyway, this story will have a very odd pairing (from what I've seen of other crossovers on this site), but I hope all those who read it decide to give it a fair chance regardless.

Chapter 1:

Names have power. That was something that Harry Potter knew quite well and was something which had been demonstrated to him during his life time and time again.

At first glance, a name was simply something with which you were addressed by. Yet, there was something deeper about them. Something able to make one feel as if they were soaring through the clouds or drowning in a sea of despair, able to send chills down the spine of some and cause other's hearts to sing in hope. Something able to shape the very fabric of a reality, and something able to destroy it as well.

Growing up, Harry was called "freak" and "boy" by the Dursleys, and as such, he had come to accept that that was who he was—what he was. Until he was four years old, he hadn't even known that "Harry" was his real name.

In the Wizarding World, names were taken to similar extremes. There, he was the "Boy-Who-Lived", the "Child of Prophecy", and his favorite, the "Gryffindor Golden Boy." Like with the Dursleys, he was called these things so much that he became them.

However, as Harry had come to learn, names only had as much power as the one who heard it uttered allowed.

Voldemort, for example, would hiss and curse whenever referred to by his Muggle name, Tom Riddle. Although it was just a name, just a word, the simple utterance of it had power over him—all because he let it. Voldemort let ties develop between him and his former name, ties which were left to rot and fester, and when brought to the forefront of his mind, the power of it was revealed.

Harry had sworn to never let names have power over him—never again. He had been confined by them for too long. That was why he refused to let speaking the name of Voldemort frighten him, and why when he was taunted and shunned by both the impressionable students of both Hogwarts and the media as they were want to do, he did not so much as bat an eye. And slowly but surely, someone saying the common phrase "I'm serious" no longer drove the breath from his lungs.

This technique of disconnecting himself from names had been put to the test following the death of his two best friends, Ron and Hermione. While it still hurt to hear their name or be reminded of them in any way, he was trying his best to deal—removing the power they had over him, but still finding a way to treasure their memory.

It was hard, and Harry hadn't been sure he would make it through with no one to support him, but he had managed and grown stronger for it. He had been pushed to the edge and told to jump, but had managed to hang on by the skin of his teeth.

He would live, and he would deal. He would not let the power of their name crush him into nothingness.

It sounded heartless, but to Harry, it was the only way he couldsurvive.

Nonetheless, despite the delusions Harry had blanketed himself in, there still existed names which were able to rock him to his very core. To anyone else, they may draw only blank confusion, but to Harry—they mattered. To Harry, they had power. Power to control him. Power to make him feel. Power to lift him from the expanse of nothing he had crawled into and the same power to reduce him to a pitiful pile of nothing.

And he wasn't sure what to do about it. These simple names frightened him—frightened him in a way that the name "Voldemort" never came close.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry felt as if he were moving through molasses as he lifted his gaze from the somehow majestic scroll he had been staring at.

Seated in front of him was a medium-sized goblin with pale green skin and a malevolent smile. Its teeth were crooked and its gaze was spiteful, none of the goblins of Gringotts having forgotten the stunt he and his friends had pulled to secure one of Voldemort's Horcruxes the year prior.

Goblins did not forgive, and they definitely did not forget, but if it was one thing they respected, it was wealth. And whether he wanted it or not, Harry had a vast fortune—a fortune which had been used to reconstruct the bank and finance a large portion of its renovation. It was a small gesture's on Harry's part, but it went a long way on getting him back into the goblin's good graces.

"Yes, I'm fine," Harry muttered, giving his head a slight shake. He drew in a deep breath and adjusted himself in his seat, still trying to regain his bearings.

"Have you come to a decision?" the goblin asked, staring at him with its beady eyes. Harry met the creature's eyes squarely, refusing to be cowed.

With Voldemort's return and searching for the Horcruxes, Harry had never found time to sort through the accounts which had been left to him by his parents. But now, three months after the Dark Lord's defeat and with reconstruction well on its way, Harry had felt it was time he did so.

His plan had been to give away most it—to friends, people whose livelihood had been destroyed by the war, and to various organizations in charge of providing relief to the Wizarding World.

However, the goblin in charge of his accounts, Morkawf, would not let Harry squander his money so needlessly. The goblin had offered a second suggestion—the option to leave a large percentage of his fortune to his family as a way of keeping the money in Gringotts.

Harry knew exactly what game the goblin was playing. They did not respect individuals nor a wizard's standing in society. The only thing they recognized was wealth and the contents of a wizard's vaults—not because they were good guardsmen, no, but because they were greedy. Any way to acquire more money and place it under their control they pounced upon like a lion devouring its prey.

And this was one such instance.

Sneering, Harry had informed the goblin that he did not plan on siring an heir and besides the Dursleys, who he refused to leave a single knut to, he had no other family to speak of.

Or so he thought.

The goblin, with an ugly expression of its own, had snapped its finger and upon the polished mahogany desk that separated them, a brilliant golden scroll appeared. Morkawf took the scroll in its nobly hands and spread it open lengthwise.

Harry, curious despite himself, leaned forward… but the scroll contained not a single word.

"What is this?" Harry muttered when the goblin just looked up at him with its usual smile.

Morkawf leaned back in his seat and folded his hands together, looking far too pleased for Harry's liking.

"This is the Scroll of Cruorem, one of only two in existence—and it is under goblin control."

Harry looked down at the scroll then back toward the smug goblin. He quirked a single eyebrow.

"So?"

The goblin's eye twitched, its pleased expression falling away. He looked as if he wanted to insult Harry's ignorance but restrained himself with great effort and drew in a small breath.

"The Scroll of Cruorem. It is a magical artifact created long ago that is able to create a map of a being's entire bloodline, all from only a single drop of the user's blood."

Although Harry showed no reaction on the outside, inside Harry's mind was racing. Such a thing existed? Something which would be able to tell him the name of every relative he ever had—all just with a drop of blood?

To be able to use such a thing… The goblin had him by the stones, and they both seemed to know it.

Harry leaned back in his seat, trying to look as aloof as the creature in front of him. "And how much will using this scroll of yours cost me?"

Morkawf tilted his head and hummed, dragging the moment on as long as possible. "Three-thousand Galleons."

"What?" Harry cried, leaping to his feet. His chair fell backwards with a crash but he paid it no mind, instead staring down at the calm goblin with a fire burning inside his chest. "Three-thousand Galleons? That's a rip off and we both know it!"

"Please sit down, Mr. Potter," Morkawf said, its condescending attitude disappearing like a wisp of smoke. In his place was a professional Gringott's employee capable of handling his job efficiently and competently, and although Harry didn't want to, he returned his chair to rights and plopped down into it, a glare still on his face.

Morkawf nodded, pleased and folded his arms under his chin. "While I know that Three-thousand Galleons may seem like a lot—"

"It bloody well is! That's at least a fifth of my vault!"

"—to be fair, it is quite a good deal for what I am proposing."

Harry gaped, unable to believe that the money-hungry little bugger was daring to speak to him as if he was being offered the discount of a lifetime. "A good deal? I'm sure there are plenty of spells out there that does exactly what you're offering, and I don't have to sell my bloody limbs to afford it!"

"While it's true that such spells do exist," the goblin allowed, "they are not nearly as extensive as what I offer. With a spell like you suggest, you would be lucky to discover the names of your grandparents and nothing further. But with the Scroll of Cruroem, you will be able to find the name of every being who shared even a drop of the same blood as you, dating as far back as the days of Merlin himself."

"…But still," Harry said, the winds having been knocked out of his sails by Morkawf's explanation. "Is knowing everyone in your family really worth so much?"

Morkawf gave Harry a look that clearly said, "You can't be that much of an idiot, can you?"

"Okay, yeah, I get that blood is important to Wizards," Harry conceded, "but I just can't—"

"Mr. Potter, what would you think if a man running for Minister of Magic claimed that he was a descendent of Godric Gryffindor himself?"

Harry snorted. "That's obvious. I would think he was lying to score himself more votes."

The goblin nodded. "But what if that same man had proof: a magical scroll that could not be tampered with or display false information that confirmed that Godric Gryffindor's blood ran through his veins?"

"…Then I guess I would have no choice but to believe him. And the entire Wizarding World would probably elect him and recognize him as an important person, just because he has Gryffindor's blood in his family."

"Precisely, and that is how blood and status works in the Wizarding World. With so much inbreeding and certain lines dying out, family tapestries have become so diluted that one does not know with whom they are truly related. But with the Scroll of Cruroem, such trivialities are done away with. Its contents cannot be faked and it only shows the truth. I would even be willing to swear a Blood Oath if you'd like?"

"N-No," Harry whispered, staring at the scroll as if he was seeing it for the first time. "That won't be necessary—I believe you."

"So what do you say?" the goblin asked, its voice low and coercing. "Do you wish to use the scroll?"

Harry's throat convulsed as that simple question weighed down on him. While cost was not really an issue, this scroll had the ability to open up a new world to him or show him a shocking truth that he did not want to accept.

Everyone always commented on how much he looked like his father or how he had inherited his mother's eyes and her fiery personality—but what if he hadn't? What if this scroll showed him the ugly reality that James and Lily Potter were not his parents, or that James was his father but his mother was some woman he had never heard of?

What would he do then?

But… there was also the chance that there were other relatives out there who no one knew about. People who were so unlike the Dursleys and would welcome him with open arms and allow him to have the family he had always dreamed about…

Both options squeezed his heart in a vice-like grip, but he had so much more to gain than he had to lose, but he didn't want to think about that.

Besides, he was a Gryffindor, warriors known for their bravery and charging in without thinking too much about the consequences.

So that was why he decided that…

"I'll do it."

"Excellent," the goblin said and clapped his hands together, a greedy gleam entering its eyes. "Now all you have to do is place a single drop of blood onto the surface of the scroll, and once that is done, everything will take care of itself."

Harry nodded, although the words did not register in his brain. The only thing he saw before him was the scroll. Various reasons why this was a bad idea flashed behind his eyes, but he pushed them away.

Now was not the time for thinking. Now was the time for action.

The dark-haired wizard lifted his index finger to his mouth and bit down—hard. The pain hardly even registered and a drop of blood quickly bloomed from the wound.

Harry placed his finger over the blank piece of parchment and watched as the blood rolled down, fell, and hit the piece of parchment with a silent splash. As soon as the blood touched down, there was a golden flash that filled the room, blinding him.

Once the glare had vanished, Harry blinked rapidly and stared down at the piece of parchment.

The blood was gone, and where it had once been was a single name: Harry Potter. He watched, and slowly, a line extended upward from his name and split out, where two more names appeared: James Potter and Lily Evans-Potter.

Harry released a great sigh of relief, safe in the knowledge that he really was his parent's child.

As he looked on, the lines continued to branch and draw their on paths, Lily connecting to her parents and sister, and James connecting with his parents.

And that was where things began to take a turn for the surprising.

Harry was breathless as he watched the lines move, showing him more and more of his family bloodline and the lives that had been spawned around it. So many people whom he had never met, people who he had never even heard of—but to him, their names meant something.

It meant that they were his family, and even the Dursleys, who he despised with all of his beings, would always be his family.

After what felt like hours, the lines finally stopped moving but Harry had yet to scour even a tenth of the massive amount of information. There were just so many names—Harry had never in his wildest dreams thought that he had so many relatives, dating back hundreds… even thousands of years into the past.

"This is brilliant," he whispered, not taking his eyes off the golden parchment. "I didn't think it would be this extensive… Bugger me! I'm distant relatives with Merwyn the Malicious! He created the jelly-legs jinx you know."

Morkawf chuckled at Harry's enthusiasm, a small curl to his lips. "Yes… what one finds in their family history is often quite fascinating." Then, without warning, the goblin leaned forward and rolled the scroll up so the names of his relatives were no longer visible.

Harry released a cry of shocked outrage and stared at the goblin. "Hey! I wasn't done with that!"

"By the rules of the Gringott's Handbook page four-thousand seventeen, paragraph twelve: 'A witch or wizard is only allowed thirty minutes with the Scroll of Cruroem before it is to be returned to its resting place for future use.'"

"…You cannot be serious!" Harry thundered, once more leaping to his feet. His fingers itched to reach for his wand and just blast the stupid green beast to oblivion, but the risk of losing the scroll cooled his head. "I paid three-thousand Galleons just for a sneak peak? I knew this scroll business was a rip off and I swear—"

"After purchasing the scroll, the buyer can purchase an infinite number of tamper-proof copies."

Harry narrowed his eyes and grit his teeth. "…And how much will that cost me?"

The goblin just grinned.

o0o

After paying for a magical copy of the Scroll of Cruroem, Harry had been giddy with excitement. With this scroll, one of the greatest questions he had while growing up would be answered: who was he?

Yes, his name was Harry Potter, but what were the details of his origin? Who was his family? What great deeds had they accomplished?

And now, he could finally know.

For an entire week, he disappeared off the face of the earth, instead choosing to hole up in the library of his small two bedroom home. It was one of the many abodes belonging to the Potter family which was nestled away on a small island off the coast of Britain—the perfect location for one who did not want to be disturbed.

The things Harry found out were in a word, fascinating. His great-great-grandfather had fought in one of the numerous Goblin Rebellions, and as it turns out, one of his great-great aunt's were responsible for suggesting the dung and puke flavored beans to the famous Bertie Bott. Why she would do this, he had no clue, but it was an interesting bit of trivia nonetheless.

And while Harry was thrilled that he could learn about his family, that had not been his main motivation for acquiring the scroll. In the library, there were many books that told the history of the Potter bloodline, but of course, it was skewed toward only the males and a good chunk of the books were spent spinning embellished yarns of epic battles and evils vanquished—things you would expect to find in a child's fairytale.

No, what Harry really wanted to know was if he had any living relatives, which was a lot harder to confirm using books. It would have been much easier if the scroll could somehow tell him if the person was living or dead, but it would perhaps be hard to acquire such information, even with magic.

What Harry needed was some way to find information on these people, such as when they were born, where they lived, and most importantly, if they were still living. Most books only wrote about a person's famous deed before moving on. Only in autobiographies were the details talked about, and one did not get an autobiography unless they were very important.

So when it came to Harry's lesser known side of the family, he was up a creek without a paddle.

If only Hermione were still alive…

Harry shook that longing off, refusing to sink into a hopeless despair. Instead of wishing things that could never be, he should try to find the solution on his own.

But how? If he were Hermione, what would he do?

He snorted. That answer was obvious: research. But once again, how? Books were of no use, so what else could he use?

Like a bolt of lightning, the answer hit him and Harry wanted to smack himself. Of course! He had been living in the Wizarding World so long he had almost forgotten about Muggle technology.

Although he hadn't much experience in it, Harry remembered Dudley crying to receive a computer, and then upon getting one, crying about not being able to use the internet. Harry had never used it personally, but he knew enough about it to know that it was the supposed "future" of the world.

If it was even a fraction of what it was hyped to be, then maybe…

Harry nodded, his next course of action set: find a Muggle computer. And there was one place he knew without a doubt that he could find one.

o0o

Lazy clouds flitted through the sky, blocking the early morning sun and casting a gloom on the streets below. Muggles dressed in both business and casual wear walked the streets, heading toward their daily jobs.

Brushing shoulders with the normal folk of the world was Harry Potter, dressed in baggy jeans and a t-shirt with a baseball cap over his hair to hide his infamous scar.

It felt odd to be once more among Muggles, having ignored them for the better part of a year, but Harry had walked the streets of London enough that he knew his way around—well, enough so that he wouldn't get hopelessly lost.

With a small nod in the right direction from a passing man, Harry found the library without incident. And it was immense. It was easily the size of a small school building, made up of dusty red bricks and with large windows which reflected what little light available.

It was an impressive sight, and the inside was just as grand. The roof seemed to stretch on forever, and the fine, handcrafted bookcases spaced throughout the building were stocked with literature of all kinds.

In the middle of the library was a long table, atop which sat many high-tech computers, turned on and ready for use.

Not many people were about, and Harry was thankful for that. Off to the side sitting behind a counter, the librarian was reading a trashy magazine of some sort, so Harry wasn't sure he would be able to receive help from her even if he asked.

Sighing, he walked over to the nearest computer and sat. On the screen was a beautiful picture of some river Harry had never heard of, and all along the left side were small icons.

"I can work a bloody computer," Harry whispered to himself, looking down at the keyboard and the unimposing appearing mouse. He took the device in his hand and wiggled it, smiling when the pointer on screen moved as well. "I was an ordinary Muggle once; I can figure this out…"

On the desktop, there was a convenient icon named 'Internet Explorer', and seeing as that was exactly what he wanted to do, Harry navigated his mouse over to it—which was much harder than it should have been—and managed to click it.

After several moments of waiting and weird mechanical sounds which had Harry looking around in confusion, a browser page opened up welcoming him.

He removed the shrunken copy of the scroll from his pocket and with a whispered spell, it returned to its full size. He laid it out along the area next to his computer, suppressing a groan when he thought of looking up all of these names.

There were at least one-hundred, excluding the ones whom he knew were too old to possibly still be alive.

Harry looked from the computer screen, down to the keyboard and once more back to the scroll.

He really wished he had taken Muggle Studies. Maybe then he would have learned something about how to use a computer.

Sighing, Harry cracked his neck. Well, there was no better time than the present, right?

With a long list of names and next to no skill with using a computer, Harry began the arduous task of trial and error.

o0o

It took several days—several long, hard, painful days—but Harry had, with minimal help from the unkind librarian who sneered when he asked for assistance, mastered the much feared computer and its World Wide Web enough to go through his family tree to determine who was still living and who was deceased.

Besides the Dursleys, he had no living relatives on his mother's side of the family, and the few names he had scraped together from his father's side were woefully small. Many of them had their blood so diluted by marrying outside the Potter family that Harry could barely even say they were related to him.

Harry knew it was selfish and unrealistic to want a close blood relative instead of some distant fifth-cousin, but he couldn't help it. He had never had a parent, and his aunt and uncle were horrid people; he just wanted one person with a blood relation, just one, to be there for him…

And despite the miniscule odds, there was still a chance.

Among the list he had pieced together was only one name that he put any real hope into. His great uncle, he had been pleasantly surprised to learn, was alive and well.

The internet was truly a wonderful tool, and with it, Harry was able to find the man's current location and even a few news articles about the wild escapades he had gotten into during his younger days.

Some of the things made even Harry lift a brow in surprise, and he had fought a troll during his first year of Hogwarts.

Now the question remained: what was he going to do?

He had set out on a quest to find any close relative that he could, and now here was one staring him in the face. In the end, Harry only had two options really: he could ignore it and just move on with his life, or he could try and track down his newly found great-uncle and hope the man wouldn't think him bonkers when he claimed they were related.

Curiously enough, he noted, his uncle did not have the last name of Potter, but he was without a doubt his grandfather's younger brother, which meant that they were born from either different mothers or different fathers.

Either way, there was no way Harry could determine if the man knew of the Wizarding World, and if it turned out that he was just an ordinary Muggle, ignorant of magic and the mysterious it contained, it might just be better for everyone if Harry were to leave them alone…

Harry sighed. He could speculate until the cows came home, but unless he tried, he would never know for sure…

His made up his mind. He knew what he was going to do.

o0o

"I'm leaving."

All noise in the Weasley dining room ceased after Harry made his announcement, but the black-haired teen continued on with his meal, seemingly oblivious to the scrutiny of seven pair of eyes on him. The food was tasteless in his mouth, and he washed it down with a sip from his goblet.

"Harry, dear, I—we must have heard wrong. What did you say?"

Harry sighed and sat down his fork. Slowly, he looked up to meet the eyes of the one who asked the question.

Molly Weasley's face was the slightest bit panicked and she gave him a strained smile. Harry tried to return it, but he didn't manage more than a grimace.

"I said… I'm leaving."

"Is it the food?" Molly asked, looking down at the various dishes spread out on the table in worry. "If you like, I could whip you up something that—"

"No," Harry said, giving a firm shake of his head. "It's not that; the food is delicious, really. What I meant was… I'm leaving… the country. And I'm not sure when I'll be back."

There was a clattering as the occupants of the table stared at him, the food on their plates forgotten.

"But 'Arry!" came the appalled voice of Fleur, Bill's wife. Bill placed a placating hand on her arm, but she paid him no mind as she continued, "Ze Wizarding World still needs you! Why would you leave?"

"That's right!" Molly shrilled, quick to jump onto the first argument she could to convince Harry to stay. After the death of her youngest son and the near-miss of Fred, she had become overprotective of her family—and she considered Harry to be one of her own.

Harry's smile was the slightest bit bitter as he thought this, as he still sought validation from someone with blood connected to his.

"The Wizarding World is still in chaos—they need a leader, Harry. You're that leader…"

Arthur, ever the voice of reason, jumped to Harry's defense. "Now, now dear, at least let Harry explain where he's going and why before we start trying to force him to stay."

Molly and Fleur were both chastised by Arthur's rebuking words and Harry flashed the man a small smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny swirling food around on her plate, and next to her, the Weasley twins were looking at him in curiosity.

Harry drew in a deep breath and sat up straight. "I want to go… to America." Molly released a startled gasp, but was cut off by her husband before she could respond.

"America!" Arthur enthused, perking up in interest. "I hear they have the best gizmos there, like a device which you plug into your TV that alters the perception of time!" Harry smiled, but he had no idea what the excitable man was talking about.

"America?" Molly cried, looking around the table for support. "Harry, what could you possibly hope to find there?"

"I think its right good that Harry wants to get out," George said, grinning. Fred nodded, an identical curl to his lips.

"Besides, wee little Harry needs a vacation after vanquishing the Dark Lord and what not."

"Also, I heard that the women there are—"

Molly glared.

"—dreadful, absolutely dreadful, right Fred?"

"Right you are dear brother o mine."

With each new word out of the twins' mouths, Ginny grew more and more sullen. Harry couldn't help but notice, and spoke up quickly to alleviate any misconceptions the twin's words may have sprouted.

"I'm not going for a vacation—I'm… I'm going to find someone."

Once more, silence descended over the table. Everyone exchanged glances, each trying to think of someone with whom Harry would meet in America.

They all drew blanks.

"My uncle," Harry clarified, watching the beginning of shock dawning on all of their faces. "I'm going to America to find my Uncle."

Ginny finally spoke, her eyes wide and confused as she stared at him. "Harry, I thought you hated them? They treated you so dreadfully!" Her sentiments seemed to be shared by everyone at the table, and Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Merlin's beard, we've finally done it—"

"—we've broken Harry bloody Potter."

"Language, George," Molly snapped.

"I'm Fred, woman!"

"And Harry isn't broken," she continued, as Harry continued to chuckle. "He's just… tired from all the stress."

"I-I'm fine," Harry choked out, trying to calm himself. He wiped a stray tear from his eye and bestowed all of them with a bright grin. "No, not the flipping Dursleys—I have other family!"

Once more, there was a chorus of surprised gasps.

"'Arry! Zat… zat's great!"

"Yes, Harry that's…" Mrs. Weasley took in a deep breath, a watery smile on her face. "That's great."

"So you're going to America to find this uncle of yours?" Bill asked.

Harry smiled, relieved that his news had been accepted without explosive results. "Yes… At first I wasn't so sure, but I… I just… I don't know…"

"We understand Harry," Arthur said, nodding in understanding, "at a time as dark as this, you need family to depend on… so I can understand why you would want to find this man. But Harry, remember… whether he turns out to be what you expected him to be or not, we'll always be here for you."

"Mr. Weasley," Harry breathed, blinking back tears. "All of you… thank you." Harry looked around the table, taking in their warm smiles and silent encouragements—that is, until he turned to face Ginny.

Her head was lowered, her expression hidden behind a fiery curtain. Without a word she stood from her seat, her chair scraping noisily across the wood.

"I'm not hungry anymore," she muttered before turning and storming up the stairs.

Harry watched her go, a desire to rise to his feet and follow striking him, but he squashed it down. He and Ginny were over, and he would only be making it harder for them both if he tried to comfort her now… especially since he would be leaving soon.

"I wonder what crawled up her bum?" Fred snarked.

"I wish I knew dear brother o mine—maybe it's just that time of the month."

"Fred, honestly!"

"I'm George, woman!"

o0o

Rupert Giles sighed and removed his glasses to clean them with a handkerchief from his pockets. He had been trying to distract himself by reading up on some of the obscure demonology in his possession, but no matter what he did, his mind kept returning to Buffy and wondering what that bull-headed girl could possibly be up to.

He knew that he should be angry at her for abandoning them, and rightfully so, but no matter what he tried, his worry would win out over his indignation and he would be back to pacing and worry about her in less than an hour.

Despite his best efforts, Buffy had found a way past his defenses and shattered the Watcher-Slayer dynamic. Now they were, dare he say it, friends.

Giles closed the book in front of him with a dull bang and turned away from it. There was no way he could get anything productive done when he was so wound up.

If only she would call, write, or something, then maybe he would have enough peace of mind to at least—Bang!

The sound of the door slamming open interrupted Giles' inner ramblings and he turned to the door in a flash, hope rising in his chest.

"Buffy—"

Giles smile fell, his shoulders sagging. Instead of Buffy as he had naively hoped, there stood a black-haired boy wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt.

"Oh… a student," Giles said, turning away with a sigh. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with the pimpled masses of Sunnydale High, and he hoped the boy would be able to find whatever it was he was looking for with minimal assistance from Giles.

"Uh, excuse me," the boy began in a quiet voice. Even so, the British accent was heavy and Giles couldn't help but take notice. "I'm looking for someone."

Placing his glasses back on his face, Giles pointed over his shoulder. "The History section is right back there."

The boy didn't move. Giles wanted to walk away, but there was something in the boy's gaze which gave him pause—something nameless and intense. Even from a distance, Giles could see those brilliant green eyes burning into his own.

"I didn't mean a book… A person. I-I'm looking for a person."

Giles' curiosity had been piqued, but that didn't mean he was going to let down his guard. He had been living on the Hellmouth far too long to grow complacent, and there was something about the boy who stood before him now which fell outside the realm of 'normal.'

"And who might that be?"

The boy lowered his gaze, his voice nothing more than a whisper. "Rupert. Rupert Giles."

Giles felt something like electricity race down his spine, but he didn't yet know if this person was a friend… or a foe. He walked down the steps and pretended to organize papers on a table while he covertly took in the mysterious student who had appeared before him.

Although he dressed and looked like a normal student, he carried himself differently. There was a confidence there, hidden behind the almost relaxed manner he tucked his hands into his pockets. And his eyes—Giles couldn't repress a shiver.

No matter how hard one tried, they could not hide the truth in their eyes, and this boy… no, this man… his eyes were dark and haunted. He had lived through something. Something terrible.

It was the same look Giles saw reflected in his own eyes every morning.

"And what business exactly do you have with Rupert?" Giles asked, deciding to take the safer route of finding out what this man wanted before revealing himself. He had been knocked out and kidnapped one too many times for his liking, and he was beginning to grow suspicious of anyone who visited him.

A bad habit to have perhaps, but when living on the Hellmouth, it was better safe than sorry.

The man hesitated, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "I… I just need to talk to him. It's important."

Their voice was earnest, and in the too-big clothes they wore, Giles was able to sense an almost child-like innocence radiating from the man. It was strange, considering the darkness in his eyes, that one would also be able to exude light.

Not knowing if he would even live to regret it, Giles sighed and stood up straight. "I am he."

Like a switch had been flicked, the man's entire demeanor changed. The darkness receded into the shadows and the inner-child came out. The man's eyes grew wide and seemed to shine with unshed tears. His stance, which had at first been tensed and ready, relaxed and the dark-haired man looked as if he would collapse.

Concerned, Giles took a single step forward, a frown on his face. "Are you alright?"

They released a choked noise but nodded, their arms wrapped around themselves protectively. "I-I'm fine…"

The man's eyes seemed be taking him in, from his face, downward, and back up again. Giles just bore the inspection, a frown still on his face and a fleeting thought that maybe he should try to get this person some help.

"If you need to sit down," Giles began.

The mysterious man sniffed and wiped his eyes, a smile blooming on his face. "N-No… Really, I'm fine, it's just… Haha, wow, how pathetic I must look… bawling like this for no reason." He continued wiping his eyes, but the tears only seemed to flow faster.

Taking pity on him, Giles handed over his handkerchief. The boy took it with a quiet thanks and used it to try and stem the flow of his tears.

"I'm sorry," the man said after a few moments of sniffling. His eyes were a little red from crying, but his smile still shined with a happiness Giles didn't understand.

Giles inclined his head. "That's quite alright. But please, tell me: what are you doing here?"

Sighing, the boy's smile dimmed the slightest bit. "This isn't how I wanted our first meeting to go, but since things have already gone to hell I might as well just come out and say it." Their eyes met, the serious young man from before appearing in an instant. "This may be hard for you to believe but… my name is Harry Potter, and you, Rupert Giles, are my great uncle."