Connor didn't trust blue eyes. Cordelia had blue eyes, and just look at how well trusting her had come out. And, for all that Holt had raised him (as best as one could raise a child in a hell dimension), his pseudo-father had kind of fucked him over (as well as lying and generally manipulating his entire life), so Connor had no lost love for older, grandfatherly men either.

And the stranger who had arranged to meet with Connor at the Stanford quad had both of these things going for him. He hadn't even opened his mouth yet, and Connor already kind of hated him.

"Mister Reilly," the stranger began, "my name is Albus Dumbledore, and I have a job offer for you."

"What kind of a job are we talking about?" Connor decided not to correct this 'Dumbledore' character on his surname. He wasn't a Reillyin anything but memory, and, though he'd wished to take Angel's last name after the Battle of Los Angeles, in remembrance of his fallen father, no records had survived of Liam, the man who would become Angelus.

The reply to his question startled him, though he didn't show it. "A teaching job at my school in Scotland." Dumbledore answered, blue eyes twinkling.

Connor snorted. "Man, I'm barely into my second year of college. I'm not even majoring in anything that would qualify me as a teacher."

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Ah, but Mister Reilly, you are quite qualified to teach the subject I had in mind."

Another snort. "Oh? And what subject would that be?"

This reply had him reaching for a knife that wasn't there. (While Connor the Destroyer may never have gone anywhere without a weapon or ten- compliments of a Quor'Toth upbringing- Connor Reilly wasn't quite as conscious about his state of armament.)

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Connor stared at the man, a bit thrown, and not quite sure if he was going to gut him like a fish for basically admitting that he was a sorcerer- magic and Connor had always been kind of unmixy things, after all- and said the first thought that emerged from the emotions currently making his mind their playground.

"I know a guy who would kill for that suit."

If he wasn't, you know, a pacifist. And if Illyria was right, and he really had set up shop in Las Vegas after the fiasco in L.A.

Because, really, what wouldn't Lorne do for a magenta velour three piece suit?

Hi, Goth Lolita here. Sorry I haven't updated anything in a while. Anyway, I would really love it if you guys could give me some feedback on this. I have a couple of chapters already typed up, but I don't know if I want to upload them if there's no interest. Also, I'm probably going to change the name of the fic, so any suggestions for that are welcome, as are any ideas you have for the fic.

So, please, read and review!