I forgot to mention at the beginning, this is definitely AU. I lost interest in canon around season seven, so there will be small elements of the last season in the story, but for the most part, it never happened. Christy and Billie, for instance, will definitely not be making an appearance, and neither will anything from the overly sappy, really disappointing series finale. Sorry to all you Billie fans.

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Fight The Break Of Dawn

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x. Magic School

"Ten o'clock and already my inbox is full." Paige sighed in resignation, slumping into her desk chair. She felt vaguely reminded of her days in social work, remembering eying her mailbox, full of adoption papers to file and reports to chase every morning with distaste. This really wasn't that different, only the delinquents here conjured ghosts in the bathrooms and transfigured the cafeteria into a barn instead of mere grand theft auto.

As Headmistress of Magic School, Paige's main job was to keep order, something that she originally was unaccustomed to. Being the youngest sibling, it usually fell to her to organize the disorder, leaving the middle sister duties to Phoebe. She remembered having long, drawn out fights with Piper, each of them too stubborn to give in until Phoebe got fed up and knocked them both into line.

Paige felt a pang of grief at the thought of her eldest sister, a pang that she was sure would never go away. It'd been three years since Piper's death, and she still felt angry that even with advanced warning, they still hadn't been able to keep her alive through Chris's fifteenth birthday.

Since then, life at the Manor had been anything but smooth. Chris had immediately gone on a demon rampage, and Paige and Phoebe had worried themselves sick about him, going off who knows where in the Underworld. Thankfully, he'd calmed down, but Paige still suspected that he went down there every once in awhile.

While Chris had chosen to vent his anger on evil, Leo had apparently turned his inward. He'd become a shell of his former self, only showing any kind of passion whatsoever when he was around Wyatt. Wyatt himself had handled the loss like a true Halliwell, throwing himself into his studies, just as Paige and Phoebe tended to throw themselves into work. Paige had been slightly worried about him, but once he started dating Bianca she'd been able to relax. Not that knowing that your nephew was dating a possibly evil assassin witch made her relax all that much, but since she'd shown no signs of even knowing about magic, Paige hadn't gotten too worried. Or let Phoebe become too worried. Maybe Bianca grew up outside her coven, or her mother never told her about her heritage, frankly, Paige didn't care enough to find out.

But while the pain had weakened considerably after these past few years, she remembered vividly the horrible days after Piper's funeral, when she couldn't gather the energy or drive to even cry. When Prue had died, Paige had barely been apart of the magical world, and had always viewed her sisters' grief with a sympathetic, but still detached view. Now, though, she knew firsthand the overwhelming, debilitating misery that came with losing a sibling, someone who was such a part of herself that she knew that she'd lost some of her heart with Piper. Paige still had trouble getting out of bed some mornings, but thankfully Henry was all too willing to be her crying shoulder, and she thanked the Goddess daily for sending such a sweet, strong, muscular fireman into her life. Hallelujah.

"Mrs. Matthews? Mrs. Matthews!"

Paige jerked out her thoughts abruptly, sighing. Someone coming to complain? It wasn't even lunch yet. "Yes?"

Bebe Nevins, a sophomore student, burst through the doors, obviously winded from running. "There's something you should see."

"What?"

"Just…you need to come."

Confused and slightly alarmed, Paige followed the young girl through the library into the room that the students had dubbed, 'The Dungeon.' It was the Elder Gideon's former office, a large, Medieval-style room with stone walls and huge mirrors. All the furniture had long been moved out, and now in place were three large, stone pillars, which proudly displayed the Relics.

The Relics were three magical scrying crystals that were centuries old. It was said that they were once in the hands of Merlin himself. But one confirmed owner of these original 'crystal balls' was an ancestor of the Charmed Ones, a witch with the power of clairvoyance, Grace Halliwell.

No one knew exactly how Grace had come into possession of the Relics, but it was known that she had trained with them vigorously, growing so confident in her ability to use them that at the later stages of her life, she scarcely left their presence, acting as a sort of puppet master, sending her daughters after various warlocks and demons that she viewed in the milky surfaces.

However, the Relics carried a heavy price. Grace drained all her energy into them, and she simply collapsed at the age of fifty, a life that was cut very short, especially for a Warren witch. After her death, the Elders seized the Relics, locking them away in the sanctuary that mortals simply referred to in hushed tones as "…Up There."

But after the Great Massacre in 2004, when the Titans escaped and slaughtered all but a few of the Elders, all the artifacts were put at risk. The Relics were then moved to Magic School for protection, the safest place on Earth…literally.

They were hidden in a dungeon far beneath the school for years, and it was there they remained through the period when Gideon was Headmaster, then after his betrayal and death, when evil took over the school. Finally, in 2011 when the school was reclaimed and reopened for good by the Charmed Ones, the Relics were moved upstairs to The Dungeon, where they could be viewed and used (sparingly) by advanced magic students and teachers.

Usually, the room was kept dark and quiet, the eerie glow of the three orbs the only light source in the room. But at the moment when Paige followed her student into the room, it was emblazoned with light from torches that were lit on the walls.

"What's going on?"

Bebe pointed a shaky finger at the center of the room. The pillar where the middle orb was placed was surrounded by teachers, mumbling and conferring in hushed, urgent tones. Paige felt a creeping feeling of dread, and she turned to Bebe, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Thanks, Bebe. You should probably go back to class."

Bebe nodded, giving a tight smile and fleeing the creepy room.

Paige had been Headmistress of Magic School for going on ten years, and never before had anything happened with the Relics. She'd learned of their history when they'd reopened the school, and had recognized and felt the power in the small crystal balls. If something had happened to them…it wouldn't be good.

She strode forward to the crowd. "What happened?"

A few of the teachers jumped, and Carrie Saunders, the levitation professor, came forward to greet Paige. "One of the Relics woke up."

"What?" Paige asked. "Who activated it?"

"No one," Carrie replied, her voice hushed. "Remus was on guard, and he said that it just came to life, all by itself."

"That's not possible." Paige shook her head. "Is it showing something? A vision?"

Carrie nodded. "It's…We don't know what to think." She shook her head, looking pale. "It's like, on a loop or something. It just keeps playing these few successions of images, over and over again."

Paige frowned. "Let me see."

She pushed through to the pillar, feeling the small heat and glow of the Relic on her face. She bent down and gazed intently into the glass, seeing the vague beginnings of an image in its depths.

Suddenly, it sprang to life, exploding with color. An explosion. Her heart leapt into her throat.

The red and orange of the flames melted into a brilliant blue sky, a bird's eye view of a small village in the mountains.

It then shifted into a graveyard in the midst of the night. There was a bench near the tombstones, and Paige could barely make out two shadowed figures sitting before it changed again, this time into an image of a huge book, the edges of the pages crumbling with age. She thought it looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place exactly where—she recognized the writing as a Grimoire, however.

It changed again, to a gilded athame that Paige knew was definitely familiar, and then to—Chris? But it wasn't her Chris, it was the other Chris, the one that she knew Leo still thought about. The older, tired, frantic, tense version, the one that slept in the back room of P3 and dragged them on endless demon hunts. This image of him was sitting at the bar at the club with a deck of tarot cards, looking worried.

Paige's nerves were jumping, her mind was spinning—this obviously had something to do with Chris, probably Wyatt too—but what of the Grimoire and the athame? A Grimoire was a demonic version of a Book of Shadows, and she'd seen numerous demons and warlocks use athames—but she knew that she recognized those two specific objects, though where exactly she couldn't figure.

And the explosion—obviously a warning, but warning against what, exactly? It could've been a car exploding or a building or an entire city, Paige couldn't tell. Or maybe it was just a negative warning in general. And the village?

The last image took longer to form, and she had to squint to see it properly. It was a darkened room with a bed, that much she could tell, and there was a figure laying down—she could vaguely see some medical equipment around, but it wasn't a hospital room.

The image blacked out again and refocused, this time on the figure in the bed, and when it finally lightened enough for his face to be clear, Paige felt her breath leave her, and all the blood drained out of her face.

"Cole?"

xi. Bianca's Car, Outside the Manor

Cars were really funny things, Bianca figured. Like moving living rooms, huge, hulking things that served as garbage cans, changing rooms, even bedrooms.

Bianca involuntarily shot a glance at Chris's car, parked across the street, and her face flushed with heat. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. Stop stalling, she told herself. It's just Chris.

Just Chris, right. Just Chris, who after three years of sparse, if any, contact, had fucked her in the backseat of that Chevy the night before—and it was fucking, Bianca knew that, she knew the difference and she could feel it, and it was one of those things that she shouldn't know but she did, just like all the facts that were suddenly appearing in her brain. Stuff like how Chris loved it when she wore her hair up, because he loved to pull the clip out and watch her hair fall. And how he had a fetish for her legs, and secretly he hated to cook because it reminded him of Piper, and how he hated that he still loved Wyatt.

Why? Bianca thought desperately. What does this all mean? Why would Chris loathe himself for the mere fact that he loved his brother? From her point of view, Chris and Wyatt had had their rough spots, but they got on relatively well. They weren't as close as Phoebe and Paige, but it was different, right? And how the hell did she know all this, anyway?

Her earlier theory that maybe someone had placed a forgetful spell on her that was just now wearing off still made sense, but Chris had denied it. Not exactly, was what he said actually—and if they'd had a relationship, then surely Chris would've been willing and able to save her from something as simple as a memory spell.

But even if it was something like that, then it didn't explain her dreams, the fuzzy images of an older, wiser Chris that hovered in the back of her head. Or the dream that she now remembered only bits and pieces of—she was wearing a uniform of some sort, and she was living with Chris. And she was sure she wasn't going crazy, either, Chris had known what she was talking about last night.

Well, either he'd known, or he'd pretended that he'd known to get into her pants.

But he'd known exactly how and where to touch her, and he seemed so familiar with how she moved—and he'd known just the right words to say to calm her down—a feat that she knew was almost impossible when she burst into her rare fits of emotion that she'd lapsed into last night. But he'd whispered stupid, silly things into her ear, and within moments she was calm, and how did he know how to do that, if he didn't know her? The real her? And how desperate his kisses were, like he hadn't seen her in years. How tightly he held on, how long it took him to let go. How part of her didn't want him to. A big part.

Love. God, though. What a stupid idea.

Sighing, she squinted out her window, the Manor looming high against the late afternoon sun. Resolutely, took one last calming breath and exited her car, walking purposefully toward the huge house.

She stood in front of the door, her fist held out to knock, when a wave of anxiety washed over her. "Oh shit," she muttered. "I can't do this."

She turned to run back to her car, but froze when she heard the door open behind her. "Bianca?"

Whirling around, she plastered a smile on her face. "Wyatt."

"Hey," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Uh, I was worried about you—the party last night...it..." his words tumbled out in a rush, then trailed off awkwardly.

She frowned, then remembered the whole rohypnol thing. "Oh, that." She shook her head. "It's okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She shifted her weight. "Uh, Chris—he explained about Mark, how you didn't know what was in it." He still looked unsure, and she felt a bit sorry for him. "Hey, I'm okay, nothing happened. It's all good."

"Yeah," he muttered, looking unconvinced.

She swallowed, gathering her courage. "Actually, is...is Chris here? I kinda wanted to thank him. For, you know, driving me home, making sure I was okay..." she watched him nervously, afraid of a reaction.

Wyatt nodded, seeming distracted. "Yeah, he told me he got you home okay this morning." He still wouldn't look her in the eye. "I was kind of hungover," he added.

"Wyatt...no hard feelings, okay?"

"Hmm?" He shook his head slightly, chuckling a little. "Sorry. Headache."

"Right." She laughed anxiously. "So...is Chris here? I saw his car..."

"Oh. Yeah. He's in his room, you can go on up." Wyatt stepped out onto the stoop. "I have to go run some errands for Phoebe, anyway."

"Okay."

He smiled and brushed a chaste kiss on her cheek as he passed her by, and she swallowed thickly, feeling the guilt rise up in her throat. "I'm glad...that you're okay," he said.

She smiled thinly, and he smiled tensely back. He turned and continued down the steps, sighing. She watched him go a little sadly, fully aware that whatever kind of relationship they had was falling apart at the seams. Out of guilt or some sense of responsibility, she waited until he disappeared around the corner before going inside.

She crept upstairs, afraid of running into Phoebe or Paige, or worse, Leo. She knew that they didn't like her, Leo especially, probably because they sensed that she wasn't completely mortal. Experienced witches had a sixth sense thing like that.

She knew which room was Chris's—well, the real her knew it, not the weird other her that'd been showing up recently. She took some comfort in the thought. She knocked softly before she had the chance to second guess herself again.

The door swung open with a whoosh of telekinesis, and she heard Chris's muffled voice from the closet. "Wyatt, I told you I'm not coming."

She paused, then took a tentative step inside. "Well, not right now you're not," she quipped, feeling not unlike she was diving into the deep end of a huge, dark, vaguely scary pool. "Last night, well—that was a different story."

There was a long, loaded silence, then he stepped out from the closet, his eyes falling on her. "Bianca."

"Hey." She smiled unsurely, playing with her hands nervously. "Uh...I saw Wyatt leaving," she said. "He told me to come on up, I hope you don't mind..."

"Uh, no," he said, sounding vaguely surprised. He stepped out of his closet, swinging the door shut behind him. "I was just, uh..." he trailed off, a grimace on his face. "Wait, I don't need to lie to you. I was working on a potion."

She laughed. "Oh. Well, okay. Why would you need to lie about that to anyone?"

He shrugged, looking over her shoulder. "Leo and the aunts...they don't like me getting into the craft too heavily."

She felt kind of sad that she didn't know this. "Why not? You're an amazing witch."

"Mom," he said uneasily, stepping away from the closet. "Come in. Make yourself at home," he said, swiftly changing the subject. He swept his arm in a broad gesture. "Want the tour of my glamorous bachelor pad? We can begin and end all in the same room."

She giggled, surveying the cluttered room. "Nice." It was messy at first glance, but she could tell that it was probably painstakingly kept at its current state. Severely controlled chaos. Yup, that was Chris. She sat down on his bed, running her hands over his comforter. Dark blue, cotton, soft. Her knees went weak at the feel of the material.

Chris sat at the desk chair, and she could tell that he was trying desperately hard not to look at her. Funny, this was the second Halliwell today who wouldn't meet her eyes. "So...this is when we...talk, right?"

"Talk," she repeated. "You make it sound so ominous."

"Heh, yeah." He scratched at his head, looking kind of embarrassed. "Look, I'm sorry about...you know." He crossed his arms. "I never meant to, just...attack you, like I did."

"Attack?" she said idly. "Didn't feel like an attack to me."

"You know what I mean. I'm sorry. I know you were a virgin..." he trailed off. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head, smiling a little. "That's not important." She looked at the trace of his shoulders, outlined beneath his t-shirt. "What are you thinking right now?" she blurted out.

He shifted again, still looking a vague point over her shoulder. "I'm thinking that you really shouldn't be sitting on my bed while we have this conversation."

She flushed fiercely and stood up. "Uh, right." She tucked her hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture. "Where do you want me, then?"

He let his breath out heavily. "Uh, anywhere." Jesus.

"Okay." She moved to stand next to him, perching on the edge of the desk, leaning over him. "This okay?" Her voice had somehow gone very hoarse. Funny.

"Yeah." He sounded strangled. "That's...that's fine." He still hadn't looked her in the eye, but she could see his hands twitching.

She raised an eyebrow and scooted back to fully sit down on the desk, crossing her legs slowly and purposefully. She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "We should talk about it," she said.

"Talking..." he rubbed a hand over his face. "I suck at talking."

"I've noticed," she replied. "Yelling, now...that, you have down."

He had the decency to look ashamed. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that too."

"I know," she said quietly. "But I still don't understand why..."

He shook his head, standing up so that he was level with her face. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

He smiled a little, brushing the bangs off her forehead. "You need to let it come naturally. Don't rush it."

She turned her face into his palm instinctively, and he rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone affectionately. "I'm scared," she whispered.

"Of what? Me?" His hands moved down to her neck, sweeping the hair off her shoulders, winding it through his fingers.

"Yes." She closed her eyes at the sensation. "And no."

"What does that mean?"

"I..." she took in a sharp breath. "I don't know. This is so...surreal." She shook her head, opening her eyes. "Okay. Look, I'll try and let it come by itself, whatever it is. If you promise me something."

"Anything."

"Let me in," she pleaded softly. "I know you're involved in something big, I've noticed the bruises you've been hiding. You're up against something big, aren't you?"

He grinned. "How did I think you wouldn't notice?" She made a face at him. "But yeah, you're right," he admitted easily. "Her name is Klea, she's organizing the Underworld. She wants to be the new Source."

"Source?" Bianca asked, surprised. "There hasn't been a Source for years. Not since your aunts vanquished the Triad."

"I know," he said. "But she's been planning this for a long time. Since before my Aunt Prue died, even." She frowned. "Hey. I got it under control. Really."

"Really?" she asked skeptically. "Is that why you're favoring your left leg?" He flinched. "You fought something this morning, didn't you? You weren't limping last night."

"It was just a few trackers."

"Wait, tracker demons? She sent trackers after you? So she knows you're after her?" She shook her head. "Chris, why didn't you just go to the sisters with this? They could've helped."

Chris shook his head. "It's more complicated than that."

"Then explain it to me," she pleaded. "Please."

"I will."

"Oh really?"

"Bianca," he said. "Trust me."

"Last time I did that..." she trailed off, not letting herself voice the next ugly part of her sentence, unsure why she was suddenly so angry.

Chris smiled sadly, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead. Then he stepped away from her, holding out a hand. "Come on," he said. "There's somebody I want you to meet."

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