Author: Indarae
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Dawn/Harry... a little. Hints of Joyce/Giles in the past.
Summary: With Dawn's father absent after Buffy's death, care for the younger Summers falls to one Rupert Giles. However, even as life returns to normal, pieces of his past come back to threaten the future.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad to see people are enjoying this.
Part Four – Gasping for Breath
August 6
The blood was pounding in Wesley's ears and his breath sounded like thunder as he crouched in a shadowed patch in an LA park. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know who was following him, but he was rather sure it wasn't the police chasing after Faith – the police were easy to evade.
Faith hadn't wanted to escape, oddly enough. Until the revelation about the Council's plans, she'd seemed to be content to reform herself behind bars, and even then it had required the news of Buffy's death to urge her into action. She'd broken the glass separating prisoners from visitors and they'd been off in his car before he could really stop to consider what was happening. She seemed dazed, more than anything.
They didn't speak, but for the explanation, until halfway through the ride. "B's really dead?" she whispered, as darkness fell. "I thought for sure she'd be the one to get through the Slayer thing. I mean, she died once already."
Of course Buffy died in the end – all the Slayers died young. Faith would be no exception, as Wesley had been taught in the Council's training rooms. She'd die at the hands of a vampire, demon, or the Council, if Wesley wasn't careful enough. Maybe it was the Council after them tonight, wearing black to cover their movements.
They'd been stopped just inside the LA city limits by a group of men in black robes and they'd been running since, just hoping to make it to Angel's help before the men caught up. Faith's breathing was slow and steady at his side, where his was labored. "Did we lose them?" she whispered, peering through bushes.
"I don't know – did you get a closer look at them? They may be men, rather than demons of any sort," Wesley whispered back, listening carefully for any snap of branches that might give their hunters away.
"Black dresses and Phantom of the Opera masks. Definitely men. C'mon, Wes, what have you been doing with the place since I was put away? Breaks a girl's heart to see this kind of scum runnin' about," Faith grinned.
Her habit of joking over life and death still managed to get on his nerves, and he didn't try to hide his response. "Honestly – we don't know how to fight them or kill them, and you're making jokes? The only weapons I have on me are a stake and a little dagger. The crossbow's in the car. Do you have anything hidden away in that prison getup?"
"Just the butter knife from the restaurant," Faith replied, producing the blunt instrument from her sleeve with a flourish. "They're just men, I can take them. Just – not killin' em, okay with you?"
Wesley was about to snap a response, but the telltale crack of a branch came from off to their left and they both fell silent. At first, it seemed to be only one hunter, until a snap came from behind them, and another from the other side. They were very nearly surrounded.
Faith gestured straight ahead, the only direction without some indication of a hunter, and mouthed 'run, on my mark,' before shifting noiselessly into a crouch. Wesley followed hesitantly, keeping his movements slow to avoid an equally telling crunch. None of the parks in LA were THAT large – they were bound to find a road and alleys to hide in soon enough, no matter the direction they took.
And then Faith grabbed Wesley's arm and hauled him to his feet, taking off with a start. Wesley did his best to keep up, but it was no use – he was slowing her down and he could hear the yells of their pursuers. At least four; no, five men followed them. It was certainly only one or two in the morning. Someone should be out and about and friendly enough to help them, right? But it was LA – no one would be helping them... The sounds of the hunters were growing louder as they broke through the brush into an open area of the park. About two hundred meters and a fairly busy looking roadway separated them from the protection of buildings and other pedestrians. His blood was rushing, he could barely breathe, but safety was in sight.
In sight, but out of reach. The men in the robes broke through into the open space with a shout and Faith lunged to the side in hopes of avoiding any gunfire with an uneven line of movement. Someone thought faster than the Slayer, however, and she fell to the ground as a burst of something hit – it certainly wasn't a bullet. It was magic.
As Faith went down, taking Wesley with her, the black robes and white masks clicked in Wesley's mind. "Death Eaters!" he wheezed, trying to scramble to his feet. Faith looked on in confusion, sparing the time to glance back at their pursuers.
It was time she didn't have. The closest of the men raised his wand. "He said to bring in the man! Get rid of the Slayer!" a voice called from the back of the ranks.
Wesley turned and dove, trying to place himself between the advancing Death Eaters and his Slayer, but it was in vain. Two words he'd been trained to dread rang through the clearing, followed by a flash of blindingly green light. "Avada Kedavra." And Wesley hit the ground rolling. When he stopped, he was eye to eye with the blank stare of Faith.
He was fairly sure he started screaming at that point. He grabbed Faith's shoulders and tried to shake her awake, as though she were only sleeping. The steady thrum of her heartbeat was gone. Someone yanked him to his feet and her body was pulled from his arms and someone nearby turned his wand on the Watcher. "Stupefy." And then the night grew darker as Wesley lost consciousness.
Somewhere, a girl awoke to find her life changed.
-------
Elsewhere, a boy was caught in a nightmare. He watched the green light, watched the girl fall, and watched the man be taken prisoner and Apparated to Voldemort. And then he watched through Voldemort's eyes as the Dark Lord woke the man up again.
"Veritaserum," he ordered. "I haven't the time to waste on a Muggle."
"Squib," a robed Death Eater corrected, going down on one knee to avoid the glare of his lord. "Travers reported he comes from a line of Squibs. Here is the potion, my Lord – the traitor was interrogated with some from this very batch." He offered a vial to the figure before him.
A skeletal, deathly pale hand snatched it up, uncorked, and poured more than the recommended three drops into the prisoner's mouth. "Name?" Harry/Voldemort demanded.
"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce," the Squib reported, eyes glazing over.
"Do you work for the Watcher's Council?"
"No. They fired me," Pryce answered.
Harry nodded, seeming assured of the potion's affect. "Where is Rupert Giles?"
He seemed to be fighting it, but the potion overcame all else. "Sunnydale, California, with his daughter."
Harry smiled in victory – it was a hideous smile, made with a lipless mouth and not reaching to serpentine eyes. "What protections are on Rupert Giles?"
"I am his Secret Keeper," the Squib reported hoarsely. "I know of no other."
"Good, good," Harry said, holding out an unfamiliar hand and beckoning with grotesquely long fingers. "Wormtail, the knife? Yes... thank you for the information, Squib. You've broken the spell on your very own... but no need to keep your dirty blood around..." A dagger was settled reverently into the Dark Lord's grasp, which he then stabbed into Pryce's gut with a satisfied smirk.
Pryce gagged, eyes drifting down to the flood of red suddenly pouring from the open wound, which grew worse as Harry twisted the knife. The boy watching could feel the man's pain as vividly as though the knife rested in his own flesh. There was a haze of pain beginning to form, but he could pick up just one last command. "Lucius," the Dark Lord called, "you go to this Sunnydale place tonight. Get rid of this filth and find dear Rupert - bring him home."
The haze cleared as Harry sat up straight in bed, gasping for air and clawing at the wound in his stomach – which was no longer there. He stared down at the not-bleeding patch of skin in horror, mind still focused on the waves of pain the Squib had felt at his death. And then it all came crashing down.
Voldemort knew where Mr. Giles was, and Lucius Malfoy would be there before the day was out. This was Snape's life about to be out of their grasp, as well. Harry shot out of bed, not bothering to pull on his dressing gown or slip on so much as a pair of socks against the chilly stones of the floor. The Headmaster had to know and send his own delegation, before it was too late.
-----
August 7
The parent orientation session was beyond a nightmare. Dawn spent the whole time reading Giles' second-year Potions book under the table, rather than paying attention to the teacher, wondering if her guardian knew where to procure some powdered root of asphodel. There was an easy looking potion that would turn her hair blonde – she'd always wanted to be a blonde like Buffy. Though maybe Giles wouldn't like that, because then she'd look too much like her sister.
She imagined a twelve-year-old Giles (in a tweed suit, of course) sitting in front of a giant black cauldron and stirring a foaming, steaming glob of some potion that greatly resembled chicken soup, and chanting "Double, double, toil and trouble." Dawn couldn't help but giggle, and Giles nudged her ribs with an elbow and a frown. She hoped that Walmart guy, or whatever his name was (Hogwarts, a History just called him "You-Know-Who") would get dusted, or whatever happened to resurrected wizard guys, soon so that she could start learning magic from Giles. That'd be wicked cool: the high school wouldn't know what hit it.
Dawn wanted a wand. But Willow could do magic without a wand. She sent a glance to Giles, who looked slightly catatonic, before turning to consider the objects on the desk. What was that spell that had been the first lesson in the Charms book? She was trying to read them all in order, which was easier with the textbooks meant for eleven-year-olds than it would be for those her age, but she didn't get to practice any of the spells. Giles said it was the wand that was the danger, though, and Willow didn't need one, so maybe Dawn didn't either... she inched a pen from the desk into her lap and set it across the book. Giles still wasn't paying attention to Dawn (or to the teacher for that matter) so Dawn concentrated very hard on the pencil and whispered "Wingardium Leviosa," and to her delight, it lifted slowly from the page.
Unfortunately, Giles had caught sight of her action – he probably heard the incantation, the party pooper – and snagged the pen before it could rise above the height of the table. Maybe she'd have to work on that control bit... but Giles was glaring at her and the teacher noticed. "Is there a problem, Mr... er..." she peered at Dawn and consulted her notepad. "Mr. Summers?"
Dawn held back a torrent of giggles – Rupert Summers, THAT would be a dumb name. It seemed Giles thought the same, as the corner of his lip turned up in the threat of a smile. "Mr. Giles. And no, no problem. Dawn just dropped a pen." He held it up and waved it around. "I just wanted to catch it before it hit the ground and interrupted you, but I'm afraid I've managed to do that regardless. I beg your pardon."
"Oh, that's alright, Mr. Giles," the teacher practically cooed. It had to be the accent – Giles managed to get just about anything he wanted. Growing up with him around had certainly made her immune. Giles smiled winningly at the teacher, whatever her name was, before sending Dawn a Look that said without words, "we'll talk after this." Dawn huffed and sunk into her chair, going back to the book.
Hmm. Shrinking potion. That sounded promising – she could use it to shrink all of Giles' socks to get back at him for ruining her magic practice. But hey, she'd made the pen float. That meant she really was a witch, just like Giles and Willow and Tara.
She was so busy plotting the end of Giles' socks that she barely noticed when the orientation let out. Giles snagged the edge of her sleeve and leaned over. "What did I tell you about magic and drawing attention to us? It was supposed to be a secret, remember? Levitating a pencil certainly draws attention to oneself."
"I haven't got to practice it at all. I just wanted to make sure I could -" Dawn started, but then the teacher appeared at Giles' elbow. Oh, great, now she'd have to put up with her English teacher hitting on her father/guardian, or whatever she was supposed to call him now.
"Mr. Giles, thanks so much for coming today. According to our records, Dawn's sister was supposed to be here, though – are you filling in? Or are you her father, just a different last name?" The woman sent a beaming smile in Giles' direction.
Giles stiffened, keeping Dawn in his grasp, though it changed from restraining to drawing support. "Dawn's elder sister passed away in June, followed by her father. As per her mother's Will, I am her guardian. The papers are at the courthouse – perhaps you should call and get them updated?"
The look of horror crossing the teacher's face in that moment was one Dawn planned to cherish for years to come. "Oh, please pardon me – I wasn't aware – I'm very sorry for your loss, Dawn. All of them. I didn't mean to be rude."
"It's quite alright. Not your fault," Giles snapped, not at all apologetically. He tucked away Dawn's book before the teacher could ask about it. "It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller. I've an associate waiting for me." And before the teacher could protest, Giles linked his arm with Dawn's and half-lead, half-dragged her out of the building.
He was muttering under his breath in British-y slang that she'd only heard Spike use, which generally meant it wasn't approved for general usage. "Er- sorry about the magic, Giles, I just really really thought I should try something – I mean, I didn't even know if I could really use magic or not, you know?"
Giles pursed his lips. "I won't be teaching you magic on a Hellmouth. Can't you feel the Darkness coursing through the power here? It's all tainted, and I don't want that taint corrupting you. Didn't I make it clear?"
"No, you didn't," Dawn shot back. He recoiled and she sighed in frustration. "I didn't mean it that way, but you didn't tell me the magic or power or whatever here was bad. Willow uses magic and she's fine, why can't I?"
"She's not fine," Giles countered. "C'mon, get in the car." He crossed to his side and climbed in as Dawn did, talking all the while. "Using magic in these conditions is dangerous, which is why there isn't a significant magical community around. I didn't believe the Council's findings at first, but you've seen her doing spells... she's being pulled darker. I don't know how to stop the corruption... No magic within a hundred miles of the Hellmouth, Dawn, especially when you're untrained. I said New York and I meant it."
Dawn sighed. "Right. New York. I've got it." And Giles nodded and started the engine, and they were driving off toward the Magic Box. "But I did the magic," Dawn went on, ignoring the exasperated look on his face. "I was afraid maybe I couldn't. Maybe it was a fluke because I'm not real."
He gave a snort. "You're as real as I am. Maybe being a witch has something to do with the Slayer blood in your veins, or maybe Buffy was a witch too. We'll never know. However, no matter why you're a witch, you are one. You've got some responsibilities resulting from that – the most important of which is to keep Muggles from learning about us."
"Muggles?" What a silly British word. It sounded like the name of a Telly-Tubby or something.
"People like Xander, who haven't a lick of magic in them. Muggle. I suppose it probably used to be a derogatory phrase of some sort, but it's in common usage now. Just keep what we are secret – even from Willow and Tara, right now? I'm afraid of the Hellmouth..." he trailed off with a shrug as they stopped for a red light. "You're going to be a powerful witch, Dawn. Not everyone can lift a pencil without a wand to focus their power."
"Cool," Dawn grinned. "So tell me more about this King Walmart guy?"
The car jerked forward and Giles narrowly avoided getting into an accident as he tried to stop laughing. "Oh, Dawn – his name is Lord Voldemort, not Walmart. If he could hear that name... but witches and wizards generally won't say his name, for fear it will summon him. A load of balderdash, of course, but it might be safer to say 'You-Know-Who' rather than draw attention to yourself. He's... cunning, wildly intelligent, and above all else craves power, both magical and political. He wants to be immortal."
"How silly is that? Why not just go ask a vampire to bite him?" Dawn asked. It seemed rather obvious. Of course, then he'd have a demon instead of a soul, but if he was evil and killed people, he'd probably tarnished that plenty anyway.
"He knows it wouldn't really be him anymore. Just as Spike really isn't the William he was before Drusilla Turned him. Voldemort wants to live forever. Some of the wizard psychologists thought it might have something to do with the War – World War II, if you were wondering – because Voldemort spent the Blitz in an orphanage in London and watched the city exploding and people dying all around him. Not many people know that about Voldemort, you know. His birth name was Thomas Riddle. He tried to keep it quiet, but his followers knew." Giles parked behind the Magic Box, but made no move to go inside. "You can't tell them, right?"
"Right," Dawn sighed. She hated it when adults treated her as if her memory didn't function. "How long are we gonna be here?"
Giles shrugged. "Not long. I needed to check a few orders... and then I was thinking we could go and visit your mum and Buffy?"
Dawn nodded slowly. "I wouldn't want them to think I was neglecting them," she whispered. She hoped they were watching over her from somewhere, and she'd been terrible about visiting their graves in the past few weeks... but that would certainly keep her quiet and solemn for days. At least they were both on the hill, side by side, with a headstone for Dawn's father, too, even though his body wasn't there. They were a family again. She followed Giles into the Magic Box.
-----
"...and so they're attacking sometime tonight," Harry finished. "They called the woman they killed a... slayer. Do you know what that is?"
"Yes, I know what a slayer is," McGonagall murmured. "She is a Muggle girl who fights vampires. You'd have read about her by now, if you took Muggle Studies... but if the Slayer is dead, a new one will be Called soon. There's always a Slayer."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, face betraying a puzzle. "This Wesley Wyndham-Pryce must've been her Watcher – that's a Muggle or Squib or Wizard who devotes his or her life to the training of a Slayer, Harry. If he was Rupert Giles' Secret Keeper, that means the spell is broken... but it also means he knew Giles personally."
"He was a Squib," Harry reminded the Headmaster. "Mr. Pryce, I mean. These Watchers can be Squibs or Wizards or Muggles? That's kinda neat."
"Rupert Giles is a Watcher," McGonagall said quietly, and Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Maybe he was assisting Pryce with this particular girl...?"
"Perhaps," the Headmaster said. "Were there any indications of what Rupert Giles was involved in? Anything dark?"
It hadn't looked like it, and Harry told them so. "And Mr. Pryce told Voldemort under veritaserum that Mr. Giles was with his daughter, too. Do you think she's a witch? Maybe she goes to an American school?"
"Undoubtedly a witch," McGonagall mused, "though maybe self-taught... Mr. Giles' bloodline is impeccable – the Malfoys would be hard pressed to come up with a purer family tree. Severus... Professor Snape might have had the right idea when he said to search for Rupert Giles. If he's raised his child among Muggles, maybe his opinion of them has changed."
"You will be included in the party to meet him," Dumbledore decided, shifting through a stack of parchments. "I'll need three or four others. Preferably those he might trust... any suggestions?"
"What about Tonks?" Harry asked, of course, always eager to have the chance to see the Auror, especially in the aftermath of Sirius' death. Tonks had become almost a sister, and Professor Lupin an uncle or a parent – Lupin and the Weasleys.
Dumbledore shook his head. "She's on a mission for me, currently... plus, she's a bit unorthodox in her... er... methods." He meant clumbsy, of course. "I'm not sure Mr. Giles would survive the encounter."
"I want Bill Weasley and Remus Lupin," McGonagall said definitively. She seemed to have taken the news of her own involvement quite easily – Harry wondered how many missions she'd been involved with in the last war. "Both will keep their heads in a crisis, Remus would be known to Mr. Giles as a peacemaker, since Rupert had left Hogwarts before the ... er..." she peered at Harry, "the incident of Severus' last year? Yes, well, Mr. Giles shouldn't be too hostile, and Bill greatly resembles his father, who Giles would know from the last war as a dissident of the Ministry. Do you think they'll accept?"
"Remus, yes... but Bill's off on a mission." Harry hadn't known that. Last he'd heard, Bill was living back at home, supporting his family from the London branch of Gringotts. "We'll get Charles. He looks enough like his father for it to work the same, and he's level-headed enough."
"I want to go," Harry shot in. He could see the opposition forming on their face, so he forged on. "I know exactly what Voldemort's planning, I saw the Watcher and the Slayer get killed, and I know what Mr. Giles and Miss Giles look like now, since he's bound to have changed in however many years and you've never seen his daughter. It makes sense. And with everybody else along, I'd be perfectly safe."
McGonagall snorted. "No one is perfectly safe. Rupert had a Secret Keeper and managed to be put into danger. We can't lose you, Harry."
"I'll stay out of the fighting," Harry offered.
Professor McGonagall shook her head emphatically. "I refuse to take students -"
"All of those you'll be taking have been your students," Dumbledore noted, peering over the top of his glasses. "Minerva, dear, having Harry there might help to reassure Miss Giles of our intentions? I've no doubt Rupert's filled her head with stories of anti-Slytherin prejudice since her birth. She might not recognize Harry, but if she does, she'll know she's important. And she is – she's the child of a Death Eater."
"Having her working for us could be useful," Professor McGonagall admitted. She took a long look at Harry, pursing her lips, before giving a sharp nod. "Fine. We'll take you. You'll have a portkey and will be in charge of coaxing Miss Giles over and getting her to Hogwarts safely, even if her father gives us trouble. And if there's any doubt over the safety of the situation, can I trust you to use the portkey as a defensive measure?"
"Of course, professor," Harry replied, trying not to bounce in his chair in excitement. He was going to America! Well, only for long enough to pick up a very lovely girl, but he'd set foot on the colonies!
