A/N: Hey, gang! We quite enjoy the four reviews we've gotten so far. We really appreciate it. This chapter is a little behind the scenes, setting things up for later. So sadly no sexy Sirius snuggles or Lupin lovin', but we'll get back to that before too long. Until then, thanks again for your interest and particularly your feedback.

It was a dark, moonless night as an owl swooped low over the quiet village of Godric's Hollow. Its keen eyes swept over the abandoned streets as it searched for a small morsel to refuel its long trip home. The hungry creature witnessed only two hulking figures walking steadily along the stone path that wound its way between the thatched cottages. Disappointed, it continued onwards to the forbidding forest just beyond.

Hagrid flinched and brandished his umbrella as menacingly as possible at the sound of nearby movement. "Bloody hell," he muttered to himself when he heard the not far off hoot of a friendly owl. He attempted to calm his racing heart, but couldn't quite manage to settle down. He was not an easy opponent for anyone, dark wizards included, but this entire place was making his considerable amount of hair stand on end. He just couldn't get used to seeing the once bustling alleys of Godric's Hollow utterly abandoned. Neither wizard nor Muggle alike were brave enough to venture forth once the sun had set. Not anymore.

Hagrid flinched once more at the loud creak of the gate swinging open before him. He hoped fervently that the great wizard beside him had not noticed. Dumbledore might be bent and weathered with age, but he was also the safest person Hagrid could possibly be with at this time or any other. The half-giant did not want the Headmaster to take his nerves as a slight against his sill considerable power.

He need not have worried. Dumbledore's mind was focused solely on the task at hand, racing ahead and taking in minute details, as it formed and dismissed theories in nearly the same instant. He appeared as calm and reserved as he did at his bi-weekly Sunday brunches at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. There was no way for anyone to know how very much he dreaded this long avoided reunion with his childhood home of Godric's Hollow.

The large duo approached the front step of the Potter's home with deliberation. Dumbledore politely handed his handkerchief to Hagrid, who had already begun to sniffle as they slowly opened the door. The Headmaster took the lead, stepping silently into the hallway that led into a still lit kitchen. The scene before him was exactly as the blubbering giant had described. The table was still set as though it had been in use just moments before rather than a day prior. The only item worthy of note was torn wrapping paper that had fallen on the floor. Otherwise the room appeared as unassuming as any other.

Hagrid muffed a sob as he followed Dumbledore towards the stairs. He was filled with such sorrow as he took in the golden snitch whizzing around the gilded cage. He gave a great sniffle at the tiny figures on the griffin shaped side table that were in the shapes of a wolf, a dog, a rat, and a male and female deer. When he came to the portrait of the Marauders still celebrating and cheering their graduation, he finally broke down and cried.

"Cheer up, mate," portrait James called out to him kindly. "We have our whole lives ahead of us." Hagrid merely continued his wailing, unwilling to explain to the young and jovial James that everything had gotten much worse since the day he had left Hogwarts. Much, much worse.

"Ah," Dumbledore said softly, having found what had was looking for at last. "Charles Magnus Harold Potter. It has been too long."

Hagrid halted his weeping and studied the moving painting before him. He saw a wizard who looked very much like an older, wrinklier James, although his eyes were a soft gray rather than blue and his chin was harsher. Hagrid could not much recall the Potter patriarch, though he'd had a good reputation and had left a great legacy behind him. His curiosity was enough to dam up the emotions inside him.

The echo of Charles smiled and dipped his head. "Albus. It is good to see you. How can I be of service?"

"Dark tidings, old friend. I am currently attempting to determine what occurred here yesterday evening. Did you or Augusta see anything?" Dumbledore hoped this exchange would not leave the remainder of Charles Potter distraught. Though it was only a magical recreation of the wizard who had sadly passed many years ago, it was still an unwelcome experience to see him upset.

Augusta Potter, Charles beloved wife of more than 60 years, popped quickly in the frame and stood bravely at her husband's side. "We can't see anything from here, of course," she charged ahead, not allowing Charles much time to respond.

Charles shook his head sadly. "No, we can't. The angle is all wrong. I've told Jimmy a thousand times this isn't a good place for us, but he just won't listen."

"Oh, don't call him that. He's never liked that. He's always gone by James in his personal life. He's a grown man and we have to respect his wishes," the elderly Mrs. Potter scolded. It was a very familiar argument and there was no heat behind the rituatlistic words.

Dumbledore interrupted them with a polite cough. He would never abandon his manners, but he could not spare any extra time on ancient banter. There were lives at stake, he was sure of it, and more than they could fathom just yet. There was a magic lingering in this home. It was foreign and unfamiliar to the Headmaster, but he was beginning to guess just what it meant. There were many dark corners of magic that the greatest wizards had not had time to explore, and this was one of them. He just needed a few more pieces to start putting this puzzle together.

"Please, old friends. What were you able to gather with your limited view?"

Augusta and Charles shared a look before Mr. Potter spoke up. "Well, James and Lily had their young friends over. The Black heir, Sirius, Remus Lupin, and tiny Peter Pettigrew."

Augusta made a clicking noise with her tongue. "Poor Remus. He always looked so exhausted. Staying up far too late, I imagine. You know how the young are."

Dumbledore knew a fair sight more about it than the Potters, clearly, and that was for the best. "I see they had dinner. Were there any sounds of an argument? A heated exchange between friends, perhaps, or the arrival of another?"

Augusta responded first, as she had done for the majority of her marriage. "Oh no. Everything sounded quite lovely. I mean, there was a bit of excitement." The impish witch gazed over at her husband with tenderness and joy. "You see, we're going to be grandparents!"

Dumbledore heard Hagrid's gasp and mentally echoed one of his own, though his features remained stoic. This made the situation even more grave and urgent than before, if not much more tragic. "Congratulations," he said with a smile, though his blue eyes did not share it.

Charles puffed his chest out. "Thank you. It's about time, too. Augusta and I thought it was all over with us, what with our troubles having a child," he sighed as he patted his wife comfortingly on the shoulder. "Then we finally have our boy and what do you know! He takes his own sweet time ensuring there will be Potters around for many generations to come."

Dumbledore did not sigh with exasperation, but he desperately wished he could. "So naturally they announced this to their dear friends. I'm sure there was quite a commotion. Then what happened?"

Here Charles' shoulder sagged and Augusta's eyes filled with tears. "Well, Albus, that's the worst part. We just don't know. There was excitement after the announcement, and then Pettigrew presented our son and daughter-in-law with a present. I heard some small talk after that, Peter declared something rather harshly, and then... nothing. I heard the door close. I assume it was Pettigrew leaving. But there wasn't another peep from the kitchen. We haven't seen anyone since."

Dumbledore nodded his head as a few details clicked into place for him. He did not yet know why, might never know where, but he had begun to suspect just what it was that had happened. It was not entirely unknown magic, but it was not spoken of or well researched. He had meant to delve into it himself, so many years ago in his youth. But there had been obligations, then distractions, and then he had suddenly found himself in an aching and aging body before he had gotten to even half of what he had wanted. Ah well, he thought wistfully. Such is time for us all.

The Headmaster gave a bow to the beings forever stuck on the wall. "Dear friends, I thank you for your time. I assure you, I am working most deligently to discover what has occurred. Until then, please keep each other's spirits up, just as you have done for many decades."

Charles kissed his wife's temple and did his best to smile. "We will, Albus. Thank you for helping us. When you find that boy of mine, you give him a good scolding."

"Of course," Dumbledore chuckled, this time sincerely. Though he had never been a father himself, he had felt the urge towards many of his young pupils over the years. They were all the closest thing he would ever have to children, and right now his family was threatened. It was time to find his wayward sheep and return them to the flock.

"Did you find what you need, Professor?" Hagrid rumbled as they passed into the living room and towards the door. The giant nearly collided with the back of his mentor as Dumbledore stopped abruptly. He appeared to be staring over in the corner of the room. Hagrid also looked over, but he could not quite figure out what he saw seeing. Or perhaps it was that he was not seeing. His eyes kept gliding over a section of a chair that was in the corner. His mind could not quite grasp what it was supposed to be seeing, but Hagrid got the vague impression of a cloak.

Dumbledore seemed to shake himself from a waking dream before moving to the door once more. "Yes, Hagrid. I think I have found what I was looking for. Far more than I was expecting." With that Dumbledore strode out the door without a second glance, making sure to ignore the imagined ghosts of three young wizards crawling towards the body of an innocent girl who had been murdered by those who loved her not so very far from the Potter's front door.

"You almost sold us out, you moron!" Warren growled at Andrew once they were safely out of the mall and back in the van, away from the prying, annoyingly perceptive ears of the Slayer.

Andrew held his hands up in defense. "I'm sorry! I was only trying to freak Willow out!" He loaded up into his usual place in the back seat of the van with the monitoring equipment, as Warren and Jonathon piled into the front seats.

Jonathon, sensing Warren's mood had shifted from his everyday, general irritability, to dangerous, tried to keep the peace. "Listen, Buffy didn't even notice. She was too distracted. Didn't you see her? Don't worry about it."

"The Slayer may not have noticed, but her neat little demon pal sure the hell did! If the witch spills the beans, the Slayer will put us out of commission. In a heartbeat." Warren was annoyed to see his idiot squad exchange a secretive, nervous glance with one another.

"Out of commission?" Andrew said, more to Jonathon than to Warren, but it was the former who answered.

"Yeah. As in no more Trio. More like Three Dead Nerds."

"Buffy wouldn't kill us. She doesn't kill humans, that's not how it works. She can't kill anything with a soul," Jonathon reasoned. He had, after all, known her since sophomore year of high school. He had watched her save countless lives. On occasion she had saved his life, and on a few other occasions had saved lives because of him. They had had 8 classes together, and she used to steal sneaking glances of his trig homework, which had annoyed him on her first day, until he had looked over to see Buffy The Vampire Slayer's alter ego: adorable, tiny, blonde Buffy Summers. The Slayer's mission statement was different than his own, or rather the Trio's as a whole, but she was a good person, fighting for a noble cause, and Jonathon had always sort of revered her, if he was honest with himself.

Warren was getting visibly annoyed now. He always became restless and shifty. His eyes flickered across the windshield and his left leg bounced up and down like a nervous tick as he presented his rebuttal. "That's sorta what we do, isn't it? Present every alternative until there isn't another? Or have both you wimps forgotten that we're *super villians?*" Jonathon noticed with worry that whenever Warren was on the warpath, his pattern of speech changed distinctly. He no longer stuttered, exasperated, trying to reason and manipulate his point to the forefront. When he got in moods like this, he spoke with purpose, and it was always his way or the highway. The highway, which was whizzing past the windows of the van at a speed that couldn't possibly be legal, though Jonathon didn't dare to lean over for a glance at the speedometer.

Andrew, looking pale and feeling dizzy, sat alone in the back seat of the van. He turned to peer out the back windows, half expecting to see the Slayer herself, perhaps dropping out of a tree, motioning to run after them before she'd even hit the ground, perhaps in spandex… He stored the thought away for later and then shakily said, "Well, then maybe we shouldn't."

"Shouldn't what, Virginia?" Warren mocked distractedly.

Andrew hesitated, steeled himself, then said in a voice that sounded far more assured than he felt, "maybe…we should just not present her with that alternative. Like back off for a while." He knew as soon as the words had left his suddenly dry mouth that it was a mistake. He met Jonathon's wide eyes again in the mirror off the passenger side of the van.

Warren drove for a moment longer, and then suddenly slammed the van to shrieking halt on Sunnydale's only, mercifully empty, two lane highway. He shifted to Park and turned his body to face his cohorts. He didn't look angry, as they had anticipated, but this was far from comforting.

Warren's eyes glinted rather maniacally as he addressed Andrew. "Having doubts, princess?" He grinned, and Andrew's stomach turned.

"I-I guess."

"That's brilliant. You're brilliant." Warren reached up and patted Andrew's cheek with too much vigor, not noticing him flinching as he raised his hand. Then Warren turned to Jonathon. "You got some mojo to work, Junior." He laughed to himself and shifted the van into Drive again.