Unto the Breach
By Taure
Summary: When the Watcher's Council asked for Harry Potter's expertise, he thought it'd be a day trip. A weekend at most. He certainly didn't expect to end up in Sunnydale, surrounded by vampires, the Slayer, and zombie butlers.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer is the property of Joss Whedon. Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling. The Dresden Files is the property of Jim Butcher. This work of derivative fiction is written for personal pleasure and is not commercial in any way.
Chapter One: The Society of the Crossed Wands
It was in Harry Potter's third year at Hogwarts that the great warlock Albus Dumbledore took him on as an apprentice.
"There are three kinds of magic in the world, each one wondrous in its own right," Dumbledore had told him, sitting Harry down next to the fire in his office. Hogwarts castle was always cold. The ancient, white-haired man sat opposite him and poured tea into delicate china cups. "First, there is the magic inside of you. This magic is yours and yours alone, easily controlled… yet ultimately, this is the weakest form of magic, even for the greatest of sorcerers. Sugar?"
Harry remembered starting at the question, so mundane compared to their discussion of magic. "Oh!" he'd said, sitting up straight. Dumbledore's voice had that indescribable quality of lulling you into a trance. "No, thank you."
"No?" said Dumbledore, raising an eyebrow. "Well, here you go then." He passed Harry the cup and saucer, before spooning three large sugars into his own tea.
He continued after taking a sip. "Secondly, you have the magic in the world around us. There is magic in everything, my boy, from plants and animals to air and oceans. Naturally, this magic is more potent than your own personal power, yet it is more difficult to control. The earth exists in a balance, Harry. When we draw power from the earth, we must make sure to maintain that balance."
"Why, sir?" asked Harry. Back then his voice had only just started to break, and it had been dangerously close to a squeak when Harry dared to interrupt. "What happens if things are out of balance?"
"Why don't you tell me, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, smiling at him in a patient way. "What happens when you pump water up a hill, or separate two liquids?"
Harry thought for a moment. "I suppose the balance comes back, after while."
"Precisely," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Nature will correct any imbalance - the greater the imbalance, the more violent the correction. Might I interest you in a biscuit?"
Dumbledore indicated a plate of shortbread biscuits, which Harry waved off. He wanted to hear more. The headmaster obliged. "The third type of magic is, as you might have guessed, the most powerful. Can you guess the drawback?"
"Control?" said Harry.
"Control," confirmed Dumbledore. "The third source of magic is power lent to us by the powerful entities which reside within the Nevernever. Have you heard of the Nevernever, Harry?"
Harry fidgeted, thinking back to the spell he'd cast the week before. The spell that had called upon the spirit Antares, and thereby attracted Dumbledore's attention. "Uh, kind of?"
Dumbledore peered at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. For a moment Harry thought he was going to be told off, but suddenly, to Harry's great surprise, Dumbledore winked. "Ancient gods, fae, and much more besides," said Dumbledore, "the Nevernever is not so much a place as it is a plane, home to a multitude of worlds and demesnes." The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed and he looked at Harry seriously. "This power always comes at a cost, Harry, and these beings are not inclined to mercy or kindness."
"I understand," said Harry, mirroring Dumbledore's serious tone. "Which magic will you be teaching me?"
Dumbledore put down his tea and bit cheerfully into a biscuit. "All of it, of course!"
That had been the start of it. For the next four years Harry had met with Dumbledore every week - more than once, more often than not - and learned all about spells and rituals, potions and charms. He learned to call upon the elements, to move objects with his mind… but that was just the beginning. When Harry was sixteen, they'd delved into what Dumbledore called "the greater mysteries": the mind, the soul, and the unseen.
Harry had lived for it. He liked his school work well enough - and Dumbledore insisted that he maintain top grades - but physics and history just didn't hold the same attraction as making things float. Every night, after finishing his homework, Harry had practiced magic.
And now he was the teacher.
It wasn't snowing, but it was cold enough to. Harry's every breath out misted in front of him, each breath in filling his lungs with almost painfully cool air. The night's sky was perfectly clear, the stars were out, and beams of moonlight filtered through the tree tops into the forest clearing where the Society of the Crossed Wands had gathered.
Harry was standing next to a large fire, his fellow university students gathered in a circle around him. Each of them was wearing a thick winter coat and clutching a bottle of beer. The glass was probably so cold it burned their hands, but none of them showed any sign of discomfort.
The only sound was that of a turkey pecking the ground by Harry's feet. Silently, Harry drew a knife and took a firm hold of the turkey. It was warm and it struggled hard, but Harry didn't let it escape. He raised the knife and spoke clearly into the night:
"We offer this sacrifice to Woden, the Allfather."
The knife came down, cutting the turkey's neck in a single swipe. Hot blood spurted out, covering Harry's hands and splashing on his clothes, but he didn't flinch, holding the turkey still through its death throes.
When it was had stopped moving, Harry smeared his fingers in the turkey's blood and stood. Not saying a word, he walked up to Jeremy, a weedy guy with thick glasses, and flicked a small amount of blood in his face. Jeremy couldn't help but cringe, but it didn't matter. Harry moved on to the next person, and the next, flicking each with blood until everyone in the circle was done.
Finished, he picked up his own beer from the ground. "Ladies and gentleman!" he called, "let's eat!"
A cheer went up and the formality of ceremony broke in an instant, the circle bursting into motion as everyone went about their tasks. Jack, Helen and Sarah were heading back to the car to fetch the barbecue, while Jamie went to prepare the turkey. Harry's duty was far easier: he had to drink beer.
"Nicely done," said Annie, a pretty redhead Harry had seen in his history classes at Cambridge. She was short and too thin to say she was athletic, but she had a kind face and a twinkle in her eye. In the dark it was easy to miss the flecks of blood drying on her skin. "I don't think I would've been able to do it, you know?"
Harry shrugged. "First time's always the worst," he said, thinking back to his fourth year, when Dumbledore had first taken him out into the black forest. "Once you're over that hurdle, doing it again is easy enough."
Annie moved closer. "How many times have you done this, then?" she asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes. Harry pretended he didn't realise what she was doing.
"Let me think," he said, making a show of counting on his fingers, "this'll be... my seventh Yule. Is it your first time? I don't think I've seen you at meetings."
Annie blushed. "Oh yeah, I'm kinda new. I'm Alice's friend - you know Alice, right?"
"Sure, I know her," Harry said with a nod. He took a good glug from his bottle. Like most of the Society, Alice was all about the "alternative" lifestyle. Harry doubted that she believed magic was real. "So Alice thought midwinter was a good intro, huh?"
"I guess so!" Annie said with a laugh. "It's okay that I'm here, isn't it? Alice said it'd be cool… it's cool right?"
Harry looked Annie up and down slowly. Even though she was wearing a coat, the message was clear. "It's cool," he said casually, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She moved into him, pushing up against his side. "Come on, let's go introduce you to the others. A bit of networking never hurt anyone."
Annie laughed. "Pagan networking - that's a new one."
Harry grinned down at her. "We might be pagans, but we're still Cambridge."
They moved over to a group of three. "Hey, Potter," greeted Francisca, a PhD student from Argentina. Francisca was a veteran member: she'd been part of the Society well before Harry arrived, and would likely be a member for long after he left.
"How's it going?" asked Harry, kissing her on the cheek. "Fran, this is Annie. Annie, meet Fran. And these are Michael and Jessica." He indicated the two who'd been standing with Fran.
"A newbie, huh," said Fran, "what d'you study?"
"History," answered Annie, automatically shifting into the conversations all students have when they meet. "You?"
"English lit," said Fran, before jabbing her thumb at her friends, "we're all English, actually. 'Part from Harry. What is it you do again?"
"Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic," Harry supplied.
"That's right," said Fran, before turning back to Annie. "So what'd you think of the ceremony?"
"It was cool," said Annie lightly, looking deeply uncomfortable at being asked her opinion. Fran raised an eyebrow, and Annie hurried to modify her answer. "Well, I mean that, as a history student, it's really interesting to see these old traditions, you know? There's something about them that's just… I dunno." She looked at Harry. "Help me out here."
"The word you're looking for is primal," said Harry, his voice shifting deeper, into what others called his 'teaching voice'. "We're here dressed in jeans, drinking Mexican beer instead of real ale, but some part of what we're doing still has power. Some kernel of this ceremony is the same as what people did a thousand years ago."
"That's it, exactly," said Annie. "It really brings it to life, doesn't it? History isn't just a story, it actually happened." She paused. "Okay, that sounded stupid. Obviously history happened, it's just…"
"We get you," said Fran, nodding along. "It's something meaningful. Thank god you came along, Harry."
Annie frowned. "What do you mean?"
Harry coughed uncomfortably, but Fran ignored him. "Couple years back, before Harry started, things 'round here were pretty different. Everything was run by these three guys, and let me tell you, they were mixed up in some seriously bad shit. Like, Satanism bad. It was all 'bout blood and sex and power for them, ain't that right Jess?"
"Urgh," said Jessica, her lip turning at the memory. "That creep Azazel - and I still refuse to believe that was his real name - he kept asking me to do weird sex rituals with him."
"Holy shit," said Annie, wide eyed, "they sound completely nuts."
"They were," said Fran, taking a swig of her beer, "but then one day, just over a year ago, Harry turns up, a fresher if you'll believe, and he just… well, I dunno, exactly. What was it you did?"
"I spoke with them. Firmly," Harry said, trying to remain vague. They didn't need to know about his connections to the Watcher's Council. He doubted they'd even heard of it.
"Uh huh," said Fran, doubt dripping from her voice. "Well, whatever he said, they didn't show their faces again after that, and the next meeting, it was Harry in charge."
Annie raised her eyebrows and looked at Harry. "Just like that?"
Harry smirked. "Just like that."
Annie looked like she was about to question him further, but he was rescued just in time.
"All set, boss!" called Jaime, a stocky man who looked like a balding 14-year-old. He'd butchered the turkey and it was well on its way to being cooked, sitting on the grill with meat they'd got from the supermarket. Someone had even brought marshmallows and put them onto sticks, ready for dessert.
Harry tore himself away from Annie. "That's my cue," he said, and he clapped for everyone's attention.
"Okay, people!" he called, "It's time for the toasts. Before we start, does everyone have a full bottle?"
A murmur of agreement went around the gathering, and no one dashed for a new bottle, so Harry went on. He raised his beer high in the air.
"A toast to Woden, the Allfather, may he give the Queen victory and power!"
"To Woden!" the gathering replied, and they all drank deeply from their bottles. This was an old English ceremony, and that meant lots of ale.
Harry raised his bottle again. "A toast to Frea, may he bring good harvests and peace!"
"To Frea!" cried the crowd, and again they drank. For a third time, Harry raised his drink, then paused as Jamie ran to the cooler and took out another bottle. The crowd jeered good-naturedly.
When everyone was ready, he called: "To Her Majesty the Queen!"
"To the Queen!" For a third time the gathering cheered and drank.
When they were quiet again, Harry prepared to make the final toast. But someone interrupted him.
"To our departed kin!" called a voice from outside the clearing, and everyone froze.
"To our departed kin!" repeated Harry loudly, and the crowd cheered their final cheer, but this one was muted with curiosity. Everyone had turned to face the direction of the voice, peering into the darkness.
A tall man in a trench coat stepped out from the trees.
Harry moved to meet him, placing himself between the newcomer and the group. "Welcome, stranger," he called, his voice carrying a hint of question. "Come closer and introduce yourself."
The man stepped into the light and Harry recognised him immediately. He was broad-shouldered and handsome, with just a hint of danger in his eyes. A real lady-killer.
Harry embraced him with a smile. "Sirius Black," said Harry, shaking his head. "What the hell is a Watcher doing all the way out here?"