A/N: This is my second fanfic so don't flame me if it's bad! Just to clear it up, this is set after the end of series 3, and Buffy and the gang are pretending to be only a year older than Harry. I'm sorry to all you buff buffs out there if I've portrayed your beloveds in an inaccurate light. I'm only a passing fan…I can't tell ya what shoes Buffy was wearing in episode 17 of series 2 or anything like that... that's my mate Skye's department! So sorry if it's bad and I hope it all makes sense! Enjoy!
Dis: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. Not me. Got it? Good. All characters and references to Buffy the Vampire slayer - and the universe to which it exists in - is owned by Josh Whedon (I think? Can't remember) no copyright infringement intended. Onward!
Harry Potter and the Slayer
The Muggle
Thank God I'm back.
That was Harry's first thought when he finally arrived at the gates of Hogwarts at the beginning of his 7th year at the famous school for witchcraft and wizardry. Despite the fact that the castle had been the scene of more horrific incidents than a field hospital, it was always a relief to enter the familiar grounds and breath the fresh mountain air, full of the spirit of the magical education he thrived upon. Sure, Privet Drive was certainly a lot safer - no evil spiders, basilisks, murderers or soul suckers after his blood - but it was here that he felt at home.
The opening feast was spectacular as always. Harry was never unimpressed by the daunting view that hovered overhead, the famous bewitched ceiling of the great hall twinkling in all its glory. He sat down, weary but joyful, with his friends, Ron and Hermione, who were loudly debating the topic of the moment.
'I hope they've got someone a little more trustworthy this year…' Hermione was muttering.
'No chance.' Ron snorted in reply. 'Let's face it: A year without some freak incident involving the Defence Against the Dark Arts department wouldn't feel right.'
'Well, it better be someone who knows their stuff. I mean there is so much we haven't covered with all the other business…'
Hermione paused at this and turned to Harry expectantly. With all the things he'd had to face over the previous years, he was probably qualified to teach the subject, let alone get his N.E.W.T in it.
'Hermione…' he sighed. 'I don't think we'll have to worry too much. It's a case of been there, done that…'
'Got the tee-shirt…' piped up Ron.
'And the mug…'
'And the top which says 'My friends defeated a dark wizard and all I got was this stupid T-shirt''
Hermione smirked at them disapprovingly, trying to conceal her amusement.
'Honestly…'
Their discussion was interrupted by a procession of nervous looking first years, facing the prospect of the sorting ceremony. The sorting hat did its job with it's usual style and grace, pausing slowly over some and making quicker decisions on others declaring their house in it's loud, squeaky drawl. Harry had got quite used to it by now and allowed his eyes to wonder to the staff table. The usual array of teachers were present. Sprout, McGonagall, Hagrid, Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Snape unfortunately who glared right back, and another man who Harry could only presume was the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Yet he looked oddly out of place. He sat nervously at the table, wide-eyed as if trying to absorb as much of the surroundings as possible. He took off his glasses and wiped them on a napkin, pushing them back up on his nose as if it would make the situation any clearer. He wasn't even wearing robes: instead he sat in a neat tweed suit and matching waistcoat and his expression merely showed that of complete puzzlement. Harry was kind of relieved that despite the clothing, the new teacher looked like he couldn't hurt a fly. Yet his eyes almost twinkled with experience and knowledge if such a thing was possible. Ron suddenly turned his attention away from 'Smith, Robin.' now joining the Hufflepuff table and followed Harry's stare.
'That one looks a bit odd, doesn't he?' he whispered as his eyes finally cam to rest on Hogwart's latest edition. 'I wonder why he's in that muggle get up?'
'Hmm…'
They didn't have much time to ponder, however, as the final first year was sorted (A Ravenclaw) and Dumbledore rose from his seat. The old man's body may have been failing him in his twilight ears, but his mind was still as sharp as a razor, the twinkle of his eyes behind those half-moon glasses never seeming to fade. He coughed as he shuffled to his feet and a respectful silence fell over the great hall.
'Welcome back!' He cried, raising his arms in front of him as if to embrace the entire student body. 'Another year at Hogwarts awaits you and I hope you take full advantage of what my humble abode has to offer. Just a couple of notices before we tuck in. All of you are reminded of the banned objects, so thoughtfully selected by Mr Filch. Hogsmeade for 3rd year up only…
'Also, I have some information regarding our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor…'
It was as if the whole hall now clapped eyes upon the man in the tweed suit, who shuffled even more nervously in his seat than before. The students mumbled to themselves over this peculiar sight before Dumbledore raised his hand to regain silence.
'Now our first appointment is unfortunately tied up with his previous employment until Halloween…'
'Probably literally knowing our luck with that job' mumbled Ron.
'… which in some ways is an amazing stroke of luck. I have had trouble finding room to fit certain topics into the curriculum and Mr Giles here appears to be our saviour. As a special treat, he is here as a representative of the Watcher's council to give each class an informative and unusual in-depth look at life on the front line.'
The room was filled with polite, yet puzzled clapping as no one really knew what Dumbledore was on about. As he pleaded everyone to go ahead and enjoy the feast, Harry and Ron turned to Hermione for the usual explanation.
'Don't ask me…' she snapped, as if annoyed with herself for not knowing any more than the rest of the people in the hall. 'But I'm sure I can dig something up.'
True to her word, Hermione appeared in the Gryffindor common room a few hours after the end of the feast, where Ron and Harry were huddled round the embers of the normally roaring fire. As the only light in the large, circular room, it gave all their faces a warm, orange glow making Ron's hair appear to be on fire.
'The Watcher's Council…' Hermione declared, despite the uncertainty that either boys were listening 'Are the group designated to try and control the spread of vampires across the world, closely associated with our own Committee for the treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans. Not that much in here to be honest…' she said, scanning the book so large it took both arms to carry it. 'I'm quite surprised at that.'
'Thrilling…' said Ron, stretching out across the sofa on which he had sprawled himself. Harry, however, was looking at Hermione, whose hair which was now tinted gold by the embers, framing a face that was suddenly full of shock and surprise. She skimmed the passage again and again, as if to assure herself that the text was correct. Harry frowned.
'What is it?'
'You'll never believe this…' she said 'but the council…it's made up of muggles.'
*
Muggles? Harry thought all through breakfast the next day. That would explain the lot then. The clothes, the uncertainty, the pure bewilderment on the face of this man at everyone and everything. He tried to imagine the reaction of the Dursleys if suddenly thrown headfirst into the world of Hogwarts. He shuddered at the thought. While the rest of the 7th years examined their new timetables with a vague interest, Hermione was fascinated by the fact that they had Defence Against the Dark Arts straight after lunch. Harry however was more distressed at the idea of potions beforehand.
'First thing on a Monday morning!' wailed Ron when the hideous reality of his timetable set in. 'Forget you-know-who, we'll be lucky if we survive that for the rest of the year!'
'It could be worse…' Harry grinned mischievously at the thought 'It could be last thing Friday.'
'Now that would spoil the whole weekend. Imagine the possibilities…'
'We'd miss every Hogsmeade visit…Snape would probably deliberately poison us…'
'Or give us extra, extra homework while the Slytherins get off scot-free.'
'Or find some excuse to put us in detention for a whole weekend.'
'Ron, he does that already.'
'Oh yeah…'
The lesson with Snape was as horrible as ever. His hatred of Harry seemed to increase every year, kicking off this particular term by swiping twenty points off Gryffindor because of the state of Harry's Caldron, still a little mucky as the Dursleys refused to let him clean it in the kitchen sink. Harry settled down next to Ron and Hermione, on a table as far away from Neville as possible to avoid the predictable explosion from his potion liable to give them webbed feet for a week. As the lesson dragged on, his mind turned the prospect of the muggle who was to teach them later in the day. It didn't seem to make any sense. A muggle, when looking at the castle would only see a wreaked ruin due to the complicated sequence of charms and spells set by the founders over a millennium ago. How could he get in? Even Harry, who had been pretty good at geography in his pre-Hogwarts years had no real idea of the castle location, mainly letting the train take the toll except in the second year when there was that unfortunate incident with him, Ron, a Blue Ford Anglia and the Whomping Willow. Even then he followed the train. And how would he get on the platform? It didn't seem to make any sense…
With this milling round in his mind, by lunch he was an intrigued as Hermione about the afternoon's lesson. Ron, however, was a little apprehensive.
'How could Dumbledore let a muggle teach Defence Against the Dark Arts?' he whined as he picked up another tuna sandwich. 'What would he know? He's probably read Dracula and thinks he knows it all.'
'You know, Ron,' began Hermione, 'You'd be surprised how much muggles know about such things.'
'Like what?'
'Well, they exist for a start…'
She did not continue as she saw it straight away as a fruitless exercise. All these creatures and inventions of magic the muggles were aware of simply acted as works of fiction, not the reality that was documented in its droves in the library down the hall. Hermione just sighed and looked at Ron with softened eyes, accepting his lack of muggle contact almost like an amusing character trait.
'It won't do us any harm at all to see magic from the muggle point of view,' she said reasonably.
Harry nodded in agreement.
'We'll have to put up with it at some stage Ron. Think of it as… an extension class for muggles studies. Your dad would be fascinated.'
'I don't even take muggle studies.' Ron muttered as they made their way from the great hall to the afternoon's class.
The rest of the Gryffindors, however, seemed to have adopted Ron's view of things. As they waited for the teacher to arrive, Harry could hear Seamus complaining loudly to Lavender about what a waste of time they had ahead of them. They failed to see Hermione scowl at them intensely over his shoulder. She began to dig around her bag for her quill just as the door opened and the muggle appeared, looking a little flustered.
'Sorry,' he said in a hushed voice, 'I'm a little snowed under at the moment. Please come in, sit down.'
Harry proceeded in doing so, but stopped dead upon the sight that lay before his eyes. The room, which he'd seen in many states - stinking of garlic, wrecked by Cornish pixies - now simply looked like an extension to the library, already vast enough to satisfy any query. Taken aback for just a second, he felt Hermione's finger dig into the small of his back, urging him into the room. She sat with him on the back row, joined by Ron and Neville. It was generally safe to sit with him on occasions like this - not a wand in sight. They apprehensively took out their books, uncertain as to whether they'd be needed, and settled down, waiting for the class to begin.
The muggle cleared his throat, appearing as unsure about the situation as the students were. He called out the register and didn't even flinch when he passed Harry's name. Harry had got so used to the routine. The new teacher would reach his name and pause, make some kind of comment and flick their eyes to the scar that pierced his forehead. The fact that this didn't happen, although when it did it annoyed him immensely, was a bit of a surprise to all present. Ron and Hermione exchanged bemused looks.
'Now,' said the muggle, seeming almost distracted by a book open on his desk. 'My name is Mr Rupert Giles, but please, call me just Giles. I'm no professor.' He stuttered, smiling weakly. 'Right then. Oh my, where to start?'
Harry had to restrain Ron from making a sarcastic comment at the poor man, struggling to find the words to address his class.
'Well... erm…' he began, examining each face almost dauntingly. 'To start with, I know nothing about wizards, witches, wands and whatever that game is you lot play on broomsticks.'
Maybe not the best thing to say thought Harry as he exchanged looks with the rest of the Gryffindors, especially his fellow Quidditch players. Ron looked as though Giles had personally insulted him.
'But…' he continued, 'I am willing to learn. I am hoping that this class, among others, will act as a two-way learning experience. You let me in on your world, I'll let you in on mine.'
And with that, he sat down behind the desk and dove straight into the open book. Unsure of herself, Hermione timidly put up her hand.
'Sir… if you're a muggle…' she began, glancing at Harry for reassurance. Harry had long suspected that despite her hostility towards divination, she tended to pick up the vibes. 'How did you get into Hogwarts? What exactly are you going to tell us?'
Giles finally looked up to Hermione and peered at her over his glasses.
'Miss… er… Granger. Right. I have a lot to tell you. Although I am not born with magical blood…' he started, as if disapproving of the term muggle, 'Considering my status, special arrangements have been made. I am a watcher. Well, technically was. But that does not matter. Anyway, my function on the council was to watch and guide the slayer…'
'The what?' mumbled Seamus from in front of Harry.
'In every generation there is a chosen one. She is the slayer.'
Ron's ears pricked up.
'She?'
Hermione nudged him in the ribs.
Giles had now successfully gained the classes attention. The lesson consisted of a lecture on the history of the council among other aspects. Normally Harry loathed this sort of set up, but however he found this oddly fascinating. It appeared that for centuries this group were aware of the magical community, but, unable to join it, waged their own war against the common threat of vampires, demons and other nasty stuff using a muggle with some form of enhanced natural powers. When one died, another was summoned. By the time the Gryffindors reached dinner, it became the only topic of conversation.
'Isn't he the coolest muggle you've ever met?' sighed Dean Thomas.
Harry had to agree with this statement. Compared to the Dursleys, Giles was royalty. Ron however, was more taken by other aspects of the talk, much to the dismay of Hermione.
'The Slayer is a she?' he said for the fifteenth time that day. 'Now that's one girl I'd love to meet.'
'Oh honestly, Ron, get over it.' said Hermione, rolling her eyes skyward. 'I bet she's not very bright though. She may be the muscle, but the watcher has the brains. These slayers seem to be killed off too regularly for my liking. Silly risk takers.' She tutted. Harry raised his eyebrows.
'Silly risk taker, eh, Hermione?' he tried to hold in a snort. 'May I remind you of a couple of incidents in the past few years when…'
'Yeah, whatever.' She muttered and began to take a bit more interest in her meatloaf than the ongoing conversation.
However, when Harry eventually got to bed that night, after losing a game of wizard chess to Ron in more dramatic style than usual, he did begin to ponder on what Hermione said. Whenever someone tried to discuss anything to do with today's slayer, Giles always changed the subject. He said he was a watcher, but wasn't anymore. Who was the slayer? Why was Giles at Hogwarts and not off helping her? Why didn't Dumbledore ever get in a teacher who didn't have something odd about him? Ah, he thought as he drifted off to sleep. It's these little mysteries hat make life worth while. Ahem.
*