History Repeats Itself

by Asha Dreamweaver

HP/BtVS. Harry Potter is called as the Vampire Slayer. His personality suffers radical changes as he copes with being an assasin of the undead. When a fight with a demon goes horribly wrong and he is hit by an unknown spell, he is sent back to the past -

4. The Slayer's Hunter

History Repeats Itself by Asha Dreamweaver

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Author's Notes: Thank you, thank you, thank you! I am so pleased you reviewed – and also kind of hyper but that's not unusual. I'm so glad that people seem to like my fic! By the way the riddle in this chapter comes from 'The Hobbit' by JRR Tolkien. Sadly, it isn't mine.

And now for the response to reviews: -

KoKorean – Yes, I do know slayers are only girls. I believe I mentioned that Harry was the first boy to be called ever in chapter one. Call it artistic licence, okay?

Tom – I'll have to check out that site you gave me the link to. I am not entirely clear on the concept of a Mary Sue but I think they are generally all-powerful, sickeningly good, original female characters. But I can truthfully state that the female character I'm hinting at is not a Mary Sue or an original character. Hope that clears up your concerns! :)

Fair Lady Ravenclaw – Thank you for putting me on your favourites list! That makes about four now! What an honour! And yes, he is going back in time.

Prophetess of Hearts – Don't worry they'll get what's coming to them eventually.

Koko – What would be the fun in giving Harry a warning? Even if it was from Sev?

tima – Thanks for adding me to your favourites! I'm deliriously happy!

downa$$ - Voldie's potion? Harry not affected? I think you might have made a teeny mistake there. Harry was and is affected. Expect bigger blow-ups in the future! *Laughs evilly*. And as for the strange lady, do you really think I'm going to tell you? You'll just have to wait and see. About the snakes following Harry, he is a Parselmouth.

Katherine – The ritual Dumbledore is talking about going to hurt Harry? Hmmmm. Well, let's just say it's not going to be pleasant. Will Angel get into Hogwarts? Count on it. As for the prophecy, I'm not telling. Does Voldemort know about the Slayers? No, but by the time this fic is finished, he most definitely will. The Lady will be explained in time. Will Sev tell Dumbledore about Harry? Not a chance, let's just say that Sev doesn't exactly trust the headmaster. The 'she' the centaurs are talking about will again be explained in time. Spike's not coming into this fic and Faith was killed – she was the slayer before Harry. Harry will be going back through time around chapter five thereabouts. So not long to go! And of course, Dru is insane. Thanks for reviewing!

Thanks to all the others who reviewed chapter 3 –

Scrat

Luna the Moonmonster

~Mary~

Silver Earth Dragon

RookRaven

UniversalStar87

Melissa

desertwren

Kaat ShadowLover

Orion

pottersevfan

Kate

Joe

Seer_cassandra

Arizosa

Ashley

Starkitty

ExCaLiBeR

blackunicorn

I really hope I haven't missed anyone but those are the people who reviewed before I posted the fic. If you reviewed after I posted this, I'll give you a mention in the next chapter! :) Continue reviewing!

And now on with the fic...

Chapter 4: The slayer's hunter

Harry staggered out of the Transfiguration classroom, along with the other sixth years. The day had been an absolute nightmare. The entire castle had been woken up by a loud clanging bell and all the students had been herded into the Great Hall, bleary-eyed and half-asleep. They had been informed that they would all have to take the M.A.Ts, also known as the Magical Aptitude Tests that day by decree of the Ministry of Magic.

The announcement had caused instant panic, it seemed that not even the influential families had gotten warning about it. The Ravenclaws had flown into a series of panic attacks and amongst the Gryffindors Hermione Granger did the same. A test that they couldn't study for?! To them, it was unheard of. Everyone else had been surprised at the news, annoyed at the early hour and had dreaded the tests.

The sixth years had been led out of the hall by Professor McGonagall after a quick breakfast and sequestered in the Transfiguration classroom. They were told to sit down and so they scrambled to get a desk away from the stern old witch. The minute they had taken their seat, the pre-charmed furniture erected a silencing spell and a stack of parchment appeared. They were given the go ahead to start and began leafing through the many, many pages of questions and tasks.

Some of it was like a Muggle IQ test. Namely, basic mathematics, language (English and Latin), spatial relations (The ability to see things in three dimensions), spelling, mechanical reasoning (Mostly physics and mechanics) and abstract reasoning (Seeing patterns in sets of pictures).

Then it moved onto the magical side of things. They were given philosophical questions about the nature of magic and its capabilities and limits. There were entire sections dedicated to each of their classes, both written and practical. 

As they progressed through the tests, any needed equipment like cauldrons and such appeared without prompting for their use. It was mentally exhausting and Harry had a cramp in his hand after the first hour from all the writing. He'd had to cast a charm on the quill to turn it from an ordinary one to a dictation-quill. He'd just had to make sure that he didn't use any inappropriate language or else he'd have McGonagall or someone giving him grief over it.

The tests lasted from breakfast to lunch. A solid five hours. They had an hour's break then until they had to go back for part two. He'd shovelled food into his mouth while watching the rather amusing antics of the Ravenclaws and Hermione, all of whom were buried in stacks of books and frantically trying to predict what they would quiz them on next. The other students were bemoaning their fate and wondering what in Merlin's name had possessed the Ministry to subject them to this new torture.

Unluckily, the next round was even more exhausting than the last. Not only did they have yet another pile of parchment to slog their way through but they also had to complete an obstacle course that incorporated all aspects of their Hogwarts education, or so they said. All in all, that particular test bore too much resemblance to the third task of the TriWizard tournament for his liking.

They were to go in one by one at ten-minute intervals. Apparently the course had been spelled so that the students couldn't meet up. Finally it had been Harry's turn – they had been sending them inside in alphabetical order so he'd been pretty far back as he was a 'P'.

He'd cautiously approached the non-descript brown door, he wouldn't put anything past that conniving Dumbledore though at this rate he probably resembled old Mad-Eye when it came to paranoia.

The minute he'd crossed the threshold, he found himself in a replica of the Triwizard maze from two years ago. Damn that man, he had to give Dumbledore points for sheer gall but did he have to go out of his way to make his life difficult?

Now he had a whole new set of problems to contend with. Not only did he have to get out of this blasted labyrinth – preferably without serious bodily harm, but now he had to be wary of Dumbledore and his cronies. The tests were supposedly Ministry-run, meaning he couldn't afford to slip up there either. If he breezed through the maze then it would raise questions, questions that he couldn't answer but on the other hand, he had already proved himself to be at a certain level of power while he was still Dumbledore's little Golden Boy Gryffindor, it would be suspicious if he didn't live up to the power that they knew he was capable of. Merlin! All the variables were giving him a headache.

Already working himself up into a foul temper – one that he felt justified in – he stomped through the maze, using the point me spell to find the centre of the web of hedges. The first thing he encountered was a boggart, which was swiftly dispatched. He just didn't have the patience to deal with a Dementor at the moment. The next few obstacles were garden-variety creatures taught in Defence Against the Dark Arts, annoying little nuisances that were disposed of quickly. He made sure to let the Kappa get the upper hand on him for a minute, he knew there were people watching and he wasn't about to perform.

He came face to face with a sphinx; really they were getting predictable! Or perhaps Dumbledore had finally lost his remaining marbles. The similarity with the third task couldn't be denied in any way, shape or form. He guessed that there were certain precautions taken for the continued survival of the students. He spared a thought for the other students and snickered, oh wouldn't the first years have fun with this? Madame Pomfrey would probably have to deal with around a hundred fainting spells or heart attacks, not to mention the inevitable scrapes, gashes and wounds that the other students would undoubtedly acquire. It would be jam-packed and a place to avoid.

The sphinx didn't seem inclined to let him by and insisted that he would have his innards ripped out if he tried to get past her without answering her riddle. Females! He'd never understand them. You'd think they'd let a bloke off once in a while but noooo!

She practically purred the riddle, resting her head on her front paws and staring at him with large chocolate brown eyes, "It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,

Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt,

It lies behind stars and under hills,

And empty holes it fills.

It comes first and follows after,

Ends life, kills laughter."

Harry stared at her for a moment, brain whirring to figure out the answer. He thought he had it but he needed to hear it again to be sure. Upon his asking, she repeated it and he felt confident that he was right. And well, if he wasn't, he was a fast runner. "It's the Dark," he answered.

She blinked at him before smiling, "Correct. You may pass," she said, stepping aside. He travelled down the narrow passage that she had been blocking and found himself in the centre of the maze. In the very centre of the square space was a podium with a piece of parchment stuck to it firmly.

Careful not to touch anything, he read the writing. "Halfway you have gone yet the journey remaining is still long. To escape the maze you must go northwest and seek the passage through the gate."

Well, that was helpful. Using the 'Point me' spell again, he figured out which way was northwest and took off in that direction. Two minutes later, he was ambushed by furniture with wings that was trying to bash into him and so far succeeding. Waving his wand, he aimed it at the nearest piece and said, "Incendio!" The table went up in flames. Repeating his actions until all the wooden objects had turned to ash, he gingerly inspected his now purple-black body. The bruises would be gone within fifteen minutes but they made him look quite pathetic at that time. He hated that but it solidified his position and the safety of his secret.

After fending off a few more attacks, ambushes and nasty surprises, he believed that he'd found the gate. Of course, said gate was being guarded by Voldemort's identical twin. He recognised it a realistic illusion but still it was guaranteed that only the Death Eater supporters would dare to approach the fake Dark Lord.

He looked damn scary; red eyes, skull like features, slits for a nose, bald and clad all in black while holding his wand and leering menacingly. It was like an upgraded version of Snape's prized death glare.

Still, he'd seen it all before. His scar didn't even twinge this time round. Since an illusion couldn't cast a spell, Harry held the advantage here. Since the Voldemort look-alike was standing directly in front of the exit, Harry would just have to go through him.

Voldemort hissed threateningly but it didn't faze him one bit. He just stepped right through his body and grasped the doorknob. Instantly, he was back in the Transfiguration classroom. McGonagall looked surprised but recovered quickly and barked for him to sit down. Apparently he was the first and only sixth year to finish on his own, without needing assistance or medical attention. Though no one was talking to him, he could hear the various conversations perfectly. Rumour had it that Neville collapsed in a faint the minute he stepped into the maze. And that was just so typically Neville that Harry couldn't even attempt to believe that the gossip wasn't true. It was dinnertime when they were all allowed leave. The students hadn't been allowed to go to Madame Pomfrey for their scratches and abrasions until after dinner. And as Harry expected, there was a near stampede to the Hospital Wing. He could also hear stomachs grumbling in synch with his own.

So that was why he was currently starving, worn out and cranky. Inwardly laughing as Dean and Seamus supported an unconscious Ron with a battered looking Hermione trailing behind them, he went to get something to eat.

~*~*~*~**~*~***~*~*~*~**~**~*~*

Whilst eating, he planned his Halloween costume. He really wanted to be original. Harry figured if he was going to have to play dress up, he might as well have some fun with it. He ran through an extensive list of options, disregarding some and considering others.

Keeping his decorations in mind, something that would scare the hell out of people seemed like the best bet and he had the perfect costume in mind, one that would be the equivalent of giving the finger to Dumbledore.

After all, the similarities between himself and Tom Riddle had been up for discussion on numerous occasions. He may as well use them to his advantage. He could just imagine the Slytherin's expressions – and Snape's and Malfoy's in particular – when he walked into the hall dressed as the Heir of Slytherin.

A few little touches and a change of eye colour and Harry Potter would become the younger version of the Dark Lord Voldemort. It was sure to be a showstopper. If he played his cards right, he could get people to believe he really was the Dark Lord. It was a pity that they had to wear masks until eleven so that the costumes could be judged for a competition but it would increase the element of surprise. And if he got it just right, he would make it a Halloween to remember.

~*~*~*~**~*~***~*~*~*~**~**~*~*

The summons came unexpectedly. A short note telling him to either be at the Shrieking Shack at eight o'clock that evening or lose several pints of blood. Unsurprisingly, Ethan made sure to be there and even arrived early. His previous experiences with the vampire were limited to Angel, the souled version of the infamous demon. Of Angelus, he had only heard rumours, but if even half of them were true... well, let's just say it isn't a very good idea to get him mad with you. Not a good idea at all. In fact, it was suicidal. Only one person had ever been able to survive Angelus' wrath and that was Buffy Summers, the slayer that he was obsessed with, or at least was supposed to be obsessed with. Her friends were mostly alive as well, though that was mainly because she had kept on saving their hides.

Angelus was renowned in the demonic world for his countless exploits and Ethan really didn't want to get caught up in them. But it was not like he had a choice. He prided himself on a very good sense of preservation and normally he would have already done a runner. Regrettably, Ethan wasn't very popular on either side of the Atlantic, and he wasn't entirely sure that if Angelus contacted Ethan's old school friend Giles that his old chum would cover for him. Considering what happened the last time he saw the watcher, Giles would most likely give Angelus his exact location – complete with a flashing neon sign saying 'Ethan is here' in twenty-foot tall letters.

He truly didn't understand why Giles had gotten so mad. The spell had eventually been reversed. He'd only been a demon for less than a day! Fluffy the slayer got him back to human again, along with her toy boy soldier boyfriend, Riley.

So here he was, sipping from a travel flask of Ogden's Firewhisky while waiting for the brooding vampire to show up.

A strong cold hand clamped down on his shoulder and Ethan jumped, spilling the alcohol all over himself. Looking up to the owner of the intruding arm, he saw Angelus' smug smirk. He was still in game face, a bit of blood dripping from his fangs. 

"I hope you didn't feed in Hogsmeade," Ethan cautioned, hoping to God that the vampire wouldn't kill him for it, "if the slayer were to find out you were here... He has magic, you know. The fight probably wouldn't be pleasant – for both parties."

"Stop being such a worrywart, Rayne! I'm not stupid," he said breezily, traces of an Irish accent leaking through.

Ethan conjured two chairs, on opposite sides of the room from each other. Few went close to Angelus and usually they were demons themselves. Angelus flung himself into the seat, sprawling across it and his face slipping back to its human persona. Ethan tentatively sat down, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. He put away the Firewhisky – he really needed his wits about him – and looked at the dark-haired vampire expectantly.

Angelus' smirk remained firmly plastered across his face. "Impatient, aren't we?" he drawled, "Let's get down to business then." He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and fixing Ethan with is dark gaze. "This Potter," he spat, "killed Drusilla. I made her what she was, found her, moulded her, gave her eternal life and then this little upstart comes along and kills her! Unsurprisingly, I want revenge. I have envisioned a few nice scenarios, all involving blood, screaming and death – preferably with a lot of torture thrown in. You get my drift?"

Ethan nodded, "What do you need me for?"

"To get me into Hogwarts of course. I would like to kill the brat sometime within the next century and I do not feel like waiting."

"How am I going to get you into Hogwarts?" Ethan asked incredulously. He'd guessed that that was what Angelus wanted but had hoped he was wrong. "Under Dumbledore's nose?! It's suicide!"

"I'm already dead and Dumbledore's only an old man. I want that Slayer and if you won't do as I say then you die. Simple as that. Understand?"

The wizard gulped nervously before nodding. Dear Lord, he wasn't going to be able to handle this. Why did slayers have to constantly ruin his life?

Seeing that he had nothing left to lose, Ethan decided to take a chance and ask his question, "Why are you so obsessed with this slayer in the first place? Sure, he killed Drusilla but I would have thought you'd have gone after Buffy first. She did send you to Hell."

Angelus scowled, "She'll get what's coming to her in time. I've got to take care of this first. Then I'll have plenty of time to terrorise my dear ex-girlfriend. Now here's what I want you to do," he began, starting to outline his plan and Ethan did something he never did, and prayed for his success.

~*~*~*~**~*~***~*~*~*~**~**~*~*

The next week or two was fairly uneventful, though everyone still treated Harry like he was the carrier of a plague and he masked his ever-growing contempt for those around him. The teachers watched him like a hawk – so much so that he couldn't even patrol, the Quidditch players constantly refused to listen to him, Creevey was still following him around with that blasted camera and he hadn't been able to find anything on Snape's aura! Nor had he made any considerable progress with Slytherin's belongings. So it was no surprise that he was extremely frustrated and short-tempered. His current state of mind was what made him like Dumbledore's next announcement so much.

The Duelling club had been a disaster so the faculty had had to figure out another way of doing it. It seemed they had finally agreed on something. Dumbledore had announced it that evening, standing up in his garish yellow robes and gaining everyone's attention.

"Children!" he'd called, "I have some wonderful news! In light of the problems during the Duelling club session, we have adopted a new approach to it. To evaluate everyone's skills, we will be holding a duelling tournament. All fourth years and above are to enter. It is mandatory. Younger years are not allowed to compete because we feel that you do not have enough training yet. Names will be picked at random to duel against each other, as this is the fairest way to do it. The first round will be held at seven o'clock Sunday evening. Those duelling will be notified on Thursday. Though it would be advisable for all to attend, to size up the competition if you will. All curses except Dark Magic and the Unforgivables are allowed. Professors Snape, Rayne and Moody shall be the ones evaluating your performances. We hope that this new format will discourage any of the theatrics displayed last time.  It should be an enjoyable event."

Harry had seen it as an opportunity to vent his aggravation on an unsuspecting student body. The very thought sent tingles of pleasure shooting down his spine. Too bad he couldn't damage them permanently, Merlin knows there were a few people he wouldn't mind tossing around the room or inflicting bodily harm on them. A pity but at least he'd get some payback. He could only hope that he got paired with someone decent like Malfoy or Ron – no Weasley now, he'd really like to beat them. Sunday would most assuredly be interesting.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Voldemort paced his room, mentally debating over his next course of action. Within weeks, years of planning would come to fruition. Despite all the setbacks, he would triumph. It had taken him a long, long time to get to where he was, longer still thanks to that Potter brat. Thirteen years wasted, spent without physical form. His Death Eaters hadn't bothered to try and find him. In the end, it was only that snivelling rat Wormtail who had come crawling back. Oh, they'd been punished for their neglect but it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

His followers were a mixture of cowards and leeches. Too scared to defy him, cringing inwardly while they served him and others sought to get a little bit of his power. Most had some area of expertise or worth, be it social standing, political influence, intelligence or unusual skills.

They were all useless.

His Death Eaters were skilled at torture and mayhem and yet they had no understanding of the scale of his plans. He was not content to skulk in the shadows; he never had been, not since he was a boy. Even at a young age he had craved power, had known that he was different and that he was destined to be someone.

He hadn't been the only one that saw his potential.

He had started at Hogwarts when Grindelwald was approaching the peak of his power and the Wizarding community had been desperate to find a way to stop the late Dark Lord. The boy he had been, Tom Riddle had displayed an unusual amount of power and intelligence, relentlessly striving to be the best. And he had been successful. He had been widely acknowledged as the best student Hogwarts had ever seen, the brightest and with a perfect record. Charming, brave, confident, intelligent and above all powerful.

That had been his downfall.

Dumbledore, that conniving little cretin had 'accidentally' (more like completely on purpose) pointed out Tom's abilities and their potential uses. Before he knew it, Tom had been recruited into the war effort, nobody caring about how unwilling he was.

He had been forced to train to fight against Grindelwald. He, a mere teenager. The training had been torturous, Dumbledore purposely exposing him to the Cruciatius curse. As if it was any wonder that that boy had gone on to become what he had been chosen to fight. Of course, all credit for that victory had gone to Dumbledore, even though it was he who had duelled with Grindelwald, he who had worn him down. Dumbledore had only stepped in at the last second with Avada Kedavra and yet every piece of the glory had gone to him and him alone. And people thought he was bad, at least he made his intentions clear.

He had plans, grand plans that had taken decades to get this far. When the time came the Wizarding world wouldn't know what hit them until it was too late and that was the way he wanted it. If he could get the revered Boy-Who-Lived to help him, then it would of that much faster. But he was patient and was prepared to wait to get what he wanted. He had moved too soon on Halloween night thirteen years ago and everybody knew what had happened to him then.

Voldemort knew Dumbledore's style, knew his machinations but he had a one up on the detestable old coot – he knew what it was like to have a Dark kind of power. And that put him so much closer to understanding the Potter boy and achieving his end goal.

Potter had more in common with him than even he thought. And perhaps, Voldemort thought, he wouldn't be opposed to the idea of being my ally after all. All he needs is a little shove in the right direction.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

There were only a few minutes until the start of the match and the Gryffindor Quidditch team were gathered in the locker room, going over strategies. Or at least that was what they were supposed to be doing. The rest of the team were deliberately disobeying Harry, not listening to word he said even if he was captain.

The leader of the so-called rebellion was none other than one Ronald Weasley. What on Earth had he ever seen in the guy? He was one of the most annoying things in the world, in the top five at least. They had been like this during every practice but Harry hadn't expected their idiocy to continue during the match!

"Listen here you lot!" he said, "Can't we at least try and get along so we won't lose against Slytherin?"

There was no answer and they were still ignoring him.

"Ron," Harry sneered at the cause of his current problems, "kindly stop stirring up trouble unless you would like to get kicked off the team."

"You can't do that!" Ron cried, and the other players backed him up.

"I'm the captain. Of course I can."

"I'll go to McGonagall," the redhead threatened.

"Do that," Harry said nonchalantly, "then you can explain exactly why it happened. McGonagall doesn't want to lose any more than I do, especially not to Slytherin. Snape would be gloating about it for weeks."

A muffled remark came from one of the slayers, sounding suspiciously like, "Slimy git." Harry was offended, he was most certainly not slimy, that was Snape's territory. And he didn't have to put up with it thank Merlin.

"Five points from Gryffindor for that comment Finnigan." he said pleasantly, feeling slightly vindictive.

"What?!" six voices shouted.

"That's your own house you prat!" Dean cried.

"Yeah, but I wasn't the one doing the insulting so blame Finnigan."

"And to think I used to like you," Ron muttered. Harry's supernatural hearing had no problem catching it.

"Got something to say Weasel? 'Cause if you do you'd better hurry. The match starts in five minutes."

Ron glared at him, clutching his battered broom so tightly that his knuckles were white. "I said I don't know why I ever liked you. You're worse than a Slytherin and a complete prat, who likes to flaunt his fame and money! You're not anything like you should be."

Harry's eyebrow raised a notch, "And what exactly should I be?"

"You were supposed to be a bloody hero! The person who defeated the Dark Lord! But you're just an arrogant brownnosing moron!"

"Supposed to be a hero? And who exactly decided that?!" Harry scoffed.

"Everybody did!"

"Not me. I didn't ask for any of it. You should know that Weasel. And I plan on having no part in the coming war. It's not my problem."

"But you're the Boy-Who-Lived! You're destined to defeat You-Know-Who! You can't just sit back and do nothing! See? I'm right, you're just a cowardly Death Eater."

Harry's eyes flashed a fiery emerald as he stood up, "So eager for me to die Weasley?" he sneered and took some fleeting satisfaction in his shocked expression. In his and everybody else at Hogwarts opinions' Harry Potter never complained about being the Boy-Who-Lived. Not once had he ever done so and so it came as one hell of a surprise now. "Where does it say that I have to be the one to fight him? Where's it written? Huh?"

Ron looked away, not able to stand looking his in the eye when he was like this. Harry felt like shaking him, what did he know? He was the goddamn Slayer! He was supposed to give his life to save the world and they were ragging on about him not doing enough! Well to hell with them! "What do you know Weasley? You've never had to go up against Voldemort! You can't even say his name! Who are you to judge me you hypocrite!"

Ron ignored the logic in Harry's words and focused on the ones that said he was a coward. He opened his mouth to start a blustering tirade, fitting to his level of anger but Harry cut him off. "The match is going to start. Get your brooms and then get your asses out to the pitch."

With that he stalked off, broom in hand towards the entrance to the pitch. Ron stared at his retreating back for a minute until he was sure he was gone and then he turned back to the rest of the team. "That git doesn't deserve to be captain!" he snarled, "He shouldn't even be in Gryffindor, let alone on the team! I have something in mind that will teach him a lesson. Come here!" he called, gesturing for the team to form a huddle. He quickly outlined his plans and secured agreement from the others before the team left the locker room.

The announcer, a Ravenclaw this year, called out the teams. Harry hovered on his broom, ready to fly out upon hearing his name. The commentator finished with the Slytherin team and called out, "Now here comes the Gryffindor Quidditch team, winners of last year's Quidditch cup. Captain Potter, Finnigan, Thomas, Creevey, Ashford, Weasley and Weasley!"

They flew out to the cheering of their house and the booing from the Slytherins. Harry felt the wind whip through his hair and took a deep breath, doing a small loop and revelling in the feeling of being in the air. He went over to Madame Hooch and reluctantly shook hands with the Slytherin captain, Draco Malfoy. Madame Hooch let out the snitch and released the bludgers before scooping up the Quaffle and throwing it into the sky. The match had begun.

The Slytherin Keeper proved to be more of a problem than expected and few goals were getting through. There was no sign of the snitch and Malfoy seemed to be content to follow Harry around the pitch. His senses gave him a warning and he rolled to the right, avoiding the Bludger looking to take off his head. He shouted at the Beaters to pay more attention and resumed looking for the snitch.

Two minutes later, another Bludger was inbound and he was forced to dodge out of the way again. Tracking its trajectory he traced it back to Seamus Finnigan. He cursed viciously, that was one beater intent on hitting him and friend Marcus Ashford would probably go along with him. That meant that he had four Beaters trying to knock him off his broom. Oh, he just had all the luck, didn't he?!

The next few minutes were spent dodging Bludgers and the occasional swipe from a Beater's bat. He had to perform some fancy aerodynamics to shake them but they kept coming back. And the Gryffindor Chasers still hadn't found an effective way past the Slytherin Keeper. Of course, they were obviously in on this little plot since they were turning a blind eye to it. The stands were going wild as some people realised what was going on and spread the word.

He tried yelling at his team but they were completely ignoring him. He felt a nasty headache creeping up on him; they were so going to pay for this. He'd make sure of it. He only needed one chance to guess the ringleader, the new thorn in his side that went by the name of Weasel. Harry was being made a fool out of up here and he wasn't going to stand for it any longer. If his team felt they could play without him, then he'd just have to get creative. And the more it hurt them the better.

Carefully positioning himself, he stooped to taunting the Slytherin and Gryffindor Beaters, trying to get them riled up. He certainly succeeded. As he'd hoped they both shot Bludgers at him. He dived down steeply and smirked when he heard a rather loud thud and two yells of pain. After missing him, the Bludgers had gone on to hit Seamus and one of the Slytherin Beaters called Adrian Berkenbridge.

Below in the stands Minerva McGonagall was in a fury. What did the boy think he was doing?! If he kept this up they were going to lose the match! To Slytherin! Oh, when she got her hands on him...

After two hours of waiting for a glimpse of the snitch, Harry was bored, frustrated and seething. He had lost count of the number of times people had tried to ram into him, 'accidentally' fly into him, conveniently dropped their bats on him and he'd been chased by Bludgers. Was it any wonder he was contemplating murder?

To top it all off, there hadn't even been one sign of that blasted golden ball and Malfoy seemed to be taking great enjoyment out of the Gryffindor team's antics. Fed up, he glanced at the darkening sky and thought about how much he would like to wallop Ron over the head with his broom, or perhaps a boulder. Both were appealing.

 A glimpse of gold in the corner of his eye had him diving before Malfoy had even registered what was happening. The snitch was hovering near the ground, beside the Slytherin hoops and he wasn't going to miss this opportunity. He was aware of Malfoy following him but knew he wouldn't be able to catch up in time. Once it was in reach, he stretched out his arm and grasped it in a lightning fast motion. He held his hand up in the air, feeling its wings fluttering in vain inside his closed fist.

Madame Hooch blew her whistle and announced a Gryffindor victory. The Slytherins glared daggers at him and his own teammates looked disappointed that he was still in one piece.

Descending to the ground, he stormed over to the exuberant winners. "What was the meaning of that debacle?!" he yelled at them and silence fell across the field.

Some looked slightly nervous – Creevey – while others looked smug – Weasley. He felt his blood begin to boil and gave them his best glower. Some visibly shivered.

"I cannot believe that you aimed your Bludgers at me! Like it or not I am a part of this team and captain. I deserve some respect. You could have lost us the match! You could have seriously hurt me!"

"So?" Ron asked, "Really, I think it's a shame that you didn't get hit."

Harry's lips tightened into a thin line and he couldn't be bothered to restrain himself. His clenched fist made contact with Ron's jaw and the loudmouthed redhead fell to the ground, out cold. Harry had to keep from smiling. Instead he decided to vent on the rest of his team mates. "I thought Gryffindor was supposed to be known for its loyalty. How in the world did you lot get sorted into it?!" he bellowed. "I've had an enough! I do not have to put up with your stupidity! Find yourself another Seeker! I QUIT!!!!"

He strode off the pitch, leaving behind an unconscious Ron, a stunned crowd and an absolutely astounded Quidditch team. McGonagall tried to waylay him but backed off after seeing the dark look on his face.

~*~*~*~**~*~***~*~*~*~**~**~*~*

The next evening the Duelling tournament officially opened. Unfortunately, Harry hadn't been called for the first round so he was there strictly in the role of an observer. Well, he supposed it was a good way to size up the competition. But then again what competition? He was stronger than they were, all it would take was one good punch and lights out for whoever.

The duels were fairly tame, mainly by the book affairs involving the younger years. Obviously Dumbledore was waiting to call the elder students who had more power and skill than their younger counterparts.

Harry was sorely disappointed that he wasn't in it. His temper had been brewing for ages now and he'd been looking forward to a way of relieving his anger on some unlucky opponents - victims. He was so frustrated here that it was unbelievable. The slayer in him was itching for a fight but he couldn't get out of the bloody castle to have one! He'd had a whole bunch of nasty spells ready and all!

Generally speaking, the tournament wasn't that spectacular and everybody was looking forward to more capable duellers in the future. It would get beyond boring to keep watching duels with no heat in them. The second round was to be held on the following Sunday and should prove to be more exciting. Hopefully, at least.

~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Life was colossally unfair. That was the major thought running through Harry's head on Monday morning. Did he have to be a prime example of Murphy's Law – everything that can go wrong will go wrong? Had he killed or annoyed a Murphy in a past life or something?

He was sitting – well, more like slouching – in a chair in the Headmaster's office, sullenly glaring at his lap. He had to look down since he most certainly didn't want to look at the office's other occupants, who were none other than Dumbledore, McGonagall – and worst of all – Cornelius Fudge and a few of his lackeys disguised as aurors.

The bumbling moron that passed for the Minister of Magic had already paid him several of these 'visits'. The man was convinced that Harry was evil with a capital 'e'. And the fact that he could conveniently blame everything Voldemort did on Harry, the Dark Lord's supposed ally had absolutely nothing to do with it.

On his last trip to Hogwarts – after Voldemort's break in, he'd interrogated Harry, positive that he'd helped He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was such a pity that Voldemort hadn't killed Fudge already but he felt that having a complete idiot as Minister would only help him and so Fudge lived on. Primarily to annoy Harry. Why oh why couldn't the man just leave him alone? He was so fed up with it at this stage.

The two aurors accompanying the Minister glared daggers at him, trying to be intimidating.

It wasn't working.

Harry's fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the arm of the chair as he studiously ignored the five pairs of eyes watching him like hawks. "Can we just get on with it already?" he snapped irritably.

The aurors scowled at him, hands on their wands. They probably wanted to hex him, Harry thought, after all he was the 'mentally disturbed, brain damaged Death Eater' according to the papers, and more specifically Rita Skeeter.

Fudge started blathering about pressing charges, expulsion, Azkaban and a load of other equally pleasant things. Harry tuned him out, threats didn't work with him.

"Well?! What do you have to say for yourself?!" Fudge exclaimed.

Harry looked up, blinked several times, "What do I have to say for myself? Hmmm, such a difficult question... I know!" he said dryly, tapping a finger against his chin, "How about go back to the Ministry offices, return to being an ostrich and leave me alone?"

That set Fudge off on another rant. The man had quite the set of lungs. "Impossible! Totally impossible! You can't get any good out of him!"

Harry's lip curled into a little smirk, one of his favourite new expressions at this.

"Be warned boy! You're one step away from Azkaban!" Fudge continued.

Harry yawned pointedly, "Are you finished yet? We've been here..." he paused to look at his watch, "an hour. Isn't that a long enough time to torture me with your esteemed company?"

Red really didn't suit Fudge's complexion, it made him look rather like Uncle Vernon in Harry's opinion. Focusing on what Willow Rosenberg, Sunnydale's most powerful witch, had taught him, he began weaving a subtle wandless wiccan spell. Locking his eyes onto Fudge's beady ones, he implanted a dew ideas into the dim-witted Minister's subconscious. Namely the desire to avoid Harry as much as possible and to keep him from specifically looking for ways to press charges against him.

It was somewhat like the Imperius curse in the way it controlled people, except the victim still had free will. He thought for himself, but unknowingly responded to the implanted commands. If Fudge stepped out of line, Harry would be warned, which was nice. But his favourite aspect of the spell was that it was completely undetectable and unheard of in the Wizarding world. Though he'd have to make sure Rayne didn't see him doing anything like this. He most certainly did not want to give the wizard any blackmail material.

~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~

That evening, Harry was hiding out in his room, practically buried under a large pile of books. Due to a stroke of luck, he had come across some of Voldemort's, or as he was back then – Tom Riddle. They dealt with the steps he had taken to ensure his immortality, that much he could make out. Steps that Harry was very interested in.

The catch was that Riddle had written it in the Basque language or Euskara to give it its proper name and it was in code as well. The Basque region was famous for its witchcraft and Dark Arts. Rumour had it that it had arisen from the ruins of the Carthaginian Empire. Situated in the Pyrenees – the mountains separating Spain and France, Riddle must have studied and/or went through some of his transformations into Voldemort there.

Harry didn't know a word of Basque and the information on it was extremely scarce so the deciphering of the notes was going very, very slowly. He didn't know how long it would take him to crack it but he was sure that there was important information here, or at the very least some blackmail material and much needed leverage – for either Voldemort or Dumbledore. His gut instinct was telling him this find was important and he had always trusted his instincts, even more so now that he was the Slayer. That was one of the first things Buffy had taught him when she trained him. All he need was time.

~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~

Harry had had a very interesting day. He'd had Divination in the afternoon but had lost his temper after fifteen minutes and blown up at Trelawney. After he'd finished yelling he'd left. Idly, he wondered how many points Gryffindor had lost because of that incident. It really didn't matter since he was persona non grata in Gryffindor house after quitting the Quidditch team. Gryffindor had no seekers that could match Harry's skill and they were desperately trying to find a replacement. Unsuccessfully, he could add. He'd gone down to the lake to relax and had ended up having a nice conversation with a nearby garden snake.

That snake had not only been chatty but it had given him some significant information. According to the small serpent, the centaurs were in uproar over something, most likely the recent sighting in the stars, whatever that was.

Since Harry had missed them on his last excursion to the Forest, he'd decided it was an ideal time to go search for them. If he was lucky, they'd let slip some information. Leaving the castle had been risky but he had conjured an illusion of himself, making it look like he was asleep in bed. Hopefully that would allay any suspicion or else he'd be in a whole new world of trouble.

A nifty little location spell, also courtesy of Willow led him to the centaurs' stronghold. He crept up on them stealthily, no need to alert them of his presence when he could eavesdrop instead. Bane and Firenze were yet again arguing. Had they nothing better to do?

"They should be warned!" Firenze cried.

"We do not interfere with the lives of humans! The secrets of the stars are not meant for them!"

"Lives could be lost!"

"As long as they're not ours. Must you be so weak! You lack the proper pride in your race!"

"And the stuffiness," Firenze muttered under his breath. Harry's lips twitched at the comment. He had to agree with the younger centaur about that. His attention was drawn back to the conversation by the mention of his name.

"And you helped the Potter boy despite our express orders not to! His fate was already sealed!"

"If it was sealed then obviously I did not change it, did I?"

Bane kicked with his hooves in aggravation and was about to retort when a female centaur butted in, "Enough! You two bicker like foals! Besides we have a visitor over there by the trees," she said sternly, pointing at Harry's hiding place.

Harry's eyes narrowed, how had she known? She was definitely one to watch. Slowly, he straightened up and came out from behind the bushes. "Hi!" he greeted cheerily.

"Harry Potter," Firenze said, "Should you not be in the castle?"

"Nah," Harry answered with a casual gesture, "I'm only here to do my job. Though your conversation was most interesting. Until you stopped that is."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm the Slayer. I'm here to lay down the ground rules."

The poor centaurs were speechless, they hadn't seen that one coming. "Ground rules?" Bane sputtered, "How dare you?!"

"It's my job to keep the peace," Harry said lazily, "I've already gone round to everybody and everything else in the forest. Basically you agree to stay neutral and not wreak havoc and I leave you guys alone. Not too bad a request I should think."

"We are neutral anyway Harry Potter," the female intoned.

"Yeah, well I had to make sure. Now a little birdie told me that you had some knowledge of some things to come. I suppose you wouldn't share?"

"You're right. We wouldn't." Bane told him.

"Then I guess I'll go. Remember – stick to your part of the bargain and I'll stick to mine."

He disappeared into the thick foliage, returning to Hogwarts. The three centaurs looked at each other, an unspoken communication passing between them. Tough times were ahead for young Harry Potter.

~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~

A few days later, tensions were high. A lot of the students were quite high strung, as the Magical Aptitude Tests were due back. There had also been a few run-ins between Ron and Harry, the latter displaying a vicious temper as of late.

In the middle of breakfast, their respective heads of House began handing out envelopes. Hermione nearly passed out from anticipation at the Gryffindor table. The results were here. Harry took his wordlessly, not wanting to get into another war of words with McGonagall and especially not so early in the day.

Ripping it open, he pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside and unfolded it. Eyes bugging out, he choked on his pumpkin juice, sending him into a coughing fit. His eyes had to be deceiving him, this couldn't be true. He read it again and the writing didn't change. Oh. Shit.

Written across the page in precise black lettering was the following,

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to announce the results of your Magical Aptitude Test. You scored six hundred. This is an extremely impressive figure and one of the highest recorded in our archives. Congratulations on your success.

Yours sincerely,

Muriel Longbourn,

Department of Magical Research.

He was doomed. Doomed. There was no way in hell that Dumbledore wouldn't hear of this. This was going to make things quite difficult for a while, very difficult. The headmaster was like a bloodhound, except he hunted power. Worse still, the only reason the Ministry probably even gave this test was to see who to keep an eye on and who to try and recruit.

He knew he should have deliberately tried to flunk it! He barely resisted the urge to bang his head off the table, totally oblivious to the excited chatter around him as the student body compared results.

~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~

Students and teachers alike flattened themselves against the wall as he stalked by; most had their wands in hand and were either terrified, glaring at his with loathing or a combination of the two. He really was going to kill Ronald Weasley for putting his in this position.

That little prat had somehow managed to see his result and had promptly spread it throughout the entire school, heavily embellished with the rumours of his dark ways. No, nearly everyone was tripping over themselves to stay away from him and he knew that more than a few students had written home to their parents to complain.

But he was getting ahead of himself, first came some revenge, involving some serious hexing on a certain redheaded Gryffindor blabbermouth. Cornering some third years, he managed to conclude that Ron was having dinner, despite their stuttering. Changing direction, he went after his target with all the single-mindedness of a predator.

~*~*~*~**~*~***~*~*~*~**~**~*~*

Unbeknownst to Harry, Malfoy had been slipping him some potion from Voldemort for the last while, building it up in the raven-haired boy's bloodstream and when the blonde Slytherin saw Harry come into the Great Hall, he felt that those potions were about to cause a whole lot of damage. And he most definitely did not want to be around when it happened. Mount Potter was about to explode and like his Lord had warned him to do, he avoided Potter and fled the hall.

Harry felt his magic and inner darkness taking over in the face of his blinding rage when he saw Ron. The moron was telling yet another false story about him, claming that Harry had really set the Basilisk on Colin Creevey, Hermione and the others in his second year.

Harry seethed inwardly, trying to keep his magical temper under control; it wouldn't do for him to kill someone because of it. Unfortunately, a particularly vicious remark caused his control to snap and he lost control completely. Eyes changing to a luminous green, - the colour of Avada Kedavra – he acted on pure fury, instead of cunning as he used to.

Ron shot out of his chair, flying up and around the room and spinning like a speeding snitch. Harry brought him to hover in front of him and then smiled evilly, "Got something to say Weasel?" he asked.

Ron looked terrified, and slightly nauseous from the spin and didn't reply. The two boys had the attention of everyone in the hall and Dumbledore had jumped up from his seat in response to the threat.

In his seat at the High Table, Severus Snape looked on in horror. What was wrong with Harry? It wasn't like him to lose control like this, especially in front of witnesses. He looked... wild, out of control and completely unhinged. Dumbledore was practically salivating at the show of power; he could see it, even as the old man cautiously approached the young enraged wizard. Severus knew that if Albus failed, then he himself would have to calm Harry down, but only as a last resort. It would result in too many tricky questions that he couldn't answer.

But Albus wouldn't go easy on Harry, and the old coot's plans would be put into action. Harry was going to kill the headmaster once he found out, assuming that he still could after the spell. But now wasn't the time to be dwelling on this, he had to keep an eye on the boy standing in the middle of the hall.

Albus fired a stunning curse, followed by a flurry of conjured ropes but Harry blocked the stunner and let the ropes hit Ron instead of him. Turning around to face the headmaster, he stared at him with eyes devoid of any colour except that particular shade of green. "Get lost Dumbledore, unless you want to end up as worm food."

Albus ignored the remark and tried to talk him down, "Be reasonable Harry. Put Mr Weasley down."

"I don't think so. But perhaps you can go down yourself." With that he fired a volley of curses at Dumbledore, sans wand. The headmaster barely managed to lock them and soon both were engaged in a fast and furious duel, Harry using Ron as a handy shield when he felt like it.

Soon it became clear that Harry had the upper hand and Dumbledore decided to take drastic measures to ensure his victory. Calling up his energy reserves, he harnessed all the magic he could and making sure he didn't outwardly speak it, he concentrated on the spell word. Crucio!

Harry couldn't dodge it as he was blocking another volley of spells from some of the other teachers who'd joined in and it hit him in his chest. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and his head snapped back, his entire body becoming taut and rigid. Oh Merlin, he thought, he hadn't! but now the pain of the Cruciatus curse was overtaking his senses, a very powerful Cruciatus curse indeed. But he was the Slayer and he always had some line of defence...

The power of the spell ripped through his body and the last bit of his control was overridden. He felt the power surging to the surface, the dark, destructive magic hidden in his very core being released at last...

And there was a sudden explosion as the ceiling of the Great Hall blew up with a tremendous boom of such force that it sent tremors through the castle's foundations and screams filled the air as tonnes of rubble and debris fell towards the mass of students and teachers...

~*~*~*~**~*~***~*~*~*~**~**~*~*

A/N: My first cliffhanger! Yay me! All the information on the Basque region is true and documented. Interesting place, huh? PLEASE REVIEW!!!

Asha