Here it is, the third chapter (the longest so far), in which Wesley 'enjoys' some bonding time with his parents and Percy faces his mother. Hope you like it.

Mikhyel: You can keep on singing, as here it is the following chapter! I hope you like this one as well.

JMM: It's true that Percy might be too hard on himself, and it's also true that what happened between him and his family can't be entirely his fault. However, there's never been any sign of Mr and Mrs Weasley being hurtful to him (at least from what JK has said so far) or at least not hurtful enough to provoke Percy's mean attitude (that, of course, if we can completely trust in Ron's retelling of what he said). His brothers are other story, though. Keep reading: the Weasleys might give you a surprise.


Chapter Three:

'How can I try to explain

When I do he turns away again

It's always been the same

Same old story;

From the moment I could talk

I was ordered to listen

Now there's a way and I know

That I have to go away

I know I have to go'

'Father and Son', by Cat Stevens

Lunch, Wesley was certain, was going to end up in disaster. How could he tell? Easy. His father had been silent for the most part of the morning, letting his wife to take care of the conversation, and the rest of it he'd made polite comments. Extremely polite comments.

In any other person, such behaviour would have showed an attempt to be civil. Wesley knew his father too well to fall for that.

His father was like a tiger waiting for the right moment to attack, his politeness was only a way to distract him and catch him out of guard. Wesley remembered the politeness his father had used to force him to get locked under the stairs for hours, the sarcastically poilite tone he always used to humiliate him in front of other people, the mockingly courteous way he'd told him once and again that he was a failure... Definately Wesley had had enough of his father's politeness by now.

They were having lunch in the drawing room, a large and rather somber room, with heavy curtains blocking the sunlight and casting long shadows upon them. They were sitting at a long, wooden table made at least for twelve people, when they were only three. Wesley couldn't see any logic in this. Before, they had always had meals at a smaller room next to the kitchen, where there was a table for four. The drawing room had only been used for guests and people who didn't belong to the family. Wesley wondered whether his parents were trying to honor him or to tell him he no longer was a part of the family.

The conversation was led mostly by his mother. She seemed very curious about Los Angeles, and particularly Hollywood (when she'd been young, she'd adored Judy Garland's movies). But as Wesley couldn't tell her many things about LA that didn't relate to demons or Apocalypsys (except for some stories from the time he'd dated Virginia) soon they worn out the subject. However, that wasn't a problem for his mother, who began telling stories about the university where she worked as a (predictably) History teacher. Now he came to think of it, his mother's love for History had been the reason his parents had first met: in a library, both of them looking for the same old volume of prophecies. Of course, Ellen Reynolds, the daughter of a pragmatic military officer killed when she was fifteen, hadn't believed that any of the prophecies could be true. She'd been just curious about the nonsense people used to believe in ancient times and was writing a thesis about it. Roger Wyndam-Pryce, on the other hand, was on one of his first assigments for the Council, and at first he hadn't been exactly thrilled when he'd found out that some girl had taken the precious book away from him. That until he saw the girl in question. Wesley doubted it had been love at first sight (he could hardly see any of his parents, especially his father, being possessed by a fierce, unrational emotion) but somehow they'd started dating...and the rest of the story was pretty obvious.

Wesley listened to his mother, an attentive look on his face, and every now and then he asked something or made an appropriate comment, altough she didn't need any encouragement to keep talking. She cheerfully told them about her students, her plans for her lessons, and also bits of gossip about some of the colleagues they knew.

'Professor Hannigan's daughter-in-law is pregnant. You don't have an idea of how happy she is to be a grandmother' She cast him a calculating look. 'I wouldn't mind to be a grandmother, you know'.

Horrified, Wesley realised that the next question would be about his sentimental status (which it was so not the subject he'd have liked to discuss with his parents) and his horror did nothing but increase when he remembered how much she loved to play matchmaker. With a shudder, he remembered when she'd set him up with an insipid girl, who was one of her friends' daughters. He so did not want to think about it now. Thankfully, it was probable that most of her friends' daughters were already married... or divorced. He begged the latter wasn't the case.

To his surprise, his father looked up, apparently interested in the subject. 'I'd like a grandson, too'.

This was getting definately eerie. Soon it would be plainly scary.

'I can't say I'm planning to have a child anytime soon', he stated, hoping this would stop the conversation. His mother looked somewhat disappointed, but hastened to add:

'Well, nowadays people have children at an older age than they used too, it's very common. And I guess that you don't have much time for socializing with your line of work'.

Until then, his mother had carefully avoided the subject of his job. Probably to prevent her husband to ask awkward questions or make snide comments... but now it was too late.

'So, how is everything going at the Slayer's college?'

Wesley did his best to ignore the sarcasm underlying the comment. 'We call it a school. And it's going rather well'.

It became obvious that his father wouldn't have enough with such an elusive answer. Finally the subject he was interested in had been brought up, and he wasn't going to give up that easily.

'Who is training the girls?'

'Well, we have some Watchers that survived the First's attack, plus Giles and Wood' At his father's raised eyebrow, he specified 'Robin Wood was the Slayer Nicki Wood's son. He was raised by her Watcher, and he has experience with teenagers, as he used to be a secondary school headmaster'.

'Really? How interesting. Are there some secondary school teachers as well?'

The sarcasm of his voice wasn't lost in Wesley, but he ignored it. 'Actually, yes. They take care of the non-Slayage studies'.

'Non-Slayage studies?'

'The girls can finish their secondary school studies if they want to'.

Roger Wyndam-Pryce's face was unreadable. 'I see. Who is in charge?'

'Giles and Wood act as Headmaster and Deputy Headmaster of the school. I'm in charge of all the non-teaching related affairs, like registering where other Slayers are and keeping the local demoniac population down'.

His father ignored the reference to himself (when hadn't he?) and instead, he focused his attention in the first bit of information.

'Ripper and a school teacher are in charge?' This time he didn't try to hide his contempt. 'Tell me, are those civilians... no, wait, that's not what they're called... oh, yeah, those friends of Sunnydale's Slayer still around? Do they train the girls, too?'

'No' Wesley replied, forcing himself to sound polite. 'They're looking for more Slayers in several continents, along with Buffy and Spike'.

At once, he regretted mentioning Spike's name when he saw a sneer forming on the older man's face.

'Oh, yes. Spike. One of her vampire lovers. How many has she got, apart from the one who used to be your boss?' Before Wesley could reply, he continued 'Now they're supposed to be good, though. With a human soul and everything. But I still remember when William the Bloody drained two of my colleagues without a second thought.'

His wife scowled. 'Can't you change the subject? We're eating lunch, remember?'

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce smiled fondly at his wife. 'Sorry, dear. I'll try not to get so specific'.

Wesley hoped that his father would leave the subject alone, but that was too much to ask.

'So, the rogue Slayer, that Faith, isn't working with you?'

Wesley choked and began to coff, his eyes watering. The Council had left Faith alone while she was in jail, but when she escaped they feared she'd gone wild again. Nothing that Giles'd said changed their decision of putting an end to the rogue Slayer's life (especially now that they had so many other Slayers at hand), so Giles had lied to them and said that she was on the run. Obviously, her work at the Slayer's school had to be kept a secret.

'Of course not, father. She's run away. None of us knows where she's gone'.

His father looked skeptical, but for once he didn't push the subject. Instead he said:

'I still cannot believe how come the Council has trusted Rupert Giles with this task, let alone give him almost unlimited funds for it'.

Wesley mentally counted to ten.

'Maybe because he saved the day in Sunnydale several times, and was there when the spell that'd turned all the Potentials into Slayers was performed.'

His father snorted. 'That was the most senseless thing I've ever heard, to let an amateur Wiccan witch perform a spell like that, with no consideration for the ways it could affect the Slayer line at all...'

It was fortunate that Maggie chose that moment to retrieve the dishes, and his mother rose from her chair, indicating them to do the same.

Now that lunch was over, it was the right time to announce his departure and get away from there before things got out of hand with his father, but he hadn't the chance. As he started to say that perhaps he should get going, his mother had grabbed him by the arm and asked to stay until tea time with a hopeful sparkle in her eyes. And in an unforgivable moment of weakness, Wesley promised he would, completely against his better judgement.


In the afternath of the events at the Ministry of Magic that revealed the Dark Lord had really returned, Percy had pictured many times a reunion with his parents, and how he should apology for all the awful stuff he'd done. He'd made up long and short speechs, he'd pondered which tone of voice he should use and how he would address them, and he'd learnt it all by heart.

Now that the time had came, though, Percy found himself speechless. He had no idea of what to say to the woman in front of him, a woman that had always taken care of him and got an ungrateful brat as reward. All his speechs were forgotten, all the possibilities had disappeared. He just stood there, still as a rock, unable to make a sound.

Soon he realised that it didn't matter much, as Molly Weasley had never been one of those that stay still for long, no matter the fierceness of her emotions.

Letting out a squeak, that miracously wasn't heard in the entire inn, she jumped from her seat and wrapped her arms around him, starting to sob on his should. Unsure of what to do at first, Percy proceeded to put his arms around her as well, and gave her a couple of unsure pats on the shoulder.

'Oh, P-Percy, I'm s-so happy to see you again...'

She was holding him so tightly that he had almost no air left in his lungs. The vampire that had tried to strangle him had had a gentler touch.

But he was happy, though. Well, as happy as he could be with his mother sobbing endlessly on his shoulder and nearly strangling him. He'd forgotten how comforting one of his mother's hugs could be, and how warm it felt. Percy'd felt nothing but numb coldness since he'd gone from the Burrow, and especially after Penelope'd dumped him. Astounded, he realised that he hadn't been hugged or had hugged anybody since then. How terryfingly cold his life had turned into.

Finally, she realeased him. 'You must think I'm an old fool'.

A lifetime ago, Percy had felt embarassed at his mother's displays of affection, particularly in public. What an idiot he used to be.

'I don't think so, Mum. You know that'.

He wished she did know that, but he'd said so many awful things last time they'd seen each other...

Percy remembered it well: she'd gone to London, trying to convince him to go back to the Burrow. Although he was secretly glad to see his mother, he stiffly asked whether his father was ready to apologize over his lack of confidence in Percy's promotion, and whether he'd changed his opinion about all that nonsense of the Dark Lord coming back. His mother, uncomfortable, had admitted that wasn't the case, but she'd felt sure that if he went back he and his father would be able to sort thing out. Percy had felt indignant. How couldn't his father regret all the awful things he'd said? And how couldn't he see the error of his ways? But what bothered Percy the most was that his mother seemed to imply that he was the one who had to apologize, when it was his father who got it wrong! Sure, he'd said a good amount of nasty things in the heat of the moment, but that still did not change the fact that Percy was right, not him. No, he wouldn't return to the Burrow unless his father apologized first. And, besides, he was quite glad to live in a place of his own, after having to share everything with his brothers (and tolerate their childish behaviour) for his entire life. No, he was quite comfortable where he was, thank you very much.

He'd told his mother that, in an affected and pompous tone that had probably hurt her much more than his actual words. Percy'd seen her hurt expression, but he'd ignored it. It was obvious that she'd sided with her husband, and if she didn't realise how wrong she was then he could do nothing. He'd practically slammed the door on her face, right after he'd implied she would not be welcomed again unless she came to apologize. Now Percy wanted to hit his head against the wall for his stupidity and his heartlessness.

They sat down, his mother's hand never letting go his, as if she were afraid he'd vanish into thin air. The way she looked at him, with all the love and affection a mother could show, in spite of the terrible way he'd treated her, broke Percy's heart and made him feel even guiltier.

'I'm so happy to see you, dear' His mother repeated, her eyes never leaving his. He would have liked to look down, but he refrained the impulse. He couldn't be such a coward. 'It's been so long. But you look so thin! Have you been eating at all?'

It was so bizarre to see her fussing over him just like she'd always done when he returned from Hogwarts. It seemed as though no time had passed since then.

He reassured his mother, telling her that he was eating more than enough, and that his skinny complexion was caused by his metabolism, not by the lack of food.

'And have you been sleeping well? You look tired, dear. Are you working too hard?'

The situation was getting more and more bizarre by the minute. Wasn't she supposed to be cold, while he stuttered an apology? Was she supposed to worry about his welfare, when he'd cared so little about hers?

'I assure you, Mum, that I'm not working that much and that I sleep all the hours I need. You don't have to worry about that'.

However, his mother didn't look calmer.

'Oh, I'm fussing over you again, right? As if you were a little child and couldn't take care of yourself, when you've been living on your own all this time! I'm sorry, Percy, I shouldn't act like this.'

An apology was the last thing he'd expected to hear from his mother, and it turned out to be more than he could take in.

'Mum, you don't have to apology for anything. I'm' Percy took a deep breath 'I'm the one who should be apologizing, after the way I treated you and Dad last year. No, Mum, please don't interrupt me' He said, when she began to shook her head and opened her mouth. 'I treated you awfully for no reason. You've always taken care of me, and in exchange I behaved like a senseless git. I'm the one who's supposed to be sorry. And I am. Mum, please believe me that I am'

To his horror, his voice cracked and he felt a knot strangling his throat with more force than a dozen vampires. His eyes began to water and he had to look down, too ashamed to face his mother. 'You should hate me', he whispered, dangerously close to tears, 'not worry about me'.

He caught a glimpse of his mother's lips curving into a smile.

'How could I hate you, silly? You're one of the most precious things in the world to me. I love you, Percy. Nothing can change that'.

He felt her hand caressing his hair gently, like when he'd been a small kid. Now Percy was almost on the verge of tears, much to his embarassment. What would the twins say if they could see him like that?

Several minutes passed, without either of them saying a word. It wasn't necessary. Percy took several long, deep breaths in order to calm himself down. When the knot released his throat enough so he could breath again and his eyes weren't wet anymore, he dared to look up, only to see his mother's loving smile.

'I brought you the sweater, look' She took the grey jumper and handed it to him. The tears threatened to come back.

'Mum, you didn't need to... I mean, about the sweater...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sent it back the way I did, I'm sure it hurt you and...'

'Shh, shh' she cut him in, rubbing his hand. 'Don't worry about it, sweetie.'

'But I do!', he protested. 'You've been the best mother in the world, and I was such an ungrateful brat. I...I'm afraid I'm a terrible son'.

She shook her head. 'No, you aren't. You were always such a good boy, you know? I think that you never gave me any trouble, always so kind and polite with everyone. Not even Bill and Charlie were so well-behaved. And I was so proud of how well you did at school'.

'Yeah, but then I turned out to be a complete git, didn't I?'

'Of course not. After all, your father and I had taught you to stand up for your beliefs. It wasn't your fault if they weren't the same beliefs we had.'

Percy looked at her in disbelief. 'But all the awful stuff I said...'

'Percy, it's a known fact that Weasleys have an awful temper. We always say things that we don't truly mean. After all, how many times have your heard me swear I'd murder the twins?'

He smiled a little in spite of himself, and she smiled back.

'Percy, all the things we've said don't matter now. All that matters is that we love you. Never forget that'.

They said nothing for a while, each one too absorbed in their own thoughts. Suddenly, his mother said:

'Did you know Ginny has a boyfriend?'

Percy jumped on his seat.

'What!'

'Oh, yeah, he's one of Ron's classmates, Dean Thomas. He's really nice, and he's a muggleborn, so your father was very excited when we met his parents last summer. And Ron's doing great in the Quidditch Team, and also as a prefect...'

His mother filled him in with all the latest news from his family. Percy was shocked to see how many things could happen in such a short amount of time. Charlie had been promoted, Bill was dating a French girl, the twins were renting a flat in London and apparently they were doing great with the joke-shop...

'Tell me a little about you, now'.

Percy told her he'd moved in with Oliver Wood and a muggle friend from work. Then he'd hurried to assure her that his job consisted mostly in paperwork, and that he wasn't in any danger. He was sorry to lie to her, but he thought it'd be for the best. Already too many of her children had dangerous careers.

'You dad told me he'd seen you at work, with Dumbledore's friends' At the mention of his father, Percy fell silent. It hadn't gone unnoticed his absence. Sensing this, his mother hurried to add: 'You know he'd wanted to see you. He was so sorry he couldn't make it...'

They both knew it was a blatant lie, but in this very right moment Percy didn't want to think of the reasons his father refused to see him. Instead, he kept asking his mother about his brothers, feeling terribly homesick as he did so. The last time he'd been living with them, he'd done all he could to avoid them and he hadn't bothered to find out what was going on in their lives. Now it was a different story. Every insignificant piece of news, every tiny detail was incredibly important to him now.

He had never realised how much he'd missed them all (even the twins) and how much did he want to see them again until that moment .


Little Wesley was afraid of many, many things. First of all, he was scared to death of vampires and demons. But the probabilities of seeing a vamp or demon face to face anytime soon was remote. He knew he'd face them when he got older and became a Watcher like his dad, but then he'd be an adult and it wouldn't matter. Little Wesley was naïve enough to believe that adults were afraid of nothing, and he didn't see why he would be the exception. So he didn't care that much about vampires and demons.

There also was the fear of getting really hurt, like when he broke his arm while he was riding a new bike. That had been awful.

Then, although he knew it was kind of silly, he didn't like darkness much. Especially when his dad locked him under the stairs after he'd done something wrong, and he stayed there for what seemed ages, completely alone in the dark. And you never knew what could be lurking in the dark. No, definately Little Wesley didn't like the dark.

He was also a bit scared of big dogs, wasps, a gang of older children who always picked on him, and his Granny dying. His Granny had been sick as far as he could remember, and she always said that she'd die anytime soon. Wesley didn't want his Granny to die.

But the worst of all his fears, the greatest terror he'd ever felt, was quite mundane compared to vampires. Or at least that was what many people would have thought, but not him. For Little Wesley, the thing he feared the most was to disappoint his father and therefore, make his dad to be mad at him.

It wasn't that Mr. Wyndam-Pryce was particularly cruel or anything. Well, at least he didn't beat him up, like the father of one of his classmates did to his children. No, Father was always very fair: usually he just hit once or twice Wesley's fingers with a ruler, and only rarely he'd used the belt on him, and it hadn't hurt for long.

He did lock him under the stairs, but that was what scared Wesley the less. No, what truly terrified him was when his father called him to the library and insisted on having one of those man-to-man chats. Which were much more like lectures than real chats, as Wesley usually wasn't allowed to speak.

The kid always left the library with his legs shaking and on the verge of tears. He did not cry – at least not in front of anyone – because men didn't cry (but God, he wanted to cry so badly, he felt so much like a kid...), but he felt so badly... Father always talked about Wesley's responsabilities, and about how he had to be strong and wise or he'd make loads of mistakes, and he always said that he hoped that his son wouldn't disappoint him once more. His father always said that in such a terrible tone that the boy's legs turned into jelly and he didn't dare to look the man in the face. Wesley didn't want to disappoint his dad. But there were so many things he did wrong...

As he got older, Wesley conquered many of his fears. Now he couldn't care less about wasps and dogs, not to say he'd finished school long ago so bullies were no longer a problem, and he was even beggining to be sort of fond of darkness. As for facing vampires and demons and getting badly hurt, well, he had gained experience in both fronts.

However, the fear of making his father mad accompanied him for a longer while (Had he ever really got over it?) and lately he'd grown quite scared of long, boring lectures, especially when they were led by old Watchers. That afternoon at his parents' library seemed dangerously close to combine them both.

The tension had been going in crescendo between Mr. Wyndam-Pryce and his son since the end of the lunch. None of them had said nothing rude or snappish, but the politeness of their tones was wearing off with every passing minute, and soon their comments wouldn't be polite anymore. Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, in spite of being a rather brilliant woman, acted as if she was oblivious to the increasing tension between her husband and son, and she kept chattering cheerfully, although the men didn't look particularly cheerful.

Most unfortunately, one of Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce's colleagues called in the middle of the visit. According to Maggie, who'd answered the phone, Professor Netherfield had assured it was something extremely urgent. Barely hiding her annoyment, she excused herself and went to get the phone from her office.

When she left them alone, the silence in the room seemed to thicken until it was hard to breath. Or at least it was getting hard for Wesley: his father was eyeing the front page of a newspaper, apparently unaware of his son's presence. Or so he pretended, because as soon as he was certain his wife couldn't hear them, he said:

'She was very glad to see you. I would have been glad too if it hadn't been for the tiny detail that I had to threaten you to show up at London so you finally decided to visit your parents'.

Wesley shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'It wasn't like that'.

He raised his eyebrows. 'No? Then how was it? Because all I know is that you've been in England for months, but I've only found out because an old colleague told me she'd seen you with Rupert Giles. I mean, when were you planning to let us now about you being here?'

'I've been busy'.

'Sure, I have no doubt you've been busy. Like you used to be too busy in America to call your mother'.

Wesley straightened up in his seat. 'I did call'.

His father snorted. 'Thrice a year, including Christmas'.

'If you wanted to talk to me, you could have called yourself. It's not that expensive'.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce glared at him. There was a while when that glare would have frozen him with fear. Now, though, it only managed to irritate him. He couldn't believe, after everything that had happened between them, that he is father was reproaching him for not calling.

'And to get that vampire to answer the phone? No, thank you very much. And I guess it would be rather silly of me to say that you could have visited us in all this time. I'm aware that you didn't have a well-paid job, but...'

Now Wesley felt thoroughbly annoyed. How dared his father, after turning his back on him for years, to accuse him of neglecting his parents?

'Sorry, but I seem to recall that, when I spoke to you four years ago, you weren't dying to see me. Actually, I recall you saying "Don't you dare to come back now, boy"'

His father waved a hand, as if it were unimportant.

'Of course I said that. I didn't want you to come back to your home wailing like a small child after your failure in Sunnydale.'

Wesley paled and it took him all his might to prevent his voice from shaking with fury.

'So that was the opinion you had of me? That I would have "wailed like a small child"? Well, thank you father. It's nice to know what you think of me'.

The older man shrugged. 'Don't be such a drama queen, son. What I meant is that I thought it'd be better for you to stay a while away from here, until you'd recovered from the first blow. Give you some time to stand your own ground again'.

'Right. So you forbidded me to go go back to my house for my own good?'

His father shrugged. 'I thought – quite naïvely – that if I gave you some time you'd manage to find your own place. Little did I imagine that you'd do it by the side of a vampire'.

Wesley clenched his hands into fists, feeling a little more than annoyed now. 'I guess it doesn't matter that I did so to prevent Apocalypsys and to protect innocent people from the forces of evil, right?'

His father replied calmly: 'There are ways and ways of doing things, son'.

'Of course. But every way that's not your way is wrong, isn't it?'

A heavy, dense silence fell upon them, during which they didn't look at each other. Instead, Wesley focused his attention on the nearest bookshelf, as if he were examining the books' titles, althought in fact he was paying no attention to them. He could hear his father flipping the pages of the newspaper, but he'd got the suspicion his attention wasn't on the paper either.

The door opened, and someone entered. Both men looked up to see Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, with a tired expression on her face, sat down in her favourite armchair. She gave them a small smile, and noticed a second too late that none of them looked particularly cheerful. She seemed confused at first, then a glint of suspicion appeared in her eyes.

'Have you been quarreling or something?'

Wesley opened his mouth to answer, but his father beat him.

'Not at all, Ellen. We've been just talking over a few things'.

At those words, all the suspicion disappeared from her face to be replaced by its usual calmness. 'Oh, all right then. Do you want to hear what Professor Netherfield asked me to do...?'

Wesley stared at his mother in disbelief. The tension in the room was so thick that could be felt on the skin, and his father's words had not only been a blatant lie, but also sounded like one.

Many times over the last couple of years Wesley had wondered how come his mother had never noticed the way things truly were between him and his father. How could she, such an intelligent woman, ignore what was going on in her own house?

Now, though, he thought he might had found out the answer, as he remembered an old saying: "None so blind as those that will not see". As he watched his mother trying to ease the tension with mundane chatter, not seeing the dark glances his father and him exchanged, he realised those words described her more than he'd have liked to admit.

Suddenly he felt so tired of all the facade, so tired of pretending they were a normal, sane family. For years he'd believed all families were like his – or plainly worse – but now that he knew the truth, he didn't think he could take it anymore. He'd had enough father-and-son time for a year.

He stood up as soon as his mother finished telling her story. She looked at him, frowning.

'I think it's already time for me to get going. I've got work tomorrow.'

'On a Sunday?' In spite of her disappointed tone, she soon regained her composure. After all, she'd been married to a Watcher for enough time to know that it wasn't a normal career. However, that didn't prevent her from insisting on him to stay.

'Leave him alone, Ellen. He probably has to get to work as soon as he can – the place must be a chaos by now'.

Wesley, who'd decided to leave quietly without picking a fight with his father, spun so fast that he nearly knocked a coffee table, his eyes flashing with repressed anger.

'Excuse me, but what's that supposed to mean?' he snarled. His father, of course, remained calm.

'Nothing, nothing. It's just that it's sort of amusing to imagine Watchers playing to the school teacher with an army of Slayers. It's not...well, the thing a traditional Watcher would do'.

This time, Wesley didn't bother to repress his anger, Through gritted teeth, he hissed:

'Of course, that's what bothers you, isn't it? That I'm not doing the sort of thing traditional, old-fashioned Watcher would do? Or because it's not the sort of thing you'd done?'

His father's lips had turned into a tight, thin line, and he seemed to be losing some of his self-control, but he said nothing. Wesley took the chance to continue.

'It's that, isn't it? What bothers you is that I never turned out to be the Watcher you were, But what I still don't know is what upsets you the most: that I failed to follow in your footsteps, or that I've accomplished things you've never dreamed of?'

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce chose to ignore the last part and said sternly: 'I tried to give you the best training possible, teaching you all the things you needed to know. You should be grateful for that, even though apparently you never bothered to learn my lessons'.

When he heard that, Wesley couldn't help to let out a harsh laugh.

'Oh, sure you did teach me well. How could I forget your lessons, when they were always followed by your unique means of education, such as locking me under the stairs or insulting me? Oh, you can be certain I learnt all your lessons by heart. When I went to Sunnydale, I struggled to follow all the rules, to do everything by the book, just like you'd taught me. And all I managed to do was to push one Slayer more over the edge and to make the other one to give up on the Watchers' Council altogether. But when I made a fool of myself it was just my fault, wasn't it?' He shook his head. 'Sorry to break the news to you, Father, but all that time you got it wrong. You couldn't have been more mistaken about the right way of dealing with Faith and Buffy, as you were wrong in many other things. Wow, in all those years I hand't realised how wrong many of your ideas were, and what a fool I was for following them. But I'm not ungrateful: Father, I wanted to thank you to helping to turn me in such a failure. I certainly owe a large part of it to you.'

'How dare you...' His father had stood up, and he was raising a hand. Wesley snorted.

'What are you going to do, father? Hit me? Give me a lecture? Or just lock me under the stairs like you used to? 'Cause I'm afraid I'm a little bit grown-up for that now.'

'Stop this now!'

Ellen Wyndam-Pryce had risen from her seat, a red flush on her cheeks. Both men turned to face her, a little bit taken aback as they'd forgotten she was there at all.

'All of us have comitted mistakes through the years.' Then, she added, in a somber tone and with an absent look in her eyes. 'Certain things just need to be done, no matter how unpleasent they are. Things are the way they are'.

Little Wesley, like any child, had adored his mummy. In comparison to his daddy, she'd appeared to be the most tender and sweetest person in the world, in spite of her lack of displays of affection. Young Wesley had pitied her, naïvely thinking that she had to put up with his father's coldness as he did, and believing that she knew nothing of the way his father treated him.

The grown-up version of Wesley, though, was looking at her in a whole new light. He'd thought she'd ignored what was going on under her roof. Ok, maybe she'd forced herself not to see it, but she still ignored it. Now, though, he realised things were completely different. Not only his mother had known everything about the way his father treated him, but also had let it happen without doing nothing about it. Not only that, but from her tone of voice Wesley realised she'd condoned it. Suddenly, when he looked at her, he felt something he'd never felt towards her.

Anger.

His eyes, flashing, fixed on her face. Her face remained expressionless, and Wesley burst.

'All these years, I thought you knew nothing about the way he treated me. But I was wrong, wasn't I? You knew it from the beggining. Not only that, but you also approved it.' Wesley shook his head. 'I always thought you were different from him, but I was wrong about that too. You were just like him...except you didn't have the courage to look at me in the eye when I was disciplined, did you?'

His words, or maybe just the tone of his voice, managed to crack for once the perpetual mask of courtesy and coolness Ellen Wyndam-Pryce always wore. She opened her mouth to say something, an apology perhaps, but Wesley didn't want to hear it. He turned and headed to the door, and his hand was already turning the knob when he heard her voice calling after him:

'Wes, please...'

He turned to face her, a scowl on his face. She looked at him imploringly.

'Please, don't go like this. I cannot bear it'.

Her lips had turned white, her eyes were wide open and her hands were shaking. He'd never seen her looking like a mess before.

He sighed. Suddenly, all his anger had vanished, leaving nothing but numbness. He realised that his mother still needed to keep up the facade of the happy family, and Wesley found that he couldn't deny her that.

'All right, Mother' He said in an expressionless tone. He approached her and kissed her on the cheek mechanically, then he turned to face his father, who looked away. 'Goodbye, Mother; goodbye, Father. I'll call you one of this days.'

Then he turned around and left the room, swearing never to come back to that house again.

'Don't wanna be the one who turns the whole thing over

Don't wanna be somewhere where I just don't belong

Where it's not enough just to be sorry'

'Bed of Lies', by Matchbox 20.


Author's Notes: I got one favor to ask. I assume you all have seen those hats that people wear for their graduation day together with the robes, right? Well, can anyone tell me what are those hats called in English? I'll be very thankful if you do.

See you!