I'm glad to hear the speculation that's going on! Hope this chapter raises new questions for you all - Enjoy!

And Miles to Go Before I Sleep:

Chapter Three

Dawn was her normal self that morning, yawning at the breakfast table in the compound's small kitchen. It was an interesting building they had lived in these past two weeks – a half-house, half-school brick red building that felt so … so European that it took some getting used to. There were real curtains on the windows and an espresso maker on the counter. Odd-looking art decorated the bare brick walls, milk was sold in small cardboard containers, and it was so prohibitedly expensive that even Buffy agreed it was better to buy cream instead. It was odd to see Dawn sitting alone at the table, since by the time Buffy woke late after a night of patrolling with the new Slayers, everyone and their uncle seemed crammed into the tiny room. But this morning she stumbled into the oddly empty kitchen around six, having spent the remainder of the night pouring through the library for any off-mention of an 'Albus Dumbledore'. Her search had been frustratingly futile, and she was now desperately in need of coffee. Fortunately Denton, the only other insane person up this early, was just pouring Dawn a small cup of espresso. As the oldest Slayer yawned her way into the kitchen, he turned toward her with a smile and reached for another cup.

"Late night?" he asked, filling her tiny glass with the strong elixir and handing it to the thankful Slayer. She was always surprised how much caffeine they managed to smuggle into such a tiny cup.

"In a researchy-kind of way," she replied, stifling another yawn. Denton looked curious, and Buffy considered what to ask him as she moved towards the counter to add some sugar and cream. Dawn stood, stretched, and still managed to beat her there, making Buffy blearily realize how slow she was this morning. All-night study sessions just weren't the same without Xander and his donuts. She waited until Dawn had diluted her own java, and then traded the sugar for the cream. Dawn handed it to her with a tired smile, and Buffy felt a new rush of protectiveness towards her. This Dumbledore could hide in the deepest, darkest castle and Buffy would find him – she would do anything she could to protect her sister.

Speaking now to both Denton and Dawn, Buffy began her carefully planned cover story. In this case, protecting her sister unfortunately meant lying to her.

"Giles called last night," she began, trying to sound as casual as possible. Dawn perked up at her pseudo-father's name, and Buffy continued "he's got an assignment for us. There's a man we have to find in England." Buffy looked over at Denton, "Maybe you've heard of him – an Albus Dumbledore?"

She watched carefully as Pierre considered the name, looking for any signs of shock or concealment. Not that she had any reason to believe he'd hide anything from them – Pierre Denton had been the most cooperative Watcher in Paris, a man who'd actually been on a few of the Council's lesser committee's, and served as the Head Watcher here in France. He hadn't known Giles personally, but he had heard of him. Of course, since the Council had fired him at one point, it hadn't all been good publicity – but Denton recognized that Buffy's unheard of survival was a testament to her Watcher's methods.

Still, Buffy wasn't about to take anything at face value – not when her sister was concerned.

"Dumbledore …." Denton turned the name over in his mind, then unexpectedly looked up surprised, "You know, I have. It's once of those names you hear somewhere and never quite forget, t´as pigé?"

Buffy made a face; she hated it when he lapsed into French. It made her feel very dumb, especially since Dawn was beginning to pick up on the language after only two weeks in the country. "It is a weird name," she agreed, and her sister laughed. "Do you have any idea where you might have heard it before?" Buffy asked him, "Was it in England by any chance?"

Pierre frowned, "It was, actually – years ago, now. I was traveling to a committee meeting – something about an odd report in the papers: a flying car had been seen in London. It was a strange business – I was skeptical at first, but the few eyewitnesses we managed to track down swore on their mother's eyes they'd seen it circling around King's Cross. We launched an investigation, but strangely the evidence seemed to disappear as quickly as it could be uncovered. Finally we re-questioned the witnesses, discovered that each and every one of them had forgotten the incident completely! In the end we concluded it might have been a rogue witch fumbling with her powers, perhaps calling upon Mercury for speed during rush hour or something, and then erasing the memory of all who'd witnessed the accident."

"That would take some pretty concentrated magic," Dawn commented with a frown, popping some toast into the counter-oven. "Did you ever find out who did it?"

Denton shook his head, "No. We kept an eye out for future reports of the like, but never heard anything. Seems whoever was responsible learned their lesson."

"Interesting," the Slayer agreed, "but where does this 'Dumbledore' fit in?"

Pierre poured himself another cup of coffee, "It was as I was leaving London, on my way to the underground. My mind was still on the flying car and the odd way our evidence had disappeared. So when I heard mention of it in a passing conversation, I thought I was imagining things. But then I slowed and saw the strangest looking pair: it was a man wearing golfer's pants with some of your American cowboy boots, and this bright plaid top, and another man in a raincoat though there wasn't a cloud in the sky! And the two were talking – laughing rather – about the flying car and how someone would get in such trouble for the invention. Then they muttered a bit more that I couldn't make out – it was a rather busy day in London and I was trying to be inconspicuous about my eavesdropping – but I'm quite sure I heard the name 'Albus Dumbledore' mentioned, and something about 'setting the whole thing straight'."

Pierre shrugged, "I always assumed that this Dumbledore was the witch, or warlock rather, that we were searching for, but as I was already leaving London and the incident had led to no harm I decided not to mention it to the Council. I'd even have forgotten the name entirely had the pair talking of him not looked so strange! Even," he smiled good-naturedly, "for the English."

Buffy smiled back, but her mind was whirling. "Do you think you could remember exactly where you heard this pair talking? I know it's been years, but I'd like to check the place out. Giles couldn't find much information on this man at all, and any lead would be helpful."

Denton agreed as Dawn walked over and handed a piece of toast to her sister, "So we're heading to England, then?" She asked, "Do you think the girl's here are ready for us to leave so soon?"

Buffy nodded, accepting the breakfast with a smile, "They'll be fine, Marie and Jose were well trained to begin with, and the others have caught on quickly. Besides," she smiled at Denton, "they have good Watcher's to look out for them." He looked pleased at the complement, and poured Dawn the last of the coffee. But by the time he turned back to Buffy, there was concern written plainly on his face.

"Are you sure you feel comfortable heading into England by yourselves? It makes me nervous to have the two of you in that country alone – the First Evil could have left spies and informants there, the ones who blew up the Council buildings."

Buffy shook her head, "We'll be fine, Ms. Wants-to-be-a-Watcher here can do the preliminary research for us today," she chuckled as Dawn beamed over her coffee, "and then we can head in tomorrow. I'd like to leave this morning," she confessed, finishing her toast, "but we owe the girl's a good-bye."

"It's pointless to begin a person-search without some preliminary research, anyways." Dawn piped up, obviously pleased to be give her own 'assignment'. It was the first time Buffy had ever asked her to research something on her own, and though she looked excited at the prospect of proving herself, Buffy knew her own motives were not so pure. Giles had given her a few small leads to pursue in Paris before they left, and Buffy needed her sister occupied while she hunted them down.

Still, she was sure her sister would do a fine job with the research on England. Since their Night Of Ultimate Revelations, as it had come to be called, when Dawn had revealed her secret desire to become a Watcher, Buffy had been noticeably hesitate about the idea. She felt her sister deserved the chance to get out of this rough gig, to make her own life as far away from demons and apocalypses as she could. But after several weeks of traveling, even Buffy had to admit her sister had potential. She picked up demon languages exceptionally fast, was a wiz at researching, and seemed to have a sixth sense for wonky portals. Not unusual abilities, Giles had commented when Buffy told him about her observations, for the Key, but useful nonetheless.

But new places and demons were always a risk, and at first she had tried to leave Dawn behind where she would be safe. It took four weeks of Dawn repeatedly sneaking out to follow whatever gaggle Buffy was teaching at the moment, and after being caught only once in a month, Buffy had finally relented to her desire to learn. They had re-started the private lesions begun at the end of last year (when Buffy had tearfully told Dawn she wanted to show her the world and not protect her from it … because that resolution had turned out so well), and Buffy had to admit Dawn was doing exceptionally well.

Until she got one of her black-out moments in the middle of a training session. Then Buffy had had to pull back at the last minute to avoid slicing her own sister in half, because Dawn had dropped her axe and simply stood staring into space. That was when Buffy had really begun to worry. And Dawn had come to herself with no recollection of any time having passed.

"Is there any possibility of doing a location spell on this mysterious Mr. Dumbledore?" Dawn asked now, her attention already focused on the task at hand. Denton beamed like a proud parent, he had spent the past two weeks teaching her such simple spells after all, but it was Buffy who answered.

"I thought of that," she admitted, "but Willow said even she would need something personal of his to focus in on. Especially since we have no idea what we're looking for – all Giles could give us was the name, and it was one he overheard by accident. We're assuming he's a man who lives in England, who may or may not be responsible for a magical flying car incident," she nodded to Denton who looked thoughtful, "but that's really all we have to go on."

Dawn frowned, "Then why are we looking for him in the first place? I mean – if this car thing was years ago, what do we care?" She looked up at Buffy, "Does Giles think this Dumbledore had something to do with what happened at the Council Headquarters – with the bombing?"

Buffy didn't think so, but she couldn't very well say that here. Instead she shrugged, "I don't know. Giles heard the name passing Travers' office years ago, and yet he isn't listed among the dead at Headquarters. And since we can't find any information on him, he seems to be a bit of a mystery. He might have been someone Travers knew – and if Travers knew him, I'd like to speak to him myself." Buffy finished, her voice gone hard. There was no love lost between her and that evil man.

"Besides," she continued after a moment, "Giles needs all the help he can get right now. There's the distinct possibility that this Dumbledore could be someone useful to have on our side."

Dawn smiled at that, and looked satisfied. Denton, however, appeared not so convinced. Buffy took the hint and flashed Dawn a smile, "Better get on your research then, Ms. Watcher Lady. And don't forget to pack, too. We'll leave first thing in the morning."

Dawn rolled her eyes, heading for the library and the small computer therein, "As if we ever unpack anymore."

Buffy waited until her sister's footsteps faded from even her enhanced Slayer's hearing. Then she turned to Denton and gave him an innocent look. "What?"

Denton stared back her, unapologetic. In many ways, Buffy decided, he reminded her of a cross between Spike and Giles. Someone who could read her fairly well, and still make her feel guilty about the simplest things. "This isn't about finding a potential source, is it? This is about your sister." He gave her a measuring stare. "You're still worried about her, aren't you? I heard about what happened on Tuesday – during training."

Buffy sighed and took Dawn's place at the small breakfast table. She didn't like to think of the axe that had come within finger-inches of cutting her sister in half. "And she didn't remember a thing after – it was like she was just … not there."

Denton looked concerned, and joined her at the table. "So what does this warlock have to do with her? Can he help somehow?"

"I hope so," Buffy answered, shrugging slightly. "Apparently there's some book about the nature of the cosmos, or something. It was in some secret-special vault, and only this Dumbledore has access to it anymore. I need that book, ergo – I need Dumbledore."

The Watcher gave a low whistle, "You're looking for Vault? That's …" he frowned, "how would you American's say it? 'Heavy stuff'?"

Buffy laughed, "Yes, it sounds like it. Do you know anything about it? Any idea where it is?"

Denton shook his head, "No I don't. It wasn't talked about much, though I'm curious that this Dumbledore has access. Now I wonder if he was behind the flying car incident, and if we were never supposed to find out more about him." He shook his head, "I wonder what Travers would have done if I had reported his name after all – perhaps erased my memory, too."

Buffy didn't smile, "I don't doubt he would have." She sighed, "No ideas where it is then?"

"No – though I got the feeling that it was … not here, somehow. In another dimension, perhaps. Or otherwise beyond normal accessibility." Denton looked apologetic, "Again, it wasn't mentioned much. We only knew that the most secret, most important documents were kept there, including a few scrolls reportedly written by the Greats – Tarpeia of Rome, Groa wife of Aurvandil, and even Merlin himself."

Buffy, understanding only one name on that list, looked thoughtful. "If we can find this vault, then, it might actually hold the information needed to help Dawn. There must have been some secret info on the Key there."

Denton looked hopeful; it was obvious that he had grown to care for Dawn while she tutored under his care. "It is very possible. But if you are looking for the Vault," he shook his head, "I don't know where you can begin. I can't even begin to advise you, and I worry even more about the two you of you traveling to England alone. Those who served the First are still around, and they too may be looking for the secrets hidden there – to bring him back, or open another door. Please, accept some help in this quest – Maria or even Jose would be glad to accompany you …"

But Buffy leaded forward and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "No, thank you Pierre, but if you're right and we are in a race – the fewer of us there are to travel, the faster we will be, and the greater the chance of slipping into the country unseen. We know you are here, if we need you. That knowledge is enough for now."

He didn't look happy about it, but after a moment he sighed and agreed. "Fine, but please look after yourselves. And do make an effort to contact those Awakened Slayers in England, if you can do so quietly. I can only say what a difference it has made for these girls, to understand their new abilities. Besides, they will be of use to you, should you run into difficulties."

Buffy gave him a tight smile, "I will, once we are orientated in London. If there's no immediate lead on this Dumbledore we're going to need some local help. Besides," she continued, her voice lowering as she remember her own first days as a called Slayer, "I would not leave anyone to that fate. To no longer know who you are ... she shivered, slightly, "… it is not a pleasant thing. Especially when there are men out there, hiding behind corners, trying to kill you."

Denton shook his head, "I can only imagine."

Jericho looked about the abandoned warehouse with a sneer, his upper lip curling from behind his mask. He swept a measuring, cold blue gaze over the pathetically few men who stood shivering before him, and turned to the masked Second at his side.

"Is this the best you can do, Maddock?" He growled, gesturing to the wretched lot. Behind him, likewise garbed, sniggered what was left of the original guard. "Twelve boys, with no training or purpose in life, brought here by the promise of power only? How do you expect us to carry out our Lord's last request, to prepare the world for His arrival, with such rabble?"

Maddock paled beneath his mask, but before he could reply an unexpected voice echoed from Jericho's left.

"An excellent question," spoke a disembodied voice. Jericho started towards the sound, and immediately a man revealed himself inside their mist, sweeping invisibility from him as if stepping out from behind a cloak. Jericho stared – the man was like them, only not. He wore a mask that differed from theirs, and black robes of an unfamiliar cut, but there was cool superiority in his voice, and Jericho felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Kill him!" He shouted into the room, knowing their continued presence demanded utmost secrecy. Whoever had the gall to infiltrate their unit would be destroyed.

Jumping at his voice, two of the new recruits roused themselves from their shock and sprung towards the man. Perhaps they thought this was some kind of an entry test, as if serving their Lord were some stupid college fraternity club, for they threw themselves at the man with sudden gusto.

But the man simply raised his arm and spoke incomprehensible sounding words – and Jericho felt himself stepping back as a green light erupted in the dim room, and the two recruits were thrown from their feet. By the way they landed, it was clear that both were dead.

"Wha--?"

It was Maddock, still at his side. Jericho felt a sudden rush of gratitude for his presence – if the man turned on him, perhaps he could push Maddock into the path of the strange green light.

But the man turned back to him with a sneer at the two dead men, and Jericho could see there was a wand of some kind in his hand. A magic-user, then. He paled – he had seen magic-user's in the past, but none of them had ever killed with such efficiency before. Usually there were complex rites needed to curse the offender with the wrath of their God.

"Rabble," the man shrugged, turning from the dead men as if they were broken toys "you were right about that. And," he continued with a measuring glance at those still standing in the dirty warehouse, "about the force present here. You can never perform your Lord's holy work with such …" Jericho could almost see the man's lip curl behind his mask, "… resources."

Rage and fear mixed inside the leader's belly, and in the end resentment won out. "What do you care, or know of it?" He spat, "We do Holy Work, and God will preserve us in our –"

"As he preserved your comrades?" the man interrupted him, "For I assume you at least began with more than I see here before me."

"We crossed the world with our numbers," Jericho retorted, anger making his voice shake, "but the others were weak, and died for that weakness."

"That they did," the man continued, walking forward into their midst. The new recruits shrank before him, but Jericho was proud to see his old guard remained firm. "But I believe that your Lord has left you now, or He truly would have helped them survive."

"We do not crave our Lord's protection," a man from the back – Redrick, Jericho recognized his voice – spoke, "we seek only to do His will."

The magic-user nodded. "Then I see you are true followers of a Dark Lord. And yet you are lost." His eyes flashed in the dim light, "My Lord offers you redemption."

"Your Lord?" Jericho sneered, "There is only one Dark God, and we are his true servants –"

"Yes, yes," the man interrupted him in a bored voice. He turned, brazenly showing his back to them, and Jericho could see the long blonde hair that hung almost to his waist. It chilled him, for some reason. "We could play the 'My Dark Lord is more powerful then Your Dark Lord' game all afternoon if we so chose, but let us not. Instead," he turned back to them, raising his voice over the various mutterings that erupted from the assembled, "let us continue with the offer my Lord has made – he will accept your service and your fidelity, and in return he will offer you the resources to carry on your holy task."

"We serve only one Lord," Maddock declared, standing tall. "We will not abandon Him."

"Of course not," the man retorted, surprised, as if he had never considered the idea, "for you serve a dark god of chaos, yes I understand that. But he is gone now, and my Lord remains. He is no god – not yet," his eyes flashed again, "but he too serves the dark god of all things -evil itself."

Jericho frowned, thinking of the power this lone man had displayed. "What would he have us do?" He asked slowly.

"Exactly what you want to do, but find you cannot. Pursue your agenda, kill all the Potentials," a shocked murmur went up from the small crowd, and the magic-user's voice became pleased. "Oh yes, he knows of your mission, my Lord does. And he approves, of course. Muggles tampering with such forces," a rush of hatred filled his voice, "it's despicable."

Before Jericho could ask him what he meant, the man continued, his voice honey smooth once again. "In return for your service, my Lord will provide you with materials that shall further your goals, and," he dipped his masked head, "if you would consent, he believes he has located some excellent targets on your behalf. You would then be allowed to pursue these and other girls at your own leisure."

Maddock looked suspicious, "And if we refuse?"

Jericho could swear the man grinned from behind his white mask, "Why, I will kill you all. And then you can join your dead comrades in the failed service of your dark god."

The men behind him were silent, but the new recruits audibly trembled with fear. Jericho stared into the pale eyes of the magic-user, and believed him.

Swiftly making up his mind, he swept a hand around the warehouse, to indicate all those within it. "There is no need for such theatrics, we all desire to serve our God, and if your dark lord will provide us with a means to do that, then we will be glad to swear fidelity to such a mortal man."

Jericho almost jumped at the feeling that pulsed through the man's eyes at the word 'mortal', but the next moment he could swear he had imagined it only, because the man was nodding and his eyes smiled.

"Excellent. Reinforcements shall arrive within moments, and we'll have to ensure your allegiance, of course. And then," his eyes glittered, "you can begin your work immediately."

There were a few excited murmurs from behind Jericho, but he ignored them. Instead he looked towards the magic-user and asked, hungry to do his Lord's work, "You have targets for us then? Potentials whose death is the Will of God?"

"Oh yes," the blonde man agreed, his eyes revealing his fierce sincerity. "We do have some suggestions for you. Tell me," he said, as loud cracks echoed around the warehouse, and more magic-user's appeared in their midst, "have you ever heard of the village Ottery St Catchpole?"

Translation:

t´as pigé? –you know?

Review review review! And sign in, if you can - that way I can respond.

Oh, just to orient everyone in ways of timing, this chapter takes place just at the end of the summer, before Harry's sixth year. I'll make no promises, but we should catch up the Golden Trio soon, and then we'll jump into Harry's seventh year and continue to the story line there.

Again - review please! Honesty is appreciated most, of course, and if you don't like it I'd love to know why. And if you do - well, why's are good there, too!

-- raiining