A/N: Warning: Some mentions of torture and gore. Nothing explicit...if you can watch Buffy you should be fine.

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Chapter 12: Memories Made Real

-May 29, 1996-

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Drip...Drip... the noise filtered through the cold air. Harry had grown accustomed to the constant sound, he'd heard it every night for the past week. Still, that hardly meant that the noise didn't feel like a drill on his brain. Harry's wrists clinked in their chains. He winced as he felt the metal grow hot burning his flesh. Tonight was the first night he would be hearing the dripping sound in person. It seemed louder somehow.

Harry tried to lean his head back without moving his wrists. His eyes flickered open taking in his current abode and his current situation. He was a prisoner. His clothes grimly with slime and blood. He had been stripped of his Hogwarts robes, his only clothing the thin button-up shirt and black pants he usually wore underneath. He'd always thought robes looked a little silly, maybe being raised in the muggle world would always guide his perceptions. But, hell, he missed those robes now. Anything to keep out the chill of this dark stone. The stone was wet too.

Drip...Drip...Harry let the noise wash over him. He recalled how only a week ago he had first heard the continuous dripping. He heard it in his dreams and it became the background noise of all his nightmares. Except they weren't really nightmares were they? They were real. Although Harry had worked extensively with his occlumency, he'd found that there was no protection for his mind from the link he shared with Voldemort. The only peace occlumency would give him was the peace in knowing that Voldemort couldn't read his thoughts. But, it didn't protect his dreams.

Voldemort, being the bastard he was, had found this immensely funny. He'd taken it upon himself to use these nightly visits to 'instruct' the boy-who-lived on the ways of the world. How amusing that the hero of the Light could find no respite even in his sleep. When Harry ventured into Voldemort's mind, the Dark Lord would use his time to torture innocents. Harry was horrified but couldn't avoid witnessing Voldemort's nightly entertainment. Even sleeping potions seemed to prolong his time in his dreams rather than provide peace.

Of course it was also funny that Harry seemed to experience some of the victims' pain, courtesy of the lighting scar on his forehead.

And, although against his will, Harry did learn from Voldemort's instruction. Voldemort reveled in the fact that Harry Potter, the wizarding world's savior, knew more dark spells than most of his Deatheaters. Not that Harry would admit it. Voldemort knew for a fact that the boy never admitted this knowledge to the great saint Dumbledore or his pathetic Order. The Dark Lord had even watched the boy in battle, always expecting that when enraged the boy would let loose some of the darker spells he had learned. But he had never given in. Still, Voldemort could see it. Burning in his eyes. The boy knew what darkness was, and once you know something you can't undo it. It becomes a part of you.

But he had been breaking the boy. Ever so slowly...in reality much slower that the Dark Lord would like to admit. Their battle on the Hogwarts grounds had been a victory even if Voldemort hadn't managed to breach the castle's protections. Harry and his young friend had stormed onto the field of battle using spells with vicious abandon. They were still not the spells that Voldemort had shown the boy, but they were what Voldemort considered gray spells, no doubt acquired from some book in the restricted section. Voldemort himself had examined those tomes in his youth, only to find himself disappointed in what Hogwarts's considered forbidden knowledge. It seemed that a school could not house tomes of true darkness. Or perhaps he simply wasn't patient enough to worm his way through the disorganized stacks. Apparently the obsessive vulture of a librarian didn't prioritize keeping the restricted section tidy.

Thus, he found Harry's foray into the restricted section as a start, and a nudge into the correct way of thinking...and even light magic could be terrible when used without mercy. Voldemort had killed the mudblood in attempt to push the boy even farther. It was after all the only purpose she could serve.

To be honest Voldemort wasn't even certain why he was pushing the boy-who-lived along this path. It didn't make much sense...why create a more dangerous opponent? Perhaps he suspected that Harry could never truly achieve or match his level of darkness. Maybe he feared that Dumbledore's mutterings could be true. Could Light be stronger than Darkness? It seemed improbable, but was it worth the risk? It would no doubt be better to battle Harry on his own terms, he could undoubtably best another Dark wizard, he knew what to expect. With Light there was uncertainty. And although these were terribly good reasons to corrupt the boy, it all came down to one fact. He could. He would corrupt the boy because he could, and he would enjoy doing it. Everyone has to have their hobbies.

But, while the Dark Lord had been 'instructing,' his pupil had been busy learning other things. For instance Harry, once grown accustomed to his nightly torture, used the time to examine the Dark Lord's surrounding. Looking for clues, hints as to his plans, locations, and any possible followers. And Harry's occlumency was advanced just enough for Voldemort to be unaware of his student's diverted attention. For the most part Harry's information was useless. Voldemort was careful to move around a great deal, and often chose bare rooms with no trace of parchment or even windows. The only followers allowed were those whom Harry was already familiar with. What did it matter to Harry if he merely saw more proof that Lucius Malfoy was a deatheater?

But there were rare moments when Harry caught the Dark Lord unaware, and in that second before Voldemort noticed him, he could sometimes garner some facts. He'd managed to prevent an attack on the Shaklebolt residence. He'd been able to see a mountain out of a window once which had led to the Order attacking one of Voldemort's hideouts, sadly it had already been abandoned by the Dark Lord but three deatheaters were captured. These small moments of accomplishment and triumph allowed Harry to endure his nightly ordeals. His eyes were always on the lookout for clues, it kept him busy and helped him to avoid being an attentive student.

Drip...Drip...Harry's wrists flared in pain as he once again tried to shift his body to a more comfortable position. His focus on finding clues had led Harry to his current situation. But, although he was cold and in pain he couldn't feel sorry for himself. After all, it had been his glorious plan that had landed him here.

Harry would be the first to admit that after Hermione's death he had shut down. After Ron he had managed to carry on, trying to support his remaining friend in her grief...but once Hermione was gone, what was the point? He stopped going to classes. He stopped eating in the Great Hall. His remaining classmates tried to comfort him but he shied from them as if their words were acid. He hardly even slept in the dorm. Instead, he locked himself away in the Room of Requirement, and he trained. For there was at least one point. Only one point left. As much as the phrase bothered him, he was the 'Chosen One'. The only person in the world who could possibly end Voldemort's tyranny. And he wanted to end it soon, he wanted to end it now before he had to bury anyone else. Either that, or die trying. He wasn't afraid of death anymore. When he was eleven he remembered how his own fear had slipped into his words when he learned that the Flamels would die. Dumbledore had comforted him, saying his wise words "To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure." Harry, at the time, had thought that was shite. No one wanted to die. But now...he understood. He was so tired...maybe only death could rest him. And a man who isn't afraid of death can be a terrible force.

And, a week ago Voldemort had moved to another location. That was when the dripping started, water leaking down stone walls. Harry had stared at those walls, that solid stone, and wondered why this place felt familiar. There was something about it that hung in the back of his brain...like a forgotten memory. He'd never felt this familiarity before...it had even taken Dumbledore to recognize the mountain from his other dream. Having never traveled Harry couldn't tell one mountain from another. So why this place, this creepy damp place? And while Harry tried to remember, he battled the Dark Lord's growing anticipation. Something was going to happen, something bad.

Then during one of the Dark Lords more extensive monologues, which Harry tuned out as usual, it came to him. He knew this stone. He knew the slime that coated those walls. It had been years ago, and he'd been terrified at the time...but he knew where he was. Voldemort hadn't needed to overpower the Hogwart's wards, as usual he'd slipped in the back door. The Dark Lord had returned to the Chamber of Secrets. Harry ruthlessly suppressed his emotions, avoiding the stir of triumph that stirred inside him. But that morning when he awoke, it wasn't with a scream but with a jubilant laugh. He had the means to get to Voldemort, and the hypocritical psycho wouldn't even expect it. He'd end things before anyone else got hurt. And at least it'd be over, one way or another.

And here he was. His wrists chained to the wall a small pinprick of light shining down. Harry's face lifted toward the light, he couldn't help but wonder where it came from, the chamber was located miles beneath the school. He banged his head against the wall remembering how easily he'd been captured. He'd expected to get a little further at least. Voldemort hadn't entered the chamber through Myrtle's bathroom, but it wouldn't surprise Harry if Slytherin had created a secret entrance into the school. Harry had never explored the Chamber, he'd been too worried about saving Ginny and fending of the basilisk to really take the time to explore. Later, after he'd been healed by Fawkes, brought back an inch from death, he definitely hadn't wanted to spend anymore time there.

Well, he'd be seeing the Chamber now. Harry groaned and looked at the stone walls. He banged his head again. He'd barely entered the main chamber before a loud hissing had caught his attention. Harry had frozen and closed his eyes, but it wasn't a basilisk this time. Instead a large anaconda had wrapped itself around Harry.

'Intrudersssss,' the voice had hissed. Harry struggled against the giant snake, but the thick coils of muscle felt like steel. The large serpent's mouth latched onto Harry's wrist, squeezing his wrist tightly until the wand in his hand clattered to the ground. Another coil wrapped itself around Harry's throat.

'Releasse Me' Harry managed to hiss in reply. But the snake made no move to follow. Instead it merely tightened it's grip until Harry was mostly hidden inside the snake's coils. His voice was silenced. Harry gasped for the air, his chest being crushed under the pressure. Darkness began to choke Harry's vision. He struggled to stay awake. Unconsciousness made him powerless. Still it was a losing battle, Harry's vision was almost black before he heard a voice hiss in Parseltongue.

'Let him go-ss,' Harry was dropped roughly to the floor. Even as he gasped for air, his hand frantically searched the ground for a sign of his wand.

"Now now, Mr. Potter, you didn't think I'd make the same mistake twice. You will not be given back your wand this time." The dark Lord laughed as he looked down at Harry. Harry looked up, Voldemort stood surrounded by his deatheaters. One of the robed figures held Harry's wand mockingly. Harry glared into those red eyes. He opened his mouth, a fiery retort of the edge of his lips.

"Ckk...cough chk," Harry voice cracked and rasped. He lifted his hand to his throat. What had that snake done to him? Voldemort began laughing in the background as Harry tried to clear his throat. He hoped that whatever damage was only temporary.

"Hmm, it seems that our guest is feeling under the weather, let it never be said that I didn't offer my hospitality. Take him to a cell, I want to hear him begging for death before I kill him."

Harry listened to the cackling laugh as he was led from the room. Harry gave no protest. Instead he rubbed his throat carefully, willing his vocal cords to repair themselves. He didn't fear Voldemort. Whether that was bravery or insanity was anyone's guess. In the long run, Harry supposed those qualities were often the same.

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Present

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"Harry?" a questioning voice broke through his remembrance. Harry tilted his head up and caught the gaze of his Uncle.

"Yes, Uncle Rupert?" Harry replied in the same tone.

"Are you alright? You seemed away for a moment." Giles took a seat next to his nephew. Buffy was sleeping on the couch and Harry had moved to the kitchen table.

"Just remembering," Harry said softly. Giles let his gaze rest on the young man next to him.

"Remembering what? That man Macnair?" Giles's words were laced with caution. He didn't want to make Harry feel like this was an interrogation, but in all honesty he needed to know what to expect. He needed to know as a Watcher, but perhaps more importantly he needed to know for himself. Whatever was happening seemed to pose a serious danger to those he cared about.

"Yeah...well not him exactly just another madman from my past." Harry spoke his words with an embarrassed tone.

"A lot of them are there?" Giles asked, trying to infuse a bit of humor into the situation. Harry smiled crookedly.

"More than I'd like," he said. Giles smiled in an attempt to continue the joke, but he couldn't ignore the underlying weariness in Harry's tone.

"Harry," Giles didn't know quite what to say, instead he rested his hand on Harry's forearm in an attempt at comfort. Harry took a deep breath at the contact, and Giles considered moving away but watched in surprise as Harry's posture seemed to relax. Giles rubbed the young man's arm gently.

"It's just...upsetting knowing he's alive," Harry admitted.

"What did he do?" Giles questioned. Harry leaned back in his chair, his eyes focusing on the wall.

"Macnair was one of Voldemort's inner circle." Giles tensed slightly at the name Voldemort, he had killed Lily. Giles leaned in as Harry continued speaking. "Cruelest bastard of the lot truth be told. See, Voldemort's main belief was that Purebloods, people with all magic parents, were better than people who were born from muggles. Muggles, he thought, should cower before wizards. Rather hypocritical considering his own father was a muggle. But, that doesn't really matter because not many people know that. He made up a phony title, introducing himself as Lord Voldemort. And his ideas were very popular with some. See, the wizarding world has used this pureblood bullshit for years to make themselves feel more important. I can't help but feel a little bad for some of the people that joined him, not enough to think twice about cursing them but...These people had that rhetoric pounded into their heads since they were in the cradle. I mean, how much of it is their fault that they believe it? So, quite a few people joined him the first time thinking they were joining some political group, they had no idea how dark Voldemort went, how far he intended to go. But Macnair...he didn't join because of some dogma. He once...well, he kind of told me he even knew that purebloods were no better than muggleborns. He hated muggles enough, but he didn't really care what kind of blood you had if you were magical. He joined because he wanted to inflict pain. He joined because Voldemort would provide him all the victims he could dream of. Voldemort promised his other followers greatness, power, wealth...but for Macnair he promised him only a steady supply of fresh meat." Harry paused remembering Voldemort's words in the Little Hanging graveyard.

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"Macnair...destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide..."

"Thank you Master...thank you,"

-

Giles didn't react much. He was used to dealing with creatures to whom malevolence was second nature. Vampires and Demons often killed with thought or even purpose. But he had to admit it was curious that a human could sink so low, to the point where the desire to inflict pain was the only desire. True sadists are hard to find, although perhaps not as hard as Giles would hope.

"He...ugh, he also killed a good friend of mine...my best friend." Harry seemed to choke these words. Giles turned his head and gazed at the distressed young man. Their were no tears in those emerald eyes, just an emptiness. One that Giles recognized.

"Harry, I know that must have been hard. I've lost people too," Giles confessed. But Harry didn't need to hear the words. Harry could paretically taste the emotional pain clinging to his Uncle.

"I know it gets better," Harry stated. "It will get better when I kil-... get the bastard. Sometimes that is the only thing that makes..." Harry cringed and rolled his eyes, "grief bearable." Giles watched as Harry's eyes flickered up, as if waiting for Giles to denounce him.

"You're right," said Giles firmly. Harry glanced at his Uncle cautiously but didn't decide to argue about it. Giles lifted his hand and removed his spectacles, cleaning them with a handkerchief.

"Harry, I have to ask..." Giles sighed. Why was this still difficult? "But, your magic...is it...normal for it to react like that?" Harry stilled.

"Normal...in what sense?" Harry's voice was casual as he spoke and Giles let himself relax slightly. But, inside Harry was hardly composed. He didn't want to discuss his magic. He hadn't wanted to discuss it with Dumbledore, and he didn't want the conversation now either, but he could understand his Uncle's concern.

"I, well from what I know wizards aren't prone to accidental magic so late in life...what was that?" Giles waved his hand through the air indicating the powerful blast of magic that had echoed through the room.

"Oh that...it's not really normal. I mean it is for me, I'm still learning to control it."

"But...what about Hogwarts?" Giles asked confused. He vividly remembered when a professor had spoken to his mother about Lily's magic. She needed training and Hogwarts could provide it...so why had it failed Harry?

"They can't help me with this. I have to figure it out myself," Harry stated. Giles noticed that the young man seemed to be repeating a phrase from an old argument. Giles merely nodded, not wanting to push the fragile relationship he had created. Harry noticed his Uncle's retreat and sighed.

"I'm sorry Uncle Giles. It's just a sore point with me. This is new...and even though I was told I had to create a balance on my own...well some people thought they should 'monitor' me...like I was some sort of lab rat." Harry shook his head. Giles frowned.

"New?" His forehead crinkled in thought. That didn't make any sense, his understanding of magic was that wizards were born with an allotted amount of power, they usually reached it around the age of thirteen. It wouldn't make sense for a seventeen year-old to receive a burst of power.

"Ugh...it's kinda complicated...let's just leave it at that." Harry's words were filled with hope, but he doubted his uncle would leave the matter alone.

"Harry..." said Giles. 'Here we go,' thought Harry with a groan. "I know there are things in your past that you don't want to talk about, and I won't make you...but I am here if you need it. I know I haven't been much good to you, but we are family, and whatever you need alright?"

"I...thanks Uncle Rupert," whispered Harry, his voice slightly confused but also happy. The older man nodded his head.

"Now...hmm, back to this Macnair fellow...anything else I should know.

-

"Come with me Mr. Potter."

The clinking of chains. Steps on a stone floor.

"Has your voice returned Mr. Potter?"

Silence.

"Well, come along. My Master is waiting."

Footsteps. Voices echo in the distance.

"Did you know I admire you Mr. Potter? Really, you are quite an impressive young man."

Silence.

Door swings open. Steps. Door swings shut.

"Ah I see you are wondering why we are here alone. You were expecting me to take you directly to the Dark Lord.
No Mr. Potter, not yet. The Dark Lord has blessed me. For all my years of loyal service he has given me what I most want.
I do hope your voice has returned Mr. Potter."

Drip...Dripp.

"I see you know this room. Please have a seat. Sit Mr. Potter."

Swish of a wand. Thump.

"There we are, that is much better, isn't it Mr. Potter."

Click

"Those chains aren't too loose, are they? If they are too loose, you might move around too much and damage yourself.
We wouldn't want that."

Silence.

"Do you know why the Cruciatus Curse is so popular Mr. Potter?"

Silence. Drip.

"You see my colleagues are lazy. True torture takes careful preparation and the right equipment. Muggles for all their foolery
have created several interesting tools to overcome their magical handicap. Muggles really aren't bad. Just as cows aren't bad.
Kept under the right environment a cow can prosper and serve a purpose...I see you are admiring my hacksaw. Admiration is
never wrong...but we were having a discussion. Please pay attention Mr. Potter."

Ting. Metal hitting metal.

"Yes, muggles have their uses. But in the end they are disappointing. Can a man truly enjoy butchering a cow...it is tedious work
I assure you. Are you familiar with the story of Jack-the-Ripper Mr Potter?"

Metal touches flesh. Throat hisses.

"They say he might have been a butcher...that is how he knew how to cut just where."

Wet grating sound. Deep labored breathing.

"How tedious his days must have seemed to him, cutting cow flesh when what he really wanted was the soft milky white of a woman's skin."

Grunt.

"Did that hurt Mr. Potter? As I say, you are quite impressive. Still you remain silent. How wonderful. Do you recall that night in the
graveyard? Of course you do, who could forget such a historic moment, the dawning of a new age. You screamed so beautifully
for the Dark Lord."

Whimper.

"No, not nearly good enough. Maybe this will work better. The fingertips are very sensitive."

Crack. Rapid breathing.

"Hmm, interesting. You are curiously strong to muggle methods. Any other wizard would be screaming by now. Perhaps it is
becauseyou know what these are...hmm. Wouldn't that be interesting, just as muggles panic in the face of magic, wizards fear
these unknow instruments?Is it the unknown that strikes the most fear. That would mean muggleborns, or half bloods raised by muggles,
like yourself and my Master, are themost superior of us all."

Pause.

You are shocked I see. Yes I know my Master's blood line. It isn't difficult for a pureblood to trace the lines, it is what we are trained
to do since infancy after all. No it isn't difficult to trace, if you dare to know the truth. You see Mr. Potter, pain in a great equalizer.
I have seen purebloods cower under the Cruciatus curse the same way muggleborns do. Their blood doesn't protect them from the pain.
Thus, I have no reason to think less of my Master for his blood, or you for yours."

Silence.

"Caedes concoquo"

Chains rattle. Wood chair shakes. Wood on stone.

Screams.

Screams.

Screams.

"To soon Mr...do you mind if I call you Harry. I feel so close to you now. Dark magic seems to work well with you. Let's try a little
harder this time Harry. Shall we?"

"Caro perfigo"

Chains rattle. Dripp...drip. Teeth grind.

Pause.

Muffle.

Shout.

Scream.

"Better, much better. But Surely you can do much better than this. You're a hero, aren't you Harry? I do love Heros."

"BASTARD, you sadistic- why are you even with him if you Don't EVEN CARE About BLOOD!"

"Ah I see you've gotten your voice back. Although Harry, your mother would wash your mouth out if she heard you...how silly
of me. Forgive my faux pas, it was in bad taste.

"YOU-"

" adflictatio"

Grunt. Chains rattle.

"That's good Harry. Hold it. Hold it in."

Tapping. Wand weaves through the air. Humming, a classical melody.

"Now...release it now. You can't hold it much longer."

"Macnair!"

Chains cease to rattle. Silence.

"Oh, hello Lucius."

"The dark Lord wants him now...is he still alive...he looks dead."

"He's fine. I know my job."

Finger brushes against a cheek.

"I so wanted to hear that scream Harry. I could feel it in your chest, in your throat...it would have been glorious...my best yet."

Cough.

"Yes, Lucius."

"Why must you insist on using these low muggle tools? Is that where the blood came from?"

"You want to see, don't you Lucius."

Cough.

"Come here than. His left forearm. I thought it symbolic...he could have worn our mark...now he has a special mark all his own."

"Merlin, did you have to cut to the bone..."

"He didn't complain."

"If you've killed him, I won't take the blame for it."

"I wouldn't expect you to Lucius. Come Harry, you have an audience with a Dark Lord. I'm sorry our time was cut short."

Click.

"Can he stand?"

"I'm sure he can. You don't want to be carried to your death, now do you Harry?"

Step.

Step.

Door shut.

Step.

"Someday I'm going to walk in there and you'll have gotten carried away and dismembered one of our Master's captives.
Then you can taste the Dark Lord's type of pain. I hope he kills you."

"You're only bitter because you couldn't watch."

Cough.

"You don't suppose our Master would let me dismember him, send him back to Dumbledore in pieces?"

"You are so crude."

-

Did Giles need to know anything else?

"No," stated Harry. "Just that he's very dangerous."

-

Angel stared into the night sky. Buffy had fallen asleep inside, and he hadn't felt particularly comfortable in Giles's home. Particularly with that strange Harry staring of into space, his face as grim and stiff as a mask. Angel glared into the night as he thought about the young man inside. Angel wasn't an expert with magic, basically he knew enough to get him by. In over one hundred years as a vampire you'd have to learn something, right? And, he had heard mention of wand wielders, although vampires generally stayed away from them. Regular humans were much easier prey. But, Angel did know what magic tasted like. And, there was something...off, as Buffy might say, about Harry's magic. There was a dark element to it. It was powerful, confusing, and absolute. Angel had the distinct feeling that Harry was more powerful than anyone should be.

It made him uneasy that Buffy had so quickly formed a friendship to the young wizard. When he had left Sunnydale two months ago he had done it with the best and noblest intentions at heart. But, that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell. (And Angel was one of the few people who actually knew what hell felt like.) He woke up everyday and convinced himself that he had done the right thing. There had been a few moments when he had considered coming back, and he might have if he hadn't found his calling as a champion in L.A. The people there needed help. Knowing that he was saving those who might not otherwise be saved made the nights pass quicker.

Angel shook his head. He had done the right thing. There was no doubting that. But, when he came to warn Buffy, he hadn't expected to find what he had found. Who was this Harry fellow anyway? He couldn't help grinding his teeth as he recalled her hopeful voice when saying his name. This wasn't what he wanted. He recalled his words when he had 'broken up' with Buffy.

"You deserve more. You deserve something outside of demons and darkness. You should be with someone who can take you into the light. Someone who can make love to you."

Well, she deserved more than this Harry fellow too. What was it with Buffy that she kept attracting dark men? He hadn't wanted to leave and have some other unworthy take his place.

"Well if it isn't the brooding de-fanged vampire, who was supposed to have left town, doing his usual gloomy stare." Angel's head shot up to see Xander glaring at him from the sidewalk.

"What are you doing here?" inquired Angel grumpily.

"Shouldn't that be my line...eh, you ain't evil again are you?" Xander's voice took on a nervous edge and he reached into his pocket for a stake.

"No I'm not evil," sighed Angel. Xander raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe that's just what you want me to think," he speculated not releasing the stake.

"Look I came to help Buffy," sated Angel.

"I thought you could best help her by staying away," argued Xander. Angel didn't argue. Xander shrugged his shoulders and put the stake away. "I came to help her patrol is she here?" he inquired.

"She's sleeping," Angel didn't elaborate.

"Sleeping? Here?" Xander examined the house making sure he was at Giles's house...yep...why would Buffy be sleeping here?

"She was hurt by some magic," explained Angel.

"WHAT!" yelled Xander. He made a move to rush into the house but was stopped by a hand grabbing his shirt.

"She's sleeping," repeated Angel.

"I don't care, I've got to see her...is it bad?" A nervous frown crossed Xander's face. If she was hurt badly they'd have taken her to the hospital right...unless it was magical stuff medical people couldn't fix? Xander bit his cheek.

"She's fine, Harry" Angel said his name with a hiss, "already gave her something, she just needs rest."

"Harry...oh, guess it was a good thing he was here than." Xander relaxed a bit.

"Yeah...right." Angel words were short. Xander gave the vampire a curious look, then he smiled in triumph.

"Why do I get the feeling that you don't like Giles's nephew," questioned Xander, a slight smile on his face.

"I just don't know if I trust him," argued Angel. He sincerely tried to take any hint of anger out of his voice. "How much do you know about him," questioned Angel.

"Not much, He's Giles's nephew, got great skills with the whole magic thing, Buffy seems to like him," Angel cringed and Xander smiled. " And, considering you don't seem to get along with him, I like him more already." Xander smiled again while Angel sent the young man a cold look.

"Well, I'm going in to chat with Harry. Gee I really like that kid," Xander grinned. With a few steps he had opened the door. Angel remained on the stoop glaring into the night.

-

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A/N: Later update can be blamed on school starting again. Afraid that comes first. Hope you lot enjoyed this, and got to learn more about what happened to Harry. Hope you found that interesting. I chose to write Harry's torture scene the way I did, because I felt that Harry would try to distance himself from the event. Act like it happened to someone else, even in his memories.

Next update should have less memories and more present time.

Let me know if Giles and Harry's talk worked for you. Also what did you all think about Angel's introspection?