Author's Notes: I'm sure that I've said this before but I feel that I should probably repeat it for the sake of my sanity, if not your own. This story is not compatible with "HP & the OotP" or "HP & THBP" or "HP & TDH"-while it acknowledges some developments from those stories (Snape's half blood status), it ignores other things. Snape is a GOOD GUY, this is not going to change no matter what JK does to him. He is, quite honestly, one of the few characters in the HP stories that is a fascinatingly gray character.

777

At the sound of a throat clearing, Giles looked up to find Xander standing in his doorway, waiting patiently to be noticed. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just great-unlike you. What was that about?" Xander replied, entering the room and leaning against the desk, ignoring the look he received.

"Buffy had to tell her mom," Giles shortly replied, glancing over Xander's shoulder at the open door significantly. This was, after all, not something they should speak of openly.

"Ah," the teen nodded, not really surprised by this. In truth, he and Willow had often talked about how long it would be before Buffy would have to tell her mom. Mrs. Summers, while not the most observant of people, was not stupid. "Wondered when that would happen all things considered. So, what's on the world saving agenda?"

"Not much," Giles said with a shrug that did nothing to conceal his concern. "Things are strangely quiet tonight."

"And that's not good?" Xander asked, picking up a pencil and twirling it between his fingers.

"Not when you think about the fact that we are sitting on a literal vortex of evil. It doesn't matter right now, Xander. Would you put these books away for me? Neatly-and keep them in my office if at all possible," he added, taking the pencil away from him.

"Not a problem, Giles. I am so the man for the job," Xander said, saluting him mockingly.

Before he could do more than glare at him, the phone rang. "Now what?" he asked, glaring at the phone as though that would stop it from disturbing him. He didn't think he could handle any more revelations.

"You could always pick it up and find out."

"Thank you, Xander. As ever you are the soul of helpfulness."

The teen smiled widely, not offended by the words or the acidic manner in which they were spoken. It went unspoken but they all knew that's just how Giles was. He cared for them all, he was just very Giles-ish about showing it to them.

"That's what I'm here for, my friend. To spread a little of the Xander love about," he quipped.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes in a very childish manner, he picked up the phone. Clearing his throat, he said, "Sunnydale High Library, Rupert Giles speaking."

"Are you Rupert Giles, son of Andrew Leon Giles and the grandson of Athena Giles, both renowned Watchers? The man who was training to become a fighter pilot before deciding to take up the mantle of Watcher that is your birthright. If you are him, then you should know that I was told to call you for aid."

"Who told you to call me?" he asked, knowing that only someone within the organization would know of his pedigree and his history.

"Ms. McKane."

Giles knew of this Ms. McKane only by reputation. And an interesting reputation it was at that. Rather new to the world of the active slayer and watcher pairing, she had been given her own daughter to guide through the rigors of the slayer's world. He knew that she was a strong willed, stiff backed woman who traveled the unknown middle road of the watcher, somewhere between a traditional and a revolutionary one.

She was worrisome to the Council-but she got results. "Why would she tell you to call me?" he cautiously asked. "I'm not a District Watcher."

"I'm aware of that, sir. But she doesn't trust them to handle this situation properly. She believes that you will not only do what is right, but what is necessary."

"All right," he slowly said, intrigued despite himself. "What does she need?"

"She needs your help."

"With what? I only have a limited supply of resource materials here. Most of my books are sadly outdated and in need of repair. But I will do the best I can to aid her."

"Nothing like that, sir. In fact, she will bring you what she has."

"Then what is it, if not research?"

"She needs a safe haven for her and her Slayer, Faith."

The request seemed so out of place, so odd, that for a moment, he couldn't process it. When his mind caught up with the conversation, he simply asked, even as he wrestled with the only possible explanation for it. "Why?"

"The Watcher's Council has given a general execution order on all American Slayer Potentials."

The phone fumbled in his hand before he took a deep breath, suspicion confirmed. What was happening to the Watcher's Council? Are we murderers now? "Tell her that I am most sorry but she cannot come here. Not only are we on an active Hellmouth, but many members of the Watcher's Council are here, supervising the current slayer, as well as keeping an eye on the former slayer to make sure that she is still up to the task of being the slayer."

"Where else is she to go? She…" the phone was pulled from his hand and a new voice, a higher pitched one with a definite attitude, carried over the line, sharp and clear.

"Listen, Rupert, you owe me by right of being a fellow Watcher. My slayer is dying and we need your help."

"Ms. McKane," he started to say, wondering how he was going to put this. It wasn't an easy thing to say-especially since he knew how he'd feel if he was the one in this situation. Logic and rational thinking had no place in the intertwined lives of on the battlefront slayers and their watchers.

"Rory," she corrected sharply, interrupting his thoughts. "If I'm going to make free with your name-and I will-than you must call me Rory, Rupert."

"Very well," he conceded. "Rory, there is to much danger awaiting her here. Let me get in contact with an old friend in the area and give him the heads up."

"I am not going to trust my slayer with that creature who passes as a man Ethan Rayne." Her voice sneered over the line.

"It isn't Ethan," he stated firmly, with more than a touch of revulsion in his voice. It was obvious that there was still a lot of unresolved anger within him towards his old acquaintance and his actions. "I have had no contact with him since the day he tried to kill Buffy."

"Well, who is it then? I warn you right now, I will not allow my slayer to be taken of by just anyone."

"I'd rather not say until I've gotten in touch with him. He may be out of the country or unable to help due to the nature of his…job. I will say this, he is someone I trust with my life. He does not practice nor does he dabble in the black arts."

An angry exhalation sounded in his ear. "Very well. But if he isn't available, I am coming to you. And don't you dare try to hold me back, Rupert. Faith needs help."

"I understand that. But you won't find much of it here. As I was just telling your associate…"

"Cory Beddan."

"Very well," he acknowledged the name. "As I was telling Mr. Beddan, the Watcher's Council has taken up residence here. If you were to show up with Faith, the both of you would be killed. They are not very happy to be disobeyed-and you know it."

"Thanks for the reminder," she dryly commented, acid dripping from her voice. "I never knew that about the Council. I always thought they were perfect humanitarians."

Xander brushed past him and reached for the open book on his desk. "Not that one," he said, cupping his hand over the receiver. "I still need that one."

"Gotcha," Xander moved back and picked up another one, moving to the shelf. Though he had tried hard not to, he couldn't help but listen in on the conversation. And what he could hear, he didn't like.

"Rory, I do appreciate sarcasm-but only when it is appropriate. This is not that time for it is your slayer's life that is at stake."

"She's not just my slayer, Rupert," she angrily said, more than a touch of pride there. "She's my daughter. You have two hours to reach this guy, then I'm taking matters into my own hands-and I will see you in Sunnydale. Understand?"

"Of course," his lips twisted as he said the words. Add prideful and hasty to that list, he thought, wondering how he managed to get himself into these kinds of situations. "Your daughter's life is at stake and I don't wish for anything to harm her."

The book dropped from Xander's hand as he turned to stare at Giles, absolute shock on his face. "Daughter?" he mouthed.

Giles grimaced, "Later," he replied quietly.

Though he was still very unsettled, Xander let the subject drop.

"How shall I know your friend?"

"I'll call you with the information. What is your number?" Quickly writing it down, he said good-bye and sat down with a sigh.

"Problems?" he asked, voice heavy with other questions, other concerns. He couldn't shake the feeling that something very important had happened and that it was going to change things for them all.

"We'll discuss it with the others later," he waved him off. Rubbing the back of his neck tiredly, he sighed deeply. "I know it isn't what you want to hear but for now, it is the best I can do. I don't want to go into this more than once-and certainly not in this manner. It would be best to speak of this somewhere else, with our new allies. Please, be patient, Xander. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Waiting for Cordelia to get out of cheerleading practice," he sat down on the edge of the desk. Though it was a bit of a struggle, he let go of his questions. "You should really take some time off, you look beat." For once, he wasn't being facetious about this. Giles looked absolutely done in.

"I cannot afford to take the time off now, not with the Council breathing down my neck. And this?" he pointed at the book on his desk. "I don't like what it is implying."

"Trouble for us? Or them?" he asked, unable to read it.

"Of that, I am not sure. It isn't written clearly but it could be trouble for the both of us if what my calculations are correct." Rubbing his neck tiredly, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a thick, black velvet book. Flipping rapidly through the pages, he paused on the one he wanted. "Xander, not that I don't appreciate your help, or your presence. But would you mind leaving me alone? This is a matter is not for the casual listener. The man I'm going to call is very secretive, his job isn't exactly…normal."

"Gotcha, Giles. I'll see you tomorrow." Hands raised in mock surrender, the teenager left the room, greeting Cordelia with a kiss on the cheek. "See you later!" he called.

"Don't I even get to say hi?" Giles heard Cordelia say irritably.

"Not right now," Xander replied, keeping to a happy voice. He knew it wouldn't fool Cordy, but it would keep her from asking questions right now, "He's busy. Watcher stuff, you know."

Though her eyes narrowed, she nodded, muttering. "You are so going to explain what you mean by that later. Good-night, Giles."

"Good night, Cordelia. Xander. Thank you both for stopping by." After hearing the door close behind them, he dialed a semi-familiar number. When he heard the lightly accented, slightly husky voice answer, he simply said. "You near New Orleans?"

"Where else would I be, mon ami?"

"I don't know. Globetrotting, perhaps?" he dryly suggested, rubbing the back of his neck again as he glanced up at the clock. He knew that he'd better get a move on it or Buffy was likely to get herself all worked up. Thinking of her situation, he winced. He really was not looking forward to the coming interview with her mother.

"I only do that a few months out of every year, when the weather down here is absolutely abysmal-which is something you already know, mon ami. Though I am far from a pauper, I am not exactly a prince."

"Anymore," he dryly reminded him.

"I try not to dwell in the past. Why are you calling me, Rupert? Decided to give me that redhead of yours at last?" he asked, a sly grin in his voice.

"I know it is most difficult for you but do try to refrain from being an arse. The redhead, as you call her, is not mine and she has a name. Willow Rosenberg is not for you," he witheringly replied. "She is a powerful mage and one that is not to be taken by the whims of a wizard of your pedigree. Leave her be."

"What a shame. She is most delicious."

"She is also a child," he said, a slight bite in his voice. "One I will not hesitate to defend with my very life. You may be a friend, but she is family. I will not bother with niceties if you harm her. I will kill you."

"Very well, mon ami. But if I cannot contemplate her for fear of your most impressive wrath, I have nothing else to think of. What favor is it that you wish of me?"

After explaining the situation, and extracting a promise from him, he called Rory back and let her know what was going to happen. With another deep sigh, he rose and pulled on his jacket. Taking the book with him, he shut off the light, locked his office door, and made his way outside.

777

Severus stepped back and turned to face Sirius with idle curiosity. In all his memory, he didn't think he'd ever heard such a coolly uttered statement from the man. And the terribly horrible thing about it all, was that there was no rage emanating from the man.

There was utter deadness.

Peter squawked and jumped back, tripping on his robe and ending up in a tangled mess on the ground.

"You know, Peter, I thought that if I ever came face to face with you again, I would have no compunction in killing you for what you did to my friends. But now, I find that I can not even bring myself to punch you. You aren't worth it," he said, turning to face Severus. "Would you leave us and call Headmaster Dumbledore?"

Seeing no reason to stay, Severus turned and walked out the door, ignoring Peter's begging entreaty to him. Heading towards his lab, he shivered, feeling the presence of someone he hadn't felt in years. Lily, his mind whispered in disbelief.

Shaking it off, he called Hogwarts, feeling his arm flare up even as he did so. Refraining from showing his pain, he spoke, "Yes, Headmaster, Pettigrew is here. He wishes to see you-and I must go."

"I'll be there soon. Does Harry know?"

"I would imagine so. It is hard to keep anything from him." His voice was resigned, but slightly uneasy. He knew there was a shock coming, he just didn't know if he was ready it.

"Be careful, Severus. I worry over what he wishes of you this time."

"I do not. The Dark Lord is far from finished with me." Ending the call, he grabbed his robe and made his way out the door. Taking one moment to look in on Lupin and Oz, he was rather pleased to note the way the two had curled around each other, like a father and son. It was exactly as he had hoped it would be.

Then he left.

777

"Harry? Are you all right?" Willow asked, resting her hand on Harry's arm.

"I thought I heard my mom," he shook his head, trying to clear it. Looking up into her clear green eyes, so like his own, he asked, "But that's impossible, isn't it?"

"If you were anywhere but on a vortex of evil, I would say, yeah, probably. But you are-and the Hellmouth is not just a portal to hell. It does have ways of being manipulated to lead to more places than just evil dimensions. Giles says that the bridge between the living and the dead is much thinner here. So, I'd say if you believe that you heard your mom, you heard your mom. Just don't ask me how that's possible, that's more Giles thing than my own. Any cookie dough left?" she asked, changing the subject.

End part 16