A/N: Hello again everybody~! Let me just say that, as always, I'm blown away by the response this story has received. Not to be picky or anything, but I feel like I'm a decade too late to be joining the Buffy/HP fandom, but... better late than never!

Anyway, let me say it up front: Yes, this story will indeed be a Oz/Harry story. I love me some Oz, so I wanted to write a story where he has a big part in it.

Uh, yeah. Not much else to say except read and review!

Chapter 2:

Giles' entire body stilled. Surely he must have heard wrong, yes? There was no way the young man standing before him had said what he thought had been said.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Giles asked, chuckling nervously when the man's—Harry he had introduced himself—serious demeanor didn't waver in the slightest. "For a moment there, it sounded as if you had said that—"

"You're my great uncle."

"Yes, that…" Giles felt his knees buckle and he immediately crumpled into the nearest chair, the man's assertion weighing down on him.

This Harry fellow was his… nephew? His great nephew?

Giles took a moment look at him, really look at him—his hair, his eyes, the shape of his face, the slop of his brow… While it was true that the boy did seem to share some similarities to not only Giles, but to his late mother, that in no way proved that they were related in the slightest. There were many people who looked alike yet bore no blood relations.

It was a common thing. In fact, the more Giles thought about it, the more ludicrous the idea seemed to become.

"That—that's impossible," Giles breathed, more to himself than to the silent man before him. "I have no brothers or sisters, so how…" Harry was still giving him that look—that look which said that he believed what he was speaking. Faced with such resolution, Giles could feel his incredulity at the situation fading the slightest bit, so he changed gears. "Do you have any proof?"

Instead of dancing around the issue and accusing the stranger of ridiculous allegations, Giles went straight for heart of the matter. So far, he had only Harry's word to go on, so no matter what the man said or what he requested, Giles had no obligation to listen or help until he could confirm that what Harry said was true. And for that, he would require proof.

The man named Harry dug around in his pocket before revealing a furled scroll of some sort. It had a rather elaborate design along the edges and seemed to shine in the dim lightning.

"It may not seem like much," Harry said, taking a step nearer to Giles and holding out the scroll, "but it was enough to convince me that you and I are blood relatives."

Giles hesitated, numerous thoughts of the horrid things that might happen once he touched that scroll flashing through his mind. But… the look in Harry's eyes, it was so sincere… With a small sigh, the librarian reached forward and clasped the scroll, his muscles tensing.

Nothing happened. After several silent moments where the two looked at each other over the scroll, Harry wearing a look that told of his bemusement and Giles with a sheepish tilt to his lips, the older man finally coughed and took the scroll.

It looked like an ordinary roll of parchment, unremarkable in the slightest except for the rollers which gleamed in the afternoon light. Giles placed the item onto the table and opened it, casting a glance at Harry before staring down at the so-called proof. Laid out before him… was a family tree.

Giles frowned. He could feel Harry's stare burning into the back of his neck, watching him—waiting. For what, Giles did not know, but he was sure that he would soon find out. He adjusted his glasses before peering down at the bottom of the scroll.

Located in the exact lower center was a single name: Harry Potter, the man who claimed to be his great nephew. Above it, a single line stretched up and split to name his parents: Lily Evens-Potter and James Potter. Stretching from the one known as Lily was a line that went off to the left and connected to someone named Petunia Evens-Dursley, Lily's sister. Petunia was married to a man named Vernon Dursley, and together they had a child named Dudley.

So far, Giles had yet to recognize any of these names, and he knew for a fact that there were no Potters or Evans in his blood, so he didn't see how this proved anything.

"Keep going," Harry muttered, as if he knew exactly what Giles was thinking. The librarian once more flashed him a look before doing as requested and returning his attention back down to the family tree.

Above Lily Potter were her parents, and their parents, and so on. The family tree was surprisingly elaborate and seemed to stretch on for generations. He tracked Lily Potter's side of the family until he knew it was impossible for her to have been related to him in any way. With a quiet sigh, he next turned to the one called James Potter.

Above James were his parents: Alan Potter and his wife, Vivian Vertis-Potter.

While the surname Vertis was also lost on Giles, it soon became apparent that he was not connected to them in any way either. That left only a relation to a Potter, and for that to happen, it would mean that one of them was his brother or sister, and as he a previously stated, he didn't have a single sibling.

If what Harry claimed was true, his brother would be Alan Potter. And the mother of Alan Potter was…

"I-Impossible," Giles breathed, unable to take his eyes away from that single name. Of course, he recognized it. How could he not?

Connected innocently to the name of Alan Potter and signifying them as their mother was Madeline Peverell-Giles.

"…Mother…"

But that… that was impossible! For such a thing to be, it would mean that his mother had had an affair while married to his father!

"She didn't cheat on your father," Harry reassured him, somehow correctly guessing exactly what he had been thinking.

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, the world seeming to spin for a moment as the very foundation of his world was rocked. "How can you know that?" he whispered bitterly, his heart clenching at the thought of a brother whom he had never known and who was birthed underneath both his and his father's nose.

Harry stretched out a hand—to do what, Giles didn't know—but he hesitated, his fingers trembling before his arm fell to rest by his side. "I know because I did a little research. I don't know the details, but my great-grandfather, um, the one who—"

"Impregnated my mother?" Giles spat angrily.

"Uh, yeah," Harry coughed, shuffling awkwardly. "This is gonna sound weird, but… you see, my great-grandfather, he… he died."

Giles placed his glasses back on his face and stood up. He began to pace the room, his entire body humming with sudden energy. What he really wanted to do was punch someone, that someone being Harry's wife-stealing great-grandfather, but since he was no longer even alive to punch—the bloody coward—the next best target was Harry, and he was not about to take his ire out on an innocent.

Harry was only the messenger, after all.

"That saves me from having to murder him myself," Giles said conversationally, a twitch developing in his jaw. "But I see nothing weird about an old man dying from what I pray was a long and painful illness."

"Er… no?" Harry watched him as he paced, concern shining in his eyes but the fuming librarian paid him no mind. "I'm not sure how he died honestly, but I know it was shortly after Alan Potter's birth. In, uh… 1912?"

For a while, Giles continued his pacing, that number not meaning anything to him in the slightest. He waited for Harry to continue, to explain why things became 'weird', but with no information forthcoming, he stopped and turned toward the boy who appeared to be watching for his reaction.

"Is 1912 supposed to mean anything to me?" Giles asked, confused.

"That depends," Harry began, watching him closely. "What year was your father born?"

Giles frowned. "1920. Why?"

The dark-haired teenager just continued to stare. "Alan Potter was born in 1912. Your father was born in 1920."

The numbers clicked into place in Giles brain, but they left him with far more questions than answers. "W-What? But that's—"

"Impossible?" Harry shrugged, a bland smile on his face. "Trust me, when it comes to me, I've learnt that there's no such thing as impossible."

"N-No… this truly is impossible," Giles persisted, a frown on his face. "My mother… she-she was much younger than my father; there's… there's no conceivable way she could have sired a child before my father was even born."

There was a mysterious quality to Harry's gaze, as if he knew something but was not willing to share it. Giles narrowed his eyes at the teen, knowing there was a piece to this entire puzzle that he was missing and hating that he couldn't see the entire picture without it. He also knew that Harry had that piece—but for the moment, the man did not look keen on parting with it.

"When was your mother born, Giles?" Harry asked quietly.

"What? She was born in 19… 19…" The librarian trailed off, his hand poised under his chin in thought. "I—I honestly cannot seem to recall. I just… I never thought to ask."

"Is she still alive now?"

Giles frowned at the insistent questioning, not knowing what they had to do with anything. "I don't know… She… she left. When I was still just a boy."

A sudden light appeared in Harry's eyes, one that hadn't been there before, softening his countenance. "I'm sorry… I didn't know."

"It's quite alright," Giles reassured him was a faint smile, feeling worn out despite not having done more than pace a small path through the library.

His mind was still in disarray, and the more Harry spoke, the less sure of anything he was. So far, he was taking Harry's words at face value, but the man did seem to have genuine evidence that suggested that they were related.

But his explanation for it—it made no sense. If Harry had been trying to trick him into thinking they were related for some nefarious plot, why would he go through the trouble of making up such a convoluted back story? He would leave the details vague so that Giles wouldn't question the facts.

Instead, Harry had fed him this story… a story of how his mother had a child before his father was even born. It was preposterous! Yet… Giles could find no reason for why he would be told such an outrageous lie that no one would believe…

Unless it was the truth.

"I know exactly how you feel," Harry chuckled, a wan smile on his face. "I find out I have a family, but then I come across all of this confusing information." He shook his head, looking just as overwhelmed as Giles felt. "Honestly, I don't understand it anymore than you do."

Giles tried to return the smile, but it fell away and he once more slumped into a chair, all of his energy having been sapped away. His eyes landed on the accursed scroll which had thrown his life into disarray and finally registered Harry's words.

He turned toward the boy, a frown on his face. "Your family is…? All of them?"

Harry shrugged a single shoulder, his eyes taking on a far away quality. "No, my aunt is still alive and I lived with them after my parents died, but I consider her so far from family that she barely even counts…" He released a small sigh. "So, for the most part… I don't have a single living relative—that I like anyway."

"I see…"

The truth of the matter was, however, Giles didn't see at all. While he understood that Harry may not have a family to turn to, why had he suddenly decided to seek out Giles? What did he expect? Did this Harry fellow think that Giles would welcome him into his life with open arms and serve him tea and crumpets?

No matter Giles's personal feelings on the matter, forming such a connection couldn't be allowed. He had a sworn duty to protecting the Slayer, and while he had yet to find a reason to dislike his newfound nephew, he just wouldn't be able to get any work done if Harry followed him around like a needy puppy twenty-four seven.

It would be better for everyone if Harry just left—and soon. Sunnydale was on top of a Hellmouth after all, and even if Harry were to stay, it would be far too dangerous for him.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Harry asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper. Still, it was enough to knock Giles from his thoughts.

He looked at the dark-haired man, saw the fear of rejection lurking in his eyes and he also saw the crippling need. It was a heartrending sight, and Giles just knew that a misstep here might possibly end u damaging Harry more than he wished to.

"I… believe you," Giles said at length, keeping his gaze stern lest Harry get the wrong idea. "However, I will need to… verify this information before I am one-hundred percent sure. In the meantime, I think it would be best if you perhaps left town for a while."

Harry's stance changed, becoming more defensive. Giles knew that he was most likely jumping to the wrong conclusions, but there wasn't much he could do about that.

"I can help you look. I… I want to know too. I want to know about my family's past…" Harry bit his lip after he finished speaking, a fire burning behind his eyes.

Already Giles felt his resolve crumbling under the force of that stare, and he knew without a doubt that if they were to become close, Harry would have him underneath his thumb.

Giles sighed, both annoyed and endeared at the boy's conviction. In a way, it reminded him of Buffy…

"Listen… Harry… Sunnydale is not a safe place. I would feel much better if—"

Harry snorted. Giles raised an eyebrow and Harry quickly straightened.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly. "Not that I'm not happy that you don't want me getting hurt, but… I think I can handle myself."

Despite himself, Giles felt Harry's claim to be true. He just… held himself as a warrior would, and though Giles didn't know his past, he knew the man was a fighter capable of protecting himself. Besides, Harry was a man—even if he had yet to turn eighteen, Giles could see it in his eyes.

This was an adult.

"Fine then," Giles said with obvious reluctance. "You can help—but only because it will be faster this way. If it turns out that what you said is false—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll have to leave immediately." A brilliant smile lit up Harry's face, transforming it from the haggard young man to that of a bright teenager. Giles tried to fight it, but he felt a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as well. "But something tells me that won't be the case. Just a feeling in my gut."

Giles inclined his head and hummed, a similar feeling in the pit of his stomach as well. As much as he tried to ignore and doubt, a small part of him had accepted what Harry had said as truth and recognized him as family.

Though neither of them realized it, a bond between them quietly began to form.

"So!" Harry said, breaking the peaceful quiet that had fallen over them. "What's our first order of business?"

Giles frowned. While he appreciated enthusiasm and a healthy work ethic, he couldn't help but feel that Harry was just rushing into this blindly. It was almost as if he was just reacting as he went instead of planning ahead and thinking things through.

"I forgot to ask, but how did you come across this information?"

Something in Harry's eyes flashed but it disappeared in an instant. It had been so sudden that Giles wasn't sure if he had imaged it or not.

"When my parents died… they left me a will that I was supposed to look through on my seventeenth birthday. But, because of certain… circumstances, I couldn't check it out until a year later, a month after I turned eighteen.

"Anyway, my parents were very well off, and they left me a hefty sum in their inheritance. However, I wanted to give it away, but the bank workers—the greedy little buggers they are—wanted me to keep it in the family so they could stay in charge of it.

"I told them I didn't want to leave my aunt and her whale of a husband a single pound, and he informed me that the Dursleys—that's my aunt's family by the way—weren't my only relatives…"

Giles had remained quiet during Harry's story, but his brows were furrowed as he thought. While he was sure there were things Harry was keeping from him, the same could be said of himself, so he was willing to let it slide. But still, why would a bank of all places have a record of a person's living residents?

"How did the bank know? About me I mean?" Giles asked, staring at Harry closely.

Harry bounced on his feet and tilted his head toward the ceiling, his face pensive. "Well, they're a pretty special bank, so they do things a lot differently than most people would be used to. To put it simply, they keep a record of everyone's blood, so with a little DNA testing…"

Giles gaped. "Is that even legal?"

"Yes?" Harry said, more asking than stating.

"But why do they keep a record of everyone's blood? For that matter, why did they even have blood samples dating so far back? DNA testing had not yet reached the level to verify such information until—"

"Look, I don't know, okay?" Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. "All this science talk is giving me a headache. Let's just say they used magic and be done with it."

"Right," Giles said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "So this bank used magic to find out that I was among your relatives even though anyone who was alive at the time is now gone."

Harry's eyes intensified, stopping Giles in his tracks. "Your family is dead too?"

The sudden question threw Giles for a loop. He stared at Harry and saw the empathy shining in those emerald eyes.

"I—yes. My father is dead, but as for my mother… Wait, that's not the point!" Giles stood to his feet and once more began to pace, a single hand pressed against his brow as he tried to think.

"So what is the point?" Harry asked, watching him.

Giles stopped and spun on his heels. "The point is that—well, I'm not quite sure what the point was exactly, but I'm sure that it was important…"

Harry snorted. "Believe me, I know how crazy this may all seem, but… there's the evidence right there in front of you; whether you choose to believe it or not is up to you."

Before Giles could respond, the door to the library flew open and a red-haired teenager walked in. Giles spared Oz only a passing glance but Harry's entire body stilled as soon as he saw the male. Oz returned Harry's stare in his usual unconcerned manner, a blinking contest of sorts ensuing.

Giles coughed, breaking Harry from whatever stupor he had fallen into. The emerald-eyed teen looked at him blankly for a moment before he shook his head, coming back to himself.

"Are you alright?" the librarian asked in concern.

After a few beats of silence, Harry nodded his head once and drew in a deep gulp of air. "L-Listen, I'm staying at a hotel in town, so I need to be heading back before it gets dark. Um… you can keep the scroll to look through, and tomorrow we can go over it together?"

Giles nodded, his gaze distant as he stared at where the scroll still lay out on the table. "Alright."

Harry gave him a small smile and turned to leave before pausing and spinning back around. "Oh, where did you want to meet up? And what time?"

"Here. I'm free anytime during school hours."

With a short laugh Harry said, "Right, it's not like you have a job to do or anything. Okay. Tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow," Giles agreed, nodding.

Their plans set, he watched as Harry turned and headed toward the door. Oz still stood near the entrance, and the two exchanged silent nods before Harry pushed through the double doors and disappeared into the hallways beyond.

Oz looked over his shoulder, as if he could still see the dark-haired stranger through the wood of the door.

After several long moments, Oz faced forward, his face pensive. "Who was that?"

Giles coughed, feeling as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. He hesitated, debating whether he should tell the truth or perhaps wait until he had more information. Sighing, he decided that it would probably come out eventually once Harry began frequenting the library and he met the rest of the group.

Besides, he couldn't think of a possible motive Harry could have other than the one he claimed, and until he was proven otherwise, Giles would give him at least that much trust.

"My nephew," Giles said, a hint of wonder entering his voice.

Oz shrugged. "I didn't know you had family."

Again, his attention was captured by the innocuous scroll on his desk and he walked nearer to it. "Neither did I."

"I used to think you were a robot," Oz informed him, his expression not changing in the slightest.

Straightening, Giles looked at the man in both annoyance and confusion. "What exactly are you doing here? Did you need something?"

Oz looked out the window where the sun was still shining brightly, but in only an hour would be disappearing into the horizon.

"Oh!" Giles cried, having forgotten with all of the recent excitement. "The full moon. Was that tonight?"

"Either that or I enjoy being locked up in a cage naked more than I let on."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Right…" Giles said, just knowing it was better for everyone if he didn't question it.

o0o

"How is he?"

Giles looked up from the computer screen, his eyes strained from having been researching for the past few hours without rest. He was looking for any and all information he could on Harry Potter, and what he had found so far seemed to check out with what Harry told him—although there were curious inconsistencies in the man's life, particularly starting from when he was age eleven all the way to the present.

He hadn't been able to find out much about the Dursleys other than they were Harry's legal guardians and the man of the household, Vernon, worked in some company or other. He had also researched a little into Lily Potter, but James Potter had yet to turn up anything.

As soon as Harry had left, he had scoured his archives for anything he could find, however, it had all ground to a halt when he came upon a startling realization—he had no written records of his family history.

He had a few photos of his parents and some of their old things, but nothing that documented their life, and when he thought about it, he didn't know why he had thought he would. He came from a long line of Watchers, which meant that it was imperative that they not just leave their secrets around willy-nilly.

That sort of information was kept in the Watchers' Diaries, and since Giles was no longer a Watcher, he couldn't access that information. Most likely the diaries were locked away somewhere by the Watcher's Council in England, being preserved for future generations should they one day need them.

And Giles surely needed them, yet there was no way he could get them. The Council would no longer even give him the time of day.

Never in his life had he wished he had fought harder so that such items would fall into his possession, instead of being confiscated, but he had thought he would have no use for it…

"Giles?"

Broken from the stupor he had fallen into, Giles gave himself a small shake and focused on the person before him.

Willow Rosenberg was twisting her hands together, her eyes a little wide in concern. Tonight was the third and final night of the full moon cycle, and as always, Willow had appeared in the middle of the night to watch over her boyfriend in his transformed state.

Giles gave her a tired smile and turned to where Oz stood caged. The man—or rather, werewolf—was pressed against the bars of his temporary prison, his snout extended as far outward as the bars allowed where he proceeded to sniff the air without pause.

"He's acting weird," Willow sighed. "Well, you know—weirder than he usually does when he changes."

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, overcome by a sudden exhaustion. "I assure you Willow, Oz is quite alright."

The aspiring witch was less than reassured. She walked nearer to the transformed man, but he didn't even glance at her.

"Are you sure?" Willow asked, keeping a safe distance from the bars. "He usually growls and tries to kill me, but now… now he won't even look at me."

Giles paused. He was becoming well versed in understanding twisted female logic, so he knew that in Willow's brain, wolf-Oz's lack of interest in her was the same as human-Oz suddenly losing interest as well—even if it meant that having his interest could possibly get her killed.

And though he understood it, that didn't in any way mean he knew how to deal with it.

"Well," Giles began, searching for the right words, "I'm sure it's just a werewolf thing and has nothing to do with you. Once Oz returns to his old self, then—"

"You're right," Willow interrupted, a smile on her face. It was a good thing too, as Giles had no idea what he was going to say next. "When Oz wakes up and he's all naked, I'm gonna—" As if just remembering that Giles was still in the room, she jumped and quickly amended, "—I'm gonna… be a fine upstanding student who believes in sex only after marriage."

Giles, of course, was unconvinced.

"Right…" he said dryly. "Well then. It's quite late; I think I should be getting home."

Willow nodded and watched over her shoulder as the librarian gathered up his things and headed for the door.

"Bye Giles!"

Giles gave her a final smile before he disappeared, leaving her alone with the still sniffing werewolf.

Willow watched in silence as Oz continued to inhale. She even took a few experimental sniffs of herself to see if she offended, but there was nothing. The library smelled as it always had, but Oz was acting as if he had smelled the sweetest aroma, or in his wolf state, the freshest bloody slab of meat.

Whatever it was, it must have been powerful to bring about such a drastic change in the usually feral wolf.

Sighing, she walked over to their group's favorite table and sat down. Already her homework was finished for the next day, but she had gotten into the habit of doing a second copy of all her work—not because she was an overachiever, but for Buffy to look through when she returned. Which Willow knew she would.

As she worked, her concentration kept being broken by the insistent huffing noises Oz emitted. While his howls and growls had been annoying, she had become used to tuning them out, but this… not so much.

"What is it?" she asked him, even though she also knew he wouldn't understand. "Is Buffy trapped in a well?"

As expected, Oz didn't react except for releasing a small whine. It sounded fragile, needy, and Willow had never heard such a sound come from Oz, human or otherwise.

She stood to her feet and took slow steps toward him, waiting on him to look at her, to lash out or something. But he didn't, even when she was close enough where if he had wanted to, he could reach through the bars of his cage and touch her.

They were a mere inches apart now, barely an inch of metal standing in her way of certain death. Yet, Oz didn't seize the opportunity. He still continued on as if she wasn't even in the room.

"What are you smelling?" Willow whispered, not wanting to startle him. She ran her hands up along the bars, the metal cool underneath her fingertips. She trailed them higher and higher upward, until she could feel Oz's warm breath tickling her hand.

If she was bitten now, she knew without a doubt what she would become, and yet…

Slowly, she extended her hand forward… and placed her palm against the warm fur of his muzzle.

For a moment she smiled, thinking that she could get used to this semi-peaceful Oz. But then there was a fierce growl and a flash as he moved, and before Willow could even scream, she found herself laid out on the ground, her wounded arm clutched to her chest.

Oz was staring down at her from behind his bars, his teeth bared in a feral snarl. He was growling, his expression as close to hatred as his wolf form would allow. And even though Willow knew that that was no longer Oz, even though she understood it—it didn't stop the pain from blossoming in her heart.

Wincing, she managed to sit up and stared down at her arm. Bleeding profusely were cut marks that started above her wrist and continued upward to her elbow. They weren't deep, but they oozed blood and throbbed in time with her rapid heartbeats.

Breath was heaving from her lungs in short bursts and she knew she should get up and have her scratch tended to, but she just couldn't move.

After releasing a short huff of air, Oz once more pressed his face against the bars of his cage and began to sniff.