A/N: *falls asleep on keyboard*

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*wakes up* Huh, what? Oh... Right. New chapter. Haha, man I'm freaking exhausted, so this probably won't be as... uh... something as it usually is.

But yay! We see more of the Scoobies this chapter, as well as a hinty-hinty of the plot. I don't want to kill the suspense, so I won't give anything away or set any expectations. So just read it, hopefully you'll enjoy it, and even more hopefully you'll hit that review button and tell me whatcha think, eh?

Willow Rosenberg was not having a good day.

Repeated occurrences of bad luck were not piling up against her, but it didn't take frequent disasters for one to be having a not-good day.

After her mini-meltdown in the library where she almost let herself bleed out, she had come back to her senses and made good use of the medical kit in Giles' office. Buffy received so many cuts and bruises while slaying that all the members of the Scooby Gang knew basic first aid, so she hadn't had much trouble in dressing her wound, even while woozy.

The real trouble had come when she had to clean up the blood from the floor. After getting the needed supplies from the janitor's closet, she had then proceeded in mopping up the blood she managed to trail everywhere. She didn't want Giles, or anyone else for that matter, coming in the next day and thinking that a murder had taken place.

By the time she had managed to dispose of the evidence of her getting injured, that had left her with only two hours to go home, clean up, take a quick nap and get back up for a not-so-bright day of school.

And to make matters worse, to cover up her bandages, she wore a pink wool sweater with long droopy sleeves. That, combined with a hot Californian summer day, did not a happy Willow make.

Thankfully, lunchtime was drawing near. She could probably sneak in a forty minute power nap before it was back to being a model student.

"Wow Will, you look like hell."

Xander, her friend since the playpen, matched her pace as they began their familiar trek to the library. She pouted, although it had intended to be more of a glare.

"Thanks, because that's what every girl wants to hear when she's having one of the worst days ever."

"Okay," Xander drawled, giving her a sideways glance, "based on the information I've gathered… I'm guessing you're in a bad mood."

Willow sighed and would have rolled her eyes if she weren't so exhausted. "Gee, I wonder what gave it away."

"Come on," he needled, "tell me. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing…"

"Usually when someone says, 'sigh, I'm in such a bad mood' that usually means they want to unload on someone. So come on. Tell me."

Once again, Willow sighed, but by this point it was just for show. Xander, for once, was right and she really did want someone to talk to. Having a secret and not being able to tell it was torture—and it had only been half a day!

Coming to a decision, Willow grabbed Xander by the arm and led him off to a corner of the hall where they were less likely to be observed. He looked a little surprised at the manhandling, but that was put aside as he took in the truly haggard state of his friend.

The witch in training looked around the hall, making sure that no one was around. Once she was sure the coast was clear, she fiddled with the sleeve of her sweater, trying to think of the best way to word it. "First of all, you have to promise—"

"Of course I won't tell anyone," Xander said, a rare look of sincerity on his face. "You're my best bud."

Willow smiled. "Aw, that's sweet, but I was going to make you promise never to use the phrase 'unload on' again. It sounds like—well, do you even need me to say it?"

Xander inclined his head. "Okay. Promise made. Now tell me."

Sighing, she told him, "Its Oz… Last night he… he—"

"Oh my god," Xander breathed, "he bit you!"

Willow's eyes widened in shock. She opened her mouth to deny it, but Xander reached forward and pulled her into a strong hug, her words muscled—er, muffled—into his chest.

Xander continued on, giving the girl in his arms a reassuring squeeze, "Don't you worry, Will. Even if you turn into a ravenous, bloodthirsty werewolf, I'll always stand by you." He paused. "Well… except when you're in wolf form of course. Then I'll be as far away as humanly possible, but I'll be supporting you spiritually."

"As touching as that is," Willow mumbled, lifting her head to speak, "Oz didn't bite me."

Xander stared down at her. "Say what?"

The small red-head managed to free herself from Xander's embrace and took a step backward. She looked left and right down the hall, but it was already empty as a majority of the students were off either having lunch or enjoying a break.

Satisfied that they wouldn't be seen, Willow pulled back her right sleeve to show the white gauze wrapped around her arm and the pink tinge that was beginning to color it as blood seeped through the bandages.

"Willow!" Xander cried, taking her arm in his hand. "…Oz did this to you?"

"No!" she denied immediately. Xander gave her a look and she released a quiet sigh. "…Well, yes, but he was in wolf form. I know he would never hurt me if he was in cute, normal, non-violent human form… Besides, it's just a scratch."

Xander stared at her as if he couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth. "Willow, this is not just a scratch. You fall and scrape your knee? That's a scratch. A flesh eating beastie rips out a chunk of your flesh? Not so much."

Willow snatched her arm from Xander's grip and lowered her sleeve, her eyebrows creasing downward. "It's no big deal! It was my fault anyway."

"Will, it is not your fault! Unless you tied a steak around your neck and told him to come have a bite, none of this is your fault."

"You don't understand," Willow said, resisting the urge to stomp her foot. "Oz was acting differently than usual. He kept… sniffing something, and he wasn't reacting to anything. I tried to touch him and… well, you know the rest."

"You tried to touch him? That's like—"

"Xander, I don't need one of your witty similes to know what I did was stupid; I have this wound on my arm to prove it!"

The dark-haired teen sighed. "I'm sorry…"

Willow gave a quick nod, her gaze sliding to the floor. "It's okay… I know he could have bit me or… or worse, but I… I…" Despite herself, she felt tears beginning to gather in her eyes and gave a choked cry.

Xander released a small sound of regret and once more drew Willow into a hug. This time she didn't resist and threw her arms around him, wanting to release all of her pent up emotions as tears into the chest of the one person she trusted most with anything.

But she couldn't. It just didn't seem… right. She felt if she did, something would be set free that she couldn't take back.

So not a single tear was shed. However, in the arms of her longest lasting friend, she could feel herself slowly returning to normal.

"Uh, am I interrupting something?"

The two jumped apart, Willow immediately making sure her sleeves were pulled down while Xander held up his hands in surrender.

"Oz!" Willow exclaimed in surprised, not having seen him at all during the day. She rushed forward and leapt into her boyfriend's arms. Oz, while startled, caught her without missing a beat and wrapped his arms around her.

"Hi to you too," he said, shooting a small glance in Xander's direction over Willow's shoulder. "It's been, what, twelve hours?"

Willow withdrew from her boyfriend's arm and gave him a tender smile. She was just glad that he was back to his old self.

"We were just talking about you," Xander piped up. Willow flashed him a look over her shoulder, but she only received a pointed stare in return.

Oz looked between the two of them, his face as unreadable as always. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh, um," Willow floundered, extracting herself from Oz while looking for a suitable cover up. "We were just talking about how great of a musician you are and were… were wondering if we could ever be so talented!"

Oz took one look at Willow's smiling face and then turned to Xander. He raised a single eyebrow.

"Will says you were acting a little strange last night," Xander said, once more earning a panicked look from Willow. "You know—when you went teen wolf on us?"

"Strange?" Oz looked to Willow. "Strange how?"

"W-Well, it wasn't too strange," Willow assured him, as if that made it better, "just strange in the way that you didn't want to kill anyone and instead kept… sniffing."

"Sniffing?"

"Yes, man who repeats everything," Xander mocked, a humorless smile on his face. With practiced ease, both Willow and Oz ignored him.

Willow nodded. "Yeah, you kept your face pressed against the bars and you kept inhaling like you were smelling something…" Oz's forehead creased and his eyes traveled downward, the small motion not going unnoticed by his girlfriend. "Oz? Do you remember something?"

The musician sighed and looked at her with serious eyes. "Did it rain last night?"

"Huh?" Willow blinked and looked over at Xander, who appeared just as confused as she was. "No, it hasn't rained for at least a week."

Oz's frown seemed to deepen. "Well, I don't remember very clearly, but I do remember… rain. Smelling…rain."

Xander chuckled. "Great, mystery solved! We have a weather forecasting werewolf on our hands; that's just the thing we need. Now we can remember to pack umbrellas before we get our butts handed to us by vamps."

"Do you think that's it?" Willow frowned. "That you were just… smelling some oncoming rain?"

Oz shrugged. "I guess… My sense of smellhas been increasing lately." As if to prove his point, he took two delicate sniffs of the air and froze. "I smell blood."

Willow's eyes went wide and she turned to Xander, full on panic mode mere seconds away. She didn't want Oz to know that he had hurt her while in wolf form. If he found out, she didn't know what he would do, but she knew nothing good could come of it.

Sensing her distress, Xander laughed, drawing Oz's attention.

"Oh, that's just me," he said, smiling. "Had a little trouble with the ole razor this morning. Haha, I'm sure you know how that is… Right?"

Oz peered at Xander's face. "I don't see any cuts…"

"That's because they're… down there."

There was an all consuming silence as everyone's eyes uneasily traveled downward toward Xander's crotch.

"And on that note," Xander began, reddening, "I think I'll be continuing on towards the library." With an embarrassed nod toward Oz and a look that said 'you owe me big time' toward Willow, Xander turned and trekked library, leaving the aspiring witch and young werewolf behind.

"He's an odd fellow," Oz noted.

Willow chuckled and linked her arm with his. "Tell me about it."

o0o

Harry released a sigh of contentment as he stepped through the doors of Sunnydale High and slumped against a wall. Cool air blew over his sweat soaked body, and the moisture on his skin cooling felt like heaven after walking the short distance from his hotel room to the school.

Honestly, Harry didn't know how anyone could function while living under such conditions. Sunnydale was a hot place, and when you were used to 'hot' being a warm sixty degree evening, suddenly stepping into a place where on a good day the average temperature exceeded one-hundred degrees… it was as if he had migrated from the North Pole and into the Sahara.

He would have to research a cooling charm to cast on his clothing, and soon. Otherwise he was sure it wouldn't be long before he was roasted alive.

After soaking up what energy he could from the coolness, Harry hoisted himself to his feet and headed toward the library, hoping he wouldn't get lost like he had last time.

The high school wasn't exactly big, at least not compared to Hogwarts, but with its circling hallways and many doors, it took Harry a little longer than he liked before he reached a familiar set of double doors.

He hesitated only a moment before pushing the doors open and stepping inside.

Giles was nowhere in sight, but a group of students were sitting at one of the tables in the center of the room and they all looked up when he walked in. Harry recognized the red-haired boy from before, and with him was another red-haired girl—his sister perhaps?—and a dark-haired boy who was balancing a pencil over his lips.

Like the first time Harry had seen the red-head, Harry couldn't help but connect his orangey-red hair to Ron's, and with the girl sitting next to him… Harry shuddered, memories of Ginny and he rising unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

He pushed aside the thoughts desperately, not wanting to have an episode…not now… not in public. Besides, without the uncommon hair color, these two kids looked nothing likeRon or Ginny.

For one, the boy looked too… serious. Ron was almost never serious, and what was more this red-head had no freckles.

And the girl… she looked so peppy that Harry felt as if he would get diabetes just staring at her. Ginny had a short fuse to match her flaming red hair, and as such, she always wore a volatile expression on her face, but when she was feeling a little devious, her eyes would sparkle a certain way and her luscious lips would curl upward…

Harry coughed and shook himself. The important thing to remember was, despite their red hair, these two blokes in no way resembled the Weasleys.

"Er, is… is Rupert Giles here?" Harry asked, once more giving the room a cursory glance.

The red-haired girl smiled somewhat awkwardly and looked around. "Um, Giles isn't in right now, but if you want, I could help you find what you're looking for?"

Harry frowned, somewhat hurt that the man wasn't where he said he would be when he said he would be there. For a moment he entertained the thought that perhaps Giles had come to the decision that he wanted nothing to do with Harry, and that now he was hiding out, maybe in the library itself, until Harry gave up and went back home.

But that was ridiculous; no one would go through such lengths just to get rid of someone… Would they?

"Oh, no thank you," Harry said, forgetting for a moment that the girl had even spoken to him. She was still looking at him with her half-smile, and her companion's focus was trained solely on him as well. He met their gazes without wavering, used to constant staring from his days at Hogwarts. "Do you perhaps know where he went…?"

The girl shook her head, appearing apologetic. Harry sighed, prepared to turn and leave.

"Are you his son?"

The question had come from the dark-haired boy who had apparently lost interest in trying to balance his pencil and was now tilting his chair backwards.

"Xander!" the red-haired girl admonished.

The chair returned to the floor with a thump and the one called Xander shrugged. "Come on, don't tell me you weren't thinking it too!"

The girl looked to Harry and then down at the table. "Well, yes, but… it's still rude!"

Harry cracked a smile despite himself, somewhat amused by their bantering. Besides, it warmed him the slightest bit to know that this stranger had thought he was related to Giles.

"I'm not his son," Harry admitted. He paused, debating internally if he should tell him the true relation between him and Giles. There was no harm in it, right? They were just curious students after all, and what was more, Harry wanted to tell it to someone. To say it out loud.

It made it seem more… real.

"He's my uncle," he smiled, a lightness fluttering in his chest. "Actually, my great-uncle, but… I like plain old uncle better."

"And that explains the accent," Xander said, smacking the table as if the entire mystery—whatever it was—had been solved.

"I didn't know Giles had family," the girl said, a bright smile appearing on her face as the result of Harry's own.

The red-haired boy next to her spoke for the first time, "I used to think he was a robot."

Weird looks were sent his way, but they didn't seem to faze him in the slightest. He just continued to gaze at Harry, his face looking both blank and serious all at once. It was an odd combination to say the least, and Harry quirked a slight brow at the teen.

"Right," Harry drawled. "It was nice meeting you all, but I think I'll go. Tell Giles Harry stopped by, alright?"

"Harry," the red-headed male whispered, his voice so low that it went unnoticed.

"Wait!" The single female leapt to her feet, her chair grating as it screeched across the floor. They all winced at the sound, all eyes turning toward her. Her expression was sheepish and she folded her hands together in a self-conscious gesture. "…Sorry."

Harry, having halted at the girl's cry and the loud screech of the chair, merely rubbed his ear. "S'alright… Who needs hearing anyway?" She shuffled guiltily at his words and Harry sighed, taking pity on her. "Did you need something?"

"Oh! No! I was, um… You don't have to leave, you know. You can wait in here, I'm sure Giles will be back soon…"

The idea wasn't a bad one, and despite the awkwardness of the girl, the trio didn't seem like a bad lot… Besides, if Giles did soon return, Harry didn't want to miss him.

"Alright," he said after several moments of contemplating. "I guess I can wait a minute or two."

The girl gave a bright smile and looked as if she would cheer. Thankfully, she didn't and instead directed him into a seat across from the quiet boy and next to the boy named Xander. Once he was seated, the girl returned to her own chair.

Up close, Harry could see that they all had books open and were doing what appeared to be schoolwork.

Unbidden, memories began assaulting Harry's brain of his days at Hogwarts. Studying with Hermione and Ron. Laughing when Hermione tried and failed to get Ron to take his studies serious. Hermione finally getting fed up with Ron and ignoring him, all for Ron to practically beg Hermione to once more help him.

The wave of vertigo that hit him was so strong that for a moment, Harry thought he would faint. Thankfully, a strong hand on his shoulder snapped him from the grasps of the memories and he blinked as he was once again brought into the world of the present.

Across from him, the two red-heads were looking at him in concern—or at least, he assumed the male was concerned as his eyebrows were drawn downward. The one who had shaken him was Xander, and Harry gave the teen a small nod to show his thanks.

"You okay?" Xander asking, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze before pulling away.

Harry smiled to the best of his abilities, but he was sure it looked as hollow as he felt. "I'm alright… It's just, the dusty smell of books makes me a little woozy."

"Oh, tell me about it," Xander gushed, slapping the book in front of him. A sprinkle of dust flew into the air and the teen gasped and coughed, trying futilely to wave away the dust.

The girl, however, wasn't so convinced of his wellness. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Again Harry smiled, this time more genuinely. "Yeah. It'll take more than a few musty old books to take me down."

She nodded, although a hint of concern was still lurking in her eyes. "Oh! I forgot to introduce myself! I'm Willow," she introduced, becoming excited.

Harry inclined his head good naturedly. "Hello. You already know this, but I'm Harry."

Next, she reached over and grasped the arm of the near-silent boy. She gave him a slick peck on the cheek, causing Harry to raise a brow of surprise. Either they were very friendly siblings, or…

"This is Oz," Willow continued, unaware of the turn Harry's brain had taken him. "He's my boyfriend. And a musician. I'm dating a musician," she grinned, looking near giddy.

"She never gets tired of saying that," Oz told him with a small smile.

Harry just chuckled, thinking that they were a cute couple. "Nice to meet you."

Oz nodded. "You too."

"And this is—"

"Xander," said man introduced, reaching out a hand to shake. "I'm the normal one."

Harry took the offered hand into his own and stole a peak across the table. Both Willow and Oz were shaking their head no, signaling that Xander was not the normal one.

"Pleasure to meet you," Harry said, trying to hold in his laughter.

"Likewise," Xander said. "And I can see you guys shaking you your heads out of the corner of my eye." He turned to them, frowning. "Peripheral. Yeah."

Willow at least had the grace to look sheepish; Oz just shrugged.

"There's usually two others who're a part of our group, but, well…" Willow trailed off and flashed a concerned look at Xander, who had gotten oddly quiet.

Harry raised an intrigued brow but didn't comment, knowing that it wasn't his place to pry.

"So, Harry," the cheery girl pressed on, trying to break the somber atmosphere which had seemed to envelop the room, "how long have you been in Sunnydale? I don't think I've ever seen you around the school until today, so…"

"I've only been here a couple days," Harry told them, going with the subject change. "This is my first time in Sunnydale—actually, this is my first time in America."

Xander gaped. "And you chose to come here of all places? Sunnyhell?"

Harry chuckled. "That's a fitting name. I thought I was going to burst into flame out there."

"Wouldn't be the first time that happened," Xander muttered. Harry, however, heard him and looked at him inquiringly. Seeing that, Xander released a quiet sigh and looked across the table at Willow.

The read-haired girl looked a little indignant that explaining duty had been passed onto her, but she sat up straighter in her seat and told him, "It's not called Sunnyhell because of the climate. Its… well, a lot of weird things happen here."

"Weird how?" Harry asked, intrigued. Was it possible there were other magic users in the area causing a little chaos? Or perhaps a magical creature of some sort? He hadn't heard of America having a Wizarding World of its own, but it wouldn't surprise him to find it so.

"It's not that bad," Willow defended weakly. "Just an unexplained phenomenon here, a disappearance or mysterious murder there…" She shrugged. "You get used to it."

"That's should be the town's catchphrase," Oz noted. "Sunnydale: You get used to it."

Harry's brow knitted, mulling this new information over in his head. What they were talking about definitely sounded supernatural, but he didn't think it was a wizard. Most likely some type of magical beast that was praying on the helpless Muggles.

His saving people thing was rearing its ugly head, but he pushed it aside with effort. It wasn't any of his concern, and besides, he didn't really know if anything was out there; for all he knew it could be the work of some psychopath.

While bad, it didn't exactly call for Harry having to get involved. He was no longer the Boy-Who-Lived or the Gryffindor Golden Boy. He didn't need to investigate anything.

He could just be normal.

"But don't worry!" Willow exclaimed, breaking him from his musings. "As long as you don't go out after dark or invite any strangers into your home, you should be fine."

Harry gave her a wan smile. "Gotcha."

o0o

In the end, Giles hadn't shown, and Harry had left after receiving multiple reassurances from Willow that she would be sure to tell the man that he had stopped by and to give him a swift kick in the arse for blowing off their engagement in the first place.

Harry had to admit, from what he had seen, he liked the trio. They seemed like a close knit group, and he couldn't help but be reminded of the trio he had been a part of back at Hogwarts… The Golden Trio they had been called…

A sigh escaped him as he lay down in his scratchy motel bed, staring up at the ceiling, lost in days long past.

It still hurt to remember, but with nothing to distract him, all Harry was left with was his memories, so all he couldto do was remember—remember how he had met both Hermione and Ron on that Hogwarts Express those many years ago, remember the friendship they had forged after saving Hermione from a troll, remember the laughs they shared… remember the honorable way in which they had died.

Harry rolled over on the bed, his eyes sliding shut as he tried to block the memories out—to stop the flow before it became too much, too fast.

Too late.

Snow… There was snow everywhere. It crunched under his feet as he walked, the sound of it filled his ears, and even the smell of it…

Cold.

It was cold, but still he walked forward—where he was going, he didn't know, but he knew he had to get there. He had to… because he was the Chosen One.

The bloody Boy-Who-Lived. It was his destiny. His duty.

He had to stop Voldemort, and it would all end tonight.

After six years of constant near misses and desperate struggles, it would all come to an end.

He thought he would be happy—he thought he'd be relieved. But all he felt was the cold, the mind numbing chilliness as it slowed the blood in his veins and crept into his shoes.

He had been brought up just to die. He had died—but now he was back.

And it would end. All of it.

Hogwarts was just ahead, and the heavy door that usually sealed its entrance was open, the entire door having been blasted off its hinges.

Harry, however, spared it only a moment's glance before passing through it.

He was still cold, but it was slowly being replaced by other feelings. He could no longer hear the sound of his own steps, nor could he smell the thick layer of snow outside.

Now all of his sentences focused on were death: death filled his vision,it invaded his nostrils, and he could even here it—off into the distance. Just up ahead, he knew a struggle was going on, and his pace quickened.

Just up ahead. Only a few more steps and he would be there. The Great Hall, they were keeping everyone hostage there, he just knew it, and all he had to do…

…was step….

…through the door.

But he didn't want to. He paused outside it, the great imposing door seeming so much bigger now that it no longer concealed a room that was filled with laughter, good food and warm feelings.

Now all it contained was death and blood. He could smell it. In fact, he could still hear it, even now… the screams, the cruel laughter.

Yet still… he hesitated. His hand reached forward… his fingers quivering, but not from the cold, and he touched the door.

As if reacting to his gentle touch, it slowly creaked open, that putrid smell whooshing outward with a great gust and almost knocking Harry off his feet.

It was sickening in its potency, frightening in its freshness. The death.

And still the door inched open further and further, yet no matter how wide it opened, Harry couldn't see a thing. There was not a slip of light, and as the door continued to open light the frightening mouth of a flesh eating beast, he felt as if he were staring into the slowly opening gates of hell.

The door released a low groan as it opened all the way, the pure darkness not retreating at the light seeping in from the hallway at all.

Harry didn't know a room could be so dark. In fact, he didn't remember the room being dark at all…

He lingered outside the doorway, debating if he wanted to step inside or not. His friends were waiting after all, and he needed to save them…

No. He had to save them. He had to fulfill his destiny. He had to do what he had been born to do… what he had been raised to do.

He lifted his foot to take the first step.

But a grip on his shoulder stopped him.

Harry gasped and spun away from whatever had grabbed him, so surprised that he tripped over his feet and fell backward. Thankfully, the door behind him closed with a mighty bang and his back collided with the polished wood of the Great Hall entrance. Harry hardly even noticed, his gaze centered squarely on the robed individual who had appeared before him.

"Now is not the time."

Harry licked his lips and swallowed. He opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out—whether it was due to fear, or something preventing him from speaking, he didn't know.

He couldn't quite make out what stood before him, as its visage was hazy, but it was at least seven feet tall and cloaked in darkness. Its body seemed to sway in a non-existent wind, and if Harry hadn't known better, he would swear he was gazing at a dementor.

"Soon," the specter whispered, lifting a long arm where a pair of spindly fingers could be seen, despite the fogginess of it. One of those long fingers stiffened and pointed… directly at the only other person who continued to gaze up speechless at the phantom before him.

Harry's heart beat out a crescendo in his ears as the finger drew nearer and nearer, his eyes crossing as it filled his line of vision.

The finger touched his forehead, and… Harry woke up, a choked gasp escaping his throat as he sat up in his bed, his entire body drenched in sweat.

He gazed left and right wildly, searching for a sign of the mysterious figure, but he was one more alone in his hotel room.

A dream… Harry tried to reassure himself, his hand going to where he had been touched—his scar. It had all been just a crazy dream…

He met his own gaze in the mirror.

…Or so he hoped.