Summary: Angel is approached by Whistler to help Buffy and the monks send the Key to the Slayer.

Disclaimer: Disney owns Buffy and JK Rowling owns Harry Potter

Pairing: No Pairing

Author's Note: Originally this was part of a two-chapter prologue to a story I posted on here years ago that was eventually deleted by the admin. I have been working on the story ever since (it even went through a name change - originally it was titled The Last Summers). It's past time I tried re-uploading it and have decided to make this a one-shot (the second prologue will also be a one-shot as well before heading into the story proper.

Spring 1996

Manhattan, New York

The dark, dirty alleyways were nearly deserted, and Angel's hollow eyes stared into the abyss of the decaying city. He shifted restlessly in the darkness, the hunger gnawing at his insides like a ravenous beast. His parched lips trembled as he watched a lone rat scuttle among a few garbage cans, its fleeting existence offering a glimmer of hope. In his desperation, he pounced, but the wily rodent slipped through his grasp, leaving him to crash among the refuse with a cacophonous clatter.

And then, from the shadows emerged Whistler, the enigmatic balance demon. His eyes, sharp and critical, took in the pitiful sight before him. "God, are you disgusting?" His voice, like gravel on glass, cut through the desolation. Angel, unaccustomed to being spoken to, recoiled, retreating further into the darkness. The words stung, the harsh truth about his pitiable condition leaving a bitter taste. "What an unforgettable smell," Whistler continued, his words dripping with contempt. "This is the stench of death you're emitting here. And the look says crazy homeless guy, it's not good."

Angel's fangs clenched, his anger bubbling beneath the surface. "Get away from me," he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble.

"What will you do, bite me?" Whistler taunted, his sarcasm cutting through the thick, stagnant air. "Oh, horror! A vampire!" Angel, brought to a reluctant standstill, shot a searing glance at the intruder. "Oh, but you're not gonna bite me 'cause of your poor tortured soul. It's so sad, a vampire with a soul. How poignant. I may physically vomit here."

Angel's curiosity mingled with his irritation. "Who are you?" he inquired, his voice carrying a hint of weary intrigue.

"Let's take a walk. Come on." Whistler extended a hand, helping Angel to his feet before leading him out of the dismal alleyway and into the dimly lit streets. "What are you eating like a rat once a month?" Whistler's chiding tone grated on Angel's frayed nerves. "You're skin and bones here. Butcher shops throw away more blood in a day than you could stand. Good blood. You lived in the world a little bit you'd know that." Angel's jaw clenched as the truth struck a chord, his inner turmoil mirrored in the twisting shadows around them.

"I want to know who you are," Angel replied, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and desperation as Whistler came to a halt and turned to face him.

"And I want to know who you are," Whistler shot back, his gaze piercing and inscrutable.

"You already do," Angel yelled angrily, his emotions bubbling to the surface, unable to contain the turmoil within.

Whistler made a shaky motion with his head, as if to shake off the intensity of the moment. "Not yet. I'm looking to find out. 'Cause you could go either way here." The shadows deepened around them, echoing the uncertainty that shrouded their conversation.

"I don't understand you," Angel stated, his voice tinged with a hint of defeat.

Whistler gave a rueful smile, a glimmer of enigmatic wisdom in his eyes. "Nobody understands me. It's my curse." He took a few steps away, approaching a hot dog vendor. "Dog me," he ordered, a momentary diversion from the weight of their exchange. He returned his gaze to Angel, a sardonic grin dancing on his lips. "There are three kinds of people that no one understands. Geniuses, madmen, and guys that mumble. My name is Whistler. Anyway, lately it is. My real name is hard to pronounce unless you're a dolphin." He paid for the hot dog and bit into it, the absurdity of the situation punctuating their strange encounter in the bleak night.

"You're not a vampire," Angel scowled, his suspicions lingering in the air like a dark cloud.

Whistler gave a nod, his tone earnest. "A demon, technically. But I'm not a bad guy; not all demons are dedicated to the destruction of all life. Someone has to maintain balance, you know. Good and evil can't exist without each other, blah blah blah. I'm not like a good fairy or anything, I'm just trying to make it all balance—do I come off defensive?"

"What did you mean, that I could go either way?" Angel inquired, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

"I mean, you could either become a more useless rodent than you are now, or you could become... someone." Whistler's gaze bore into Angel's, as if searching for a glimmer of hope in the abyss of his despair. "A person. Someone who can be relied on." The weight of his words hung in the air, a pivotal moment in Angel's fate suspended in the balance.

"I just want to be left alone," Angel moaned, his voice laden with the weariness of centuries.

Whistler gave a nod, acknowledging the depth of Angel's isolation. "You've been alone for what, ninety years? And what an impressive package you are. The stink guy." He couldn't help but scrunch up his nose in disgust, a hint of dark humor coloring his words, as if to punctuate the absurdity of their encounter in the shadowy corners of the world.

"You don't know what I have to deal with. What I've done," Angel objected, his voice heavy with the weight of his dark past.

Whistler sighed, his patience wearing thin. "You're annoying me! The self-pity thing is not gonna bring in the chicks. It's a bore." He couldn't help but inject a touch of sarcasm, trying to break through the layers of Angel's brooding guilt.

Angel groaned irritably, his frustration palpable. "What exactly do you want from me?"

Whistler grinned, an enigmatic glint in his eyes. "I want you to see something. It's happening very soon, we'd need to leave now. You see, and then you tell me what you want to do."

"Where exactly is it?" Angel inquired, his curiosity tinged with a wary caution that had become his default state.

A week later

Hemery High School, Los Angeles, California

An automobile, with blacked-out windows, came to a stop in front of the high school, the dimly lit interior concealing its occupants. In the driver's seat sat Angel, his brooding countenance etched with curiosity, while Whistler occupied the passenger seat, his eyes alight with an unusual anticipation.

"She's the one," Whistler declared, his finger pointing towards a radiant blonde girl amidst a group of adolescent girls. Angel rolled down the window slightly, his gaze fixed on her. "She's going to change the world."

Angel watched the blonde girl with a newfound interest as she engaged in lively conversation with her peers, the vibrancy of youth surrounding her. But as he observed, his keen senses detected a man in a rumpled suit lurking in the shadows, his eyes trained on the girl with an unsettling intensity.

And then, as if drawn by some mysterious force, the man approached the blonde girl, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and determination. "Buffy Summers?" he inquired, his tone fraught with uncertainty.

Buffy looked up, her gaze meeting the stranger's, her expression a blend of curiosity and caution. "Yeah? Hi. What?"

"My name is Merrick," the man said, his eyes darting nervously around the surroundings as if expecting trouble at any moment. "I need to speak with you."

"You're not from Macy's, are you?" Buffy inquired, startled and momentarily bewildered. "Because I meant to pay for that lipstick." Her attempt at humor was met with an awkward silence that hung heavily in the air.

"There isn't much time," Merrick groaned exasperatedly, his impatience bubbling to the surface. "You must come with me. Your destiny awaits."

"I don't have a destiny," she protested, her confusion deepening, her youthful skepticism challenging the bizarre situation before her. "I'm destiny-free. Really!"

Merrick, realizing he had to get through to her, attempted to explain as best as he could. "Yes, you have. You are the Chosen One. You alone can stop them."

Buffy's perplexity gave way to growing concern, and she could only muster one simple question, her voice tinged with a touch of fear. "Who?"

Merrick's smile carried a tinge of sadness as he faced Buffy's perplexity. "The vampires."

Buffy, desperately trying to make sense of the situation, could only muster a bewildered "Huh?" as she continued to grapple with the revelation.

Meanwhile, Angel's disbelief was palpable, and he turned to Whistler with incredulity. "You've got to be kidding me. She's the new Slayer?" His voice held a mix of surprise and skepticism. "I thought Slayers were supposed to be trained before they were called. What are you playing at?"

Whistler shook his head helplessly, his eyes following Buffy and Merrick as they walked away. He watched as Merrick tried to impart to Buffy the harsh reality of the world she now found herself in. "Me? I'm not doing anything; this was out of my hands. In fact, this was a long time coming." He gestured towards the departing duo. "She's going to have it tough, that Slayer. She's just a kid. And the world is full of big bad things."

Angel muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the young girl who was destined to bear a tremendous burden. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Well, since you asked," Whistler replied with a knowing smile, "she's going to break all the rules. And I mean ALL of them. That one seems small, but like a little pond, she's going to grow into an ocean. You've been around long enough to know that oceans don't like to be controlled, to be restrained."

Angel, his thoughts racing, sat back in contemplation. He watched as Buffy walked away, her fate sealed by forces beyond her control. Returning his attention to Whistler, a determined glint in his eye, he decided to change the rules. "I want to help her. I want to… I want to become someone. I want to help her."

Spring 2000 – A monastery, Czechoslovakia

Inside the dimly lit chamber, shadows danced on the cold, stone walls as two monks strained to maneuver the door's massive wooden bolt, a telephone pole-sized barrier of defense. With trembling hands, they managed to jam the colossal bolt into its equally imposing lock, the sound of wood against metal echoing through the chamber.

"It's coming. It's going to kill us!" shouted a terrified young monk, his voice quivering with fear, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Our lives don't matter. We must safeguard the Key," a gloomy old monk said, his words heavy with a sense of duty and sacrifice. "We need to get it to the Slayer. Making it her sister adds levels of protection that we cannot give it." The urgency in his voice spurred them into action.

They rushed over to join a third, elderly monk who stood alone on the cold stone floor, his eyes closed in deep concentration. The monks quickly arranged their candles and amulets, forming a protective circle around the elderly monk. An invisible force in their midst created a bright, otherworldly glow at the center of their circle, underlighting their aged features and filling the entire chamber with an eerie, unnatural light.

"Help me perform the ritual," the eldest monk spoke up, his voice steady despite the chaos outside.

As something large hammered on the massive wooden door with a ferocity that threatened to shatter it, the three monks closed their eyes and chanted, their voices rising in unison.

The youngest monk, his fear palpable, broke rank and cast a fearful glance back at the door just as another deafening strike sent fracture lines rippling up the length of the solid wooden bolt, causing him to shudder involuntarily.

"Concentrate," the eldest monk urged urgently, his voice a lifeline amidst the chaos. "The House of Slayer is our only hope for protecting the Key."

With renewed determination, the youngest monk forced himself to focus as they resumed their wordless chant, their voices harmonizing in a desperate plea for salvation. The relentless pounding on the door continued - BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! - as if the very forces of darkness sought to tear down the barriers that guarded their precious secret.

Under the growing force, the ancient wooden door began to splinter, the sound of its impending collapse a haunting symphony of doom. And then, in a moment of unbearable tension, there was a loud CRACK! as the door hinges began to give way. The ethereal glow emanating from the monks grew brighter and more dazzling as their chanting merged into one voice, a final stand against the encroaching darkness.

But just as hope seemed to surge, the room was plunged into sudden, overwhelming darkness. The youngest monk gasped in disbelief as an unseen, malevolent force blew out their candles with an otherworldly gust. The glow that had filled the chamber moments ago extended briefly, filling the area with blinding light, before contracting and disappearing with a sucking 'whoosh!' sound.

Continued in House of Slayer 2: Adopted