Chapter 4

It was much too early. He was tired. His head was aching. But here he was. Here he had to wait. Bloody Ministry. He tapped an annoyed finger on his desk. The harsh thumping in sync with the grandfather clock that stood by the door. And after what seemed like hours, the flames in his fireplace finally turned green.

"It's about bloody time," he muttered under his breath and slowly rose from his seat.

The man that came out of the fireplace had streaks of gray in his mane of tawny hair and bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace, even though he walked with a slight limp. There was an immediate impression of shrewdness and toughness, and his yellowish eyes scanned every inch of the room as he strode toward the large, oak desk.

"Quentin," said the man in greeting.

"Nice to see you again, Rufus," Quentin Travers replied, extending out his hand. "I haven't had the opportunity to congratulate you on your recent promotion. I'm positive that with your experience you'll bring the position of Minister for Magic to greater heights."

Rufus Scrimgeour shook the man's hand sharply.

"Thank you. May I?" he asked in the same manner as his handshake, and motioned to the plush, burgundy chair behind him.

"Please," Quentin replied and, stiffly, both men sat down.

"I appreciate you meeting with me so early. I know this must be an inconvenience for you, but my schedule has been rather busy, as you can imagine, with troubled times as they are."

"There's no rest for the righteous," Quentin said, a smug little smile on his face.

"Yes," muttered Rufus in contempt. "Well, let's get right down to business. I've met with the Muggle Prime Minister recently and he has been informed of our situation with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He has also been notified that extra magical security has been added to his staff for his protection."

"Wise decision."

"And I've come to inform you of the same," he continued as if Quentin had never spoken. "We've placed a few Aurors within your staff and have also strengthened the protection charms around your buildings. As you've had such close ties to the Ministry before, I was certain you'd have no qualms about this. A man of your position must understand that certain measures must be taken in times of war."

Quentin Travers frowned. Had no qualms, did he? Quentin didn't like it when the Ministry overstepped its boundaries. He never let Fudge step a toe out of that delicate line the Ministry and the Council shared, and he certainly wasn't going to let the new Minister for Magic do as he pleased. Not in his territory.

"Rufus, I thank you for the assistance, but the Council has its own means of protection. We don't need any additional security, I assure you. Our Shamans have already strengthened our magical barriers, and we have placed a group of Ra'lai demons at every possible entryway the moment we were made aware of the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You do not need to worry yourself about the Watcher's Council's security. We can defend ourselves," he said pointedly.

Rufus Scrimgeour never cared for Quentin Travers. He had first met the man the day after he had been promoted to Head of the Auror department. All Aurors were briefed, although minimally, on the existence of the Watcher's Council, and of the Vampire Slayer, when hired, in the instance that one day both worlds would need to cross paths, but the Aurors were never told of their specific identities. But part of that would change for an Auror who was promoted. The Head Auror would meet with the Head of the Watcher's Council and be given a more detailed explanation of who the Council was, of their purpose to the world. They would be told of the Slayer, of her responsibility, her skills, but not under any circumstance would they reveal her identity – that was made very clear. It was a very informative meeting, one Rufus found immensely interesting, one he would've enjoyed more if Rufus Scrimgeour and Quentin Travers hadn't come to dislike each other from the first handshake. It was a feeling for both of them, an instinct that neither man would bow to the other, and instead of respecting that kind of authority, it had an opposing effect. Mistrust brewed as egos clashed, and from that day on Quentin Travers and Rufus Scrimgeour knew they would never be friends, even acquaintances, for as long as they had to deal with each other.

"Quentin, as powerful as your defenses may be, this is a threat you have never faced before," he said in a tone tinged with arrogance. "As I recall, the last time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came to power, the Watcher's Council was left untouched because it had been virtually invisible, unknown, to the likes of You-Know-Who. You may not be so lucky this time around. It is not wise to underestimate that which you have not faced."

Quentin may be a lot of things, but he was never one to lose his composure. Even now, as he was on the verge of telling Rufus what he could do with his Aurors and protective charms, Quentin needed to make it clear that the Watcher's Council was not, under any circumstance, under Ministry control.

"As powerful as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may be, and I am aware of how great a threat he is not only to the Wizarding world but to rest of the world as well, I feel I should remind you that the Council is not weak. We have been through many wars before," said Quentin resolutely. "We have faced demons, witches, wizards, enemies of all kinds that neared apocalyptic proportions, and we've managed to save the world time and again – without assistance from the Ministry. And we will continue to do so no matter what new threat may come our way."

When the Ministry and the Council became aware of each other's existence, an alliance between the two worlds had been formed, along with an understanding that each institution was to live by its own rules and that there was to be no interference in the other's matters unless asked. It had been a strict business arrangement, even after Quentin Travers and Cornelius Fudge found themselves to be good friends, over the years that line was still in place. Rufus Scrimgeour was overstepping that line, he knew it, and he didn't care. He had a job to do, and that job was to stop Voldemort and save lives, invisible lines and alliances be damned.

"As I recall, it wasn't the Council who faced these wars, it was the Slayer. It is she who faced the demons and has saved the world time and again. And your current Slayer is in America, is she not?" said Rufus, and it unnerved Quentin.

When Fudge had stepped down as Minister he had promised Quentin, and his promise as a friend was all he really had now, that he would not speak a word of Buffy Summers being a Vampire Slayer to anyone. Quentin was positive he had kept that promise, but Rufus's question troubled him, nonetheless. Currently, Quentin had two Slayers in America and he hoped Rufus wasn't referring to the one that was little more valuable. The one that could not only slay vampires but jinx them as well. The one Quentin still, in his morbid little mind, thought of as his secret weapon. But Rufus had said 'Slayer' not Slayers and that eased his nerves.

"Yes, she is, but you misunderstand. The Slayer is not our defender, she is merely an instrument. When one Slayer dies the next one is called. I'm sure you remember all the details from our first meeting. Where there is one there will be another, but through it all, the Watcher's Council will always stand. The Council fights evil. The Slayer is the instrument by which we fight. The Council remains, the Slayers change. It's been that way from the beginning."

He was smug, arrogant, and stubborn and it was getting tiresome. It was like talking to a wall, but a wall had more sense. At least a wall knew what to keep out. It wasn't about Ministry/Council boundaries, or the amount of power the Council had to protect itself, it was Quentin's pride that was preventing him from accepting the assistance his organization needed. And pride got people killed. Fudge had it and that's why he wasn't Minister anymore.

"Quentin," Rufus said, his tone holding no trace of hostility, of arrogance. Rufus needed to make this man understand that the lives of his Watchers, of his employees, were in his hands, and if he left those hands open everything would fall into darkness. "I understand the limitations between the Ministry and the Council. And though you may have faced your share of wars, you have never faced anything like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He is ruthless, and unlike your demons, he is also clever and intelligent, making him all that more dangerous. His knowledge of the Dark Arts exceeds measurement. But he is not only one man; he has an army of followers. Followers I am sure include more than only wizards and witches. Demons. Vampires. And his numbers are only growing. You know what is best for your Council."

What was best for his Council…what was best for his Council was that it remains a Watcher's Council. To stand on its own two feet. To continue being a force to be reckoned with. To continue with its own identity. That's what was best for his Council. If Voldemort succeeded in overtaking the Ministry, the Council would be the next line of defense. They needed to be strong to do what needed to be done. Their knowledge of magic was not like that of the wizards and witches. It was ancient, powerful, and so different from Voldemort's magic that it may be the only thing that could stop him…if it came to it; if everything else had failed and it were up to the Watcher's Council to end him. The Council must be preserved, guarded for its valuable information. Quentin Travers was that guardian. And he will protect it from anyone he deems a threat to it.

"Please remove your Aurors and your enchantments from our buildings. We will arrange another meeting and discuss our security options, but I will not have any Ministry interference until that time," he said swiftly with no room for discussion.

It was a disappointment. How could one man be so arrogant. So blind. So willing to risk the lives of innocent people for his pride.

Rufus knew that anything else he could say would be futile and he left the argument as it is. He didn't have time to waste on deaf ears.

"All right, Quentin. Have it your way." Rufus rose from his seat and stared down at the man who defiantly remained in his chair. "I'll have my assistant contact yours."

"Until then."

The air remained strained after Rufus left through the fireplace. The hot air that had been exchanged still clinging to the atmosphere.

Quentin leaned back in his chair and mentally reviewed their conversation. The moment Rufus was made Minister for Magic Quentin knew there would be problems.

From their first meeting Quentin knew they would never get along, never see eye to eye, and any respect between them was minimal, nearing nothing but basic courtesies. Neither man would ever admit if the other one was right (as Quentin proved minutes ago). Voldemort was a threat the Council had never faced before, and even if the Council could do without the Ministry's protection, they could not do without their knowledge. The Watcher's didn't know Voldemort as well as the Ministry did, and they would be almost blind to any attack. But no matter the threat, Quentin will not let Rufus and his Aurors stomp around as if they owned the Watcher's Council. He will not let them act as if the Council was under their control. But he will also not risk the lives of his employees if he did not need to. Quentin Travers will open his doors to the Ministry of Magic, he will accept their assistance, but he will not let an imbalance remain between both sides. If Rufus was going to have Aurors inside the Council walls, then Quentin was going to have someone inside the Wizarding community. After all, it was only fair.