Disclaimer:I own only what I created, balh, blah, blah...
Warnings:Child abuse, rape, SLASH and it hink that's it for now
Pairings:Harry/Spike(?) Buffy/Angel, Willow/Kennedy, other canon ones.
Another new story! Eech! But I HAD to write this. I love HP/BTVS x-overs. Don't know how regular my updating will be though.
Also I've messed with the time lines to bring everything to now so Harry was born in 1988, and Buffy came to Sunnydale in 1998. i'll have to fiddle with Giles' age a bit aswell I think. Sorry but I need it to fit
Number 4, Private Drive, Surrey, England. 00:00am ,Friday ,July 31st, 2005
It was midnight. He could hear the grandfather clock in the hallway, tick, tock, tick, tock, then twelve chimes. He didn't move from his spot in the middle of the basement, didn't uncurl from the protective ball he had curled himself into hours before. He could no longer feel the blood running from his eyes, his mouth, his chest, his-. No! He didn't want to think about that.
He didn't open his eyes. They were caked with blood that had dried, sealing his eyelids shut. His vision would have been hazy anyway, as much as a blur as his mind was. He barely realized he had turned 17. Barely cared. He had waited for years for it to happen, but now it seemed such a small thing, so inconsequential.
His being 17 wouldn't change the fact that he was locked in a basement where the air was so fetid he could hardly breathe, wouldn't stop him being tortured and raped everyday by the people he should call family, wouldn't stop a madman and his followers from trying to kill him again. It wouldn't even make him taller.
He shivered slightly and curled up tighter, then shivered again, far more violently. He suddenly felt an itch on his back, on his leg, everywhere, and he scratched and scratched to no avail, only managing to shred his own skin with suddenly lethally sharp fingernails. Then he felt a tingling ache in his head that spread throughout his body, before it flared into a pain that rivalled the cruciatus curse. And the heat, oh god the heat, burned the air around him until he felt like he was in the middle of a raging inferno, trapped in the depths of hell itself.
The heat was overwhelming. It seeped into his skins, his bones, help me, I'm burning, boiling his blood so it scorched through his veins. His body writhed in a bloody mass on the stained floorboards, contorting in ways that didn't seem possible. And, oh, he screamed, screamed so long and so loud that he could scarcely recall a time when his ears weren't ringing with the wretched sound. When it stopped, thank god it stopped, he could do nothing but lay in a quivering, sobbing, broken heap and wait for blessed unconsciousness to claim him. He didn't have to wait long.
What he didn't know was that all over Britain people sensitive to magic woke up with a start as they felt a flood of power rush through them. What he also didn't know was that 2 floors above him, on the landing of number 4 Private Drive, a fire had spontaneously started and was spreading throughout the house burning everything in it's path, whether wood, metal, or bone.At least, he didn't know until he was found by a fireman an hour later, who had followed the trail of blood that led down into the dank depths of the basement.
Bath, England, 18:00pm,Tuesday, 4th August, 2005
"Mr Giles! Phone!" Rupert Giles sighed, carefully placed the book mark onto the page, and closed the book. He walked quickly to the phone, taking it off Kennedy, all the while wondering who would be phoning him.
"Hello, Rupert Giles speaking."
"Good morning Mr Giles. I am Caroline Iyland, a social worker. I apologise for phoning unannounced but I have an urgent matter that I need to discuss with you."
"Please excuse me a second." Rupert put his hand over the phone speaker and turned to the three girls hovering near him. "Could you please wait in the lounge girls? It's a private conversation." Slowly, and with many a glance back, the three potential slayers left the room and Rupert put the phone back to his ear.
"I apologise for the wait Ms Iyland, please continue."
"You once dated a woman named Lily Evans did you not?"
He stared at a dirty patch on wall, trying to ignore the flashes of a beautiful red haired, green eyed girl that exploded into his mind.
"Yes, that is correct."
"Were you aware that you had a son, Mr Giles?"
It was not the question he had been expecting. It had been so long since anyone had even mentioned his past that he was frozen in shock. But a son…She'd never told him whether it was a boy or a girl.
"I was aware that Lily was pregnant," He answered, "Though I have never met the child. I have not spoken with his mother in years."
"Have? Ahh, I regret to inform you Mr Giles that Lily Potter Nee Evans passed away 16 years."
Silence. Rupert didn't know what to say. The social worker cleared her throat, disturbing the uncomfortable silence.
"Well, to get to the point, Lilly had a son, your son. Until now he had been staying with his mothers adoptive family but they all died in an unexplained fire in their house four nights ago. I have been trying to find a relative ever since."
Rupert felt the urge to clean his glasses, but instead asked a question.
"What is his name?
"Harry, or rather Harrison. Harrison James Potter."
Potter…so whoever Lily married had given her son his name as well.
"Harry turned 17 on the night of the fire. While he might be able to live without a relative he doesn't have full access to his inheritance until he is 18, and he is not truly and adult in the eyes of the law."
The Watcher suddenly understand why she was calling.
"You want me to become his Legal Guardian."
"You are the only relative we can find Mr Giles, though we are aware that you have had no contact with Harry. We are not even sure if he knows that James Potter was not his father. But if you will not consent Harry will become a Ward of the Court."
Rupert closed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. He knew that he couldn't accept Guardianship. In two days he was leaving for Sunnydale with the three potential slayers Who knew what would happen in the days that were to come? It would be far to dangerous for a 17 year old, especially since Harry would have no idea about the existence of demons and such. And yet, there was a part of him that wanted to say yes. A part of him that wanted to meet his only child, his son, the child of the woman he had loved more than anything. And that part was growing stronger by the second.
It was almost without his will, as if he had been possessed by a strange creature, that he opened his mouth and answered.
St. Anns Hospital, Surrey, 21:00pm, Same day
It was late when they finally finished the journey from Bath to Surrey. Annabelle and Molly were sleeping in the back, while Kennedy was sat staring out of the window. They all jerked to attention when Rupert switched of the ignition, Molly and Annabelle groaning and stretching.
"Why are we here again?" Kennedy asked, her face fixed in a bored scowl.
"I have a personal matter to attend to." Rupert answered.
"At a hospital?" Kennedy inquired.
"Yes, at a hospital. That is why we drove for two hours to get here."
"It better be important," She grumbled under her breath.
Important? That would be an understatement, thought Rupert as he got out of the car.
"You can all stay here if you-"
"No!" Molly interrupted. "We'll come with you."
Rupert nodded in acquiescence. All three of the girls were jumpy, with an understandable dislike of being left alone. The death of their watchers had hit them hard. The absolute brutality of the murders had hit them even worse.
"Who are you here to see?" Annabelle asked curiously.
Rupert spoke two words he had never thought to say. "My son."
He stood outside the door to the room his son was in. Despite it being late, he didn't have to worry about disturbing anyone. Due to the nature of Harry's wounds, a nature the doctor had yet to explain, the hospital thought it best for him not to have to share. But still Rupert didn't enter.
He blinds were pulled down so he couldn't see in through the windows, couldn't have a look at his son before he met him. His son…Only since his deployment to Sunnydale had he been able to got through a day without thinking about the child he would never know, the child Lily wouldn't let him know. Even then both the child and Lily were on his mind often. He spent hours thinking of what her life was like, and even longer thinking about their child.
Did it have Lily's green eyes or his pale blue? Her red hair or his dark brown? Her loving, carefree fiery nature, or his more sedate but rebellious temperament? Did it resemble him at all? He was about to find out, but now, he wished more than anything that he could put it off. God only knows what he was going to say…Harry probably didn't even know that the man he thought was his father wasn't, and who was he to turn his son's life upside down?
But he couldn't leave England without seeing him at least once, without giving him the chance to chose. So he gathered his courage and opened the door.
Surprisingly, the first thing that caught his attention was the heart monitor. Instead of a slow, steady beat, it was abnormally fast, the heart rate sparking far more often than was normal. Then he noticed the wires attached to the body, and the breathing ventilator over the mouth that said his son couldn't breathe well on his own. Only then did he fully notice his son.
Rupert was shocked at how small the boy looked, curled up in the foetal position in the middle of a single bed that looked far too large for him. Then he noticed the gauntness of his face, obvious malnutrition, and the stark paleness of his skin. Then with anger he saw the hand shaped bruise on his son's cheek, the only part of him visible. The rest of Harry's face was covered in sleek black hair, tinted with red.
He crept closer to the bed, then as an afterthought picked up the clipboard that was on the table. His anger spiked dangerously high as he read: Evidence of multiple broken bones, internal bleeding, numerous bruises and cuts (some infected), second degree burns to hands, severe malnutrition, mental state deemed to most likely be precarious.
Rupert put the clipboard, hands shaking, and he reached out to his son, pushing the hair out of his face. Harry flinched and whimpered in his sleep, moving away.
He studied his son's face in wonder. Hidden behind bruises he could see high cheekbones, courtesy of Lily, red lips, thick lashes, and a strange lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He wondered what colour Harry's eyes were.
He turned as someone knocked on the door, and a woman, around mid-thirties, entered, a briefcase in one hand.
"Hello, I'm Caroline Iyland. We spoke on the phone."
"Rupert Giles," He replied shaking the outstretched hand.
"Well, I guess we should talk in the waiting room."
Giles nodded and, with a look back at Harry, left the room, quietly closing the door. They sat down in the deserted waiting room and the social worker looked at him expectantly, but when he said nothing she cleared her throat and began to speak.
"The doctor has said that Harry is healing abnormally fast. The internal injuries all seem to have healed, as have the broken bones. Of course, some of the injuries were old and therefore already mostly healed, but others were a day or to old at the most. The doctors are baffled but happy. Since the majority of his wounds are now only superficial they say that, while they would rather him stay, they will discharge him tomorrow as long as he receives weekly check ups until he is pronounced fully healed."
Her expression suddenly turned sad and pitying. "The doctor also advised that your son receive psychological help. The abuse he suffered, which is almost definitely from his own family, is extensive and the doctors have reason to believe that he may have been…raped."
Rupert sucked in a breath. Why Lily? Why did you believe them preferable to me? Why didn't you tell me of my son?
"Since the Dursley's are dead no charges will be filled so he is able to leave the country without delay, so as I said on the phone, he will be able to leave with you to America. That is, of course, if you will take responsibility for him."
Rupert nodded. There was no way he could leave without his son. There was so much he needed to make up to him. And he had spent years waiting for this. Of course, there was just the question of Harry's schooling and whether he would want to go to America. While in England mandatory school was until the age of 16, in America most people went to school until they were 17 or 18. Giles wasn't sure that he wanted his only child to got to Sunnydale High. He knew from experience that a school built on a hellmouth was trouble for everyone and Sunnydale High held a lot of bad memories. He sighed. Harry might want to stay in England anyway. There was no point in thinking about the small details until they had spoken.
"Where does Harry attend school?"
Miss Iyland frowned. "We're not actually sure. Neighbours say that he attends a boarding school, St Brutis', but we can find no record of him attending school after he left Junior school. He seems to have completely slipped off the radar."
He took off his glassed and ran a cloth over them, frowning. It should be impossible not to attend school without the Education authorities paying you a visit and yet no visit had been made. He got the feeling that he was missing something. Too many things about his son were unexplained. But he signed all the right papers, received Harry's passport and documents that had been found in the basement and, after checking that the girls were still safe in the canteen, went back in to see his son.
This time when he entered the room Harry was sat up in bed, drinking a glass of water. His eyes snapped up and he instinctively shrunk back, but then his brain overrode his impulse and he straightened.
They both stared. Stared at each other for an impossibly long time, before Rupert cleared his throat and looked away.
"Do you…know?" The watcher asked, wincing internally at how stupid the question sounded. Harry nodded warily, green eyes uncertain and cautious.
"The social worker explained it. She showed me my birth certificate and everything so…" They were both silent, both uncomfortable. Harry fiddled with his bed sheet, Rupert with his glasses.
"I...I have formally taken over your guardianship." The older man said, making Harry look at him suddenly. "I will be leaving to return to America tomorrow, I've been living there for a few years. It will, of course, be your choice as to whether you join us but we would be extremely happy for you to come."
"We?" Harry asked.
"I'm escorting three girls over to stay with a friend of mine."
Harry thought about it. He thought about retuning to Hogwarts where he was constantly in danger, returning to be manipulated and lied to and used. He thought about the Wizarding world where he was held high on a pedestal, a hero destined to become a martyr. And he thought of the friends who would never understand, who couldn't understand, who smothered him, and treated him like a porcelain doll who would break from the littlest thing.
Then he thought of a new country, a new start. He thought of the father he never knew existed, the father who wanted him. And though it would be hard to hide his magic, to practice in secret, he knew the answer.
"I'll come."