As the warm sunlight filtered through the large dormer windows, Buffy smiled softly, allowing the students' quiet murmurings to drift over her as she watched the class from her position in the far back corner.  She had been a regular attendee of Professor Lupin's DADA class since her first visit, helping when she could or just observing - surprisingly learning a lot of stuff that she had begun to use during her nightly forays into the Forbidden Forest.  Lately, however, Buffy's presence in the classes - all classes - had been a constant.  No one had yet to say anything, but Buffy knew that everyone understood her presence all too well.  After all, she was pretty sure that nearly everyone in the castle had heard Giles' angry yells upon waking from the sleeping potion almost a week ago, despite the incredibly thick stone walls.  The fight had been loud, long, and quite vicious as Giles' had nearly broken down upon realizing what she had done - what she had risked to keep him safe.  But of course, he hadn't understood.  Not even when she compared this small betrayal to his much larger one with the Cruciamentum almost a year ago.  Actually, she was pretty sure that that particular reminder made things worse.

    Whatever the case may be, to say that things had been tense between Buffy and Giles since that morning was putting it quite mildly.  Their nightly patrols were done in silence and they sat far apart at all meals.  During the day Giles would bury himself in the books in their room and Buffy would quickly escape upon wakening, spending her every moment as far from her Watcher as she could get.  To be honest, too much else was going on that she couldn't possibly deal with her Watcher's anger.  Not then - not now.  Sighing, Buffy pushed her troubled thoughts away as Remus called the class to attention, about ready to start a lesson that would involve the children of all ages.

    "Today, as promised," Professor Lupin began, his gray eyes drifting over the attentive students, "we will be covering a topic that is usually covered in your fourth year.  However, due to the very nature of this topic, Professor Dumbledore has asked for me to involve everyone in this lesson.  We have both agreed that none of you can ever learn this lesson well enough.  Today, we will begin exploring the three Unforgivable Curses."  At once the class fell into a hushed silence at his words, students sharing tense glances with each other and straightening slightly.  "Can anyone list the three Unforgivables, explain what they are, and tell everyone the punishment for using such a curse on another person?" he asked, weary eyes skipping over the group.  Predictably, Hermione's hand was the first in the air.  "Hermione," he called out, gesturing for the girl to go ahead.

    Nodding, Hermione quickly stood and allowed her eyes to meet each of the students' in turn, especially lingering on the few younger students who hadn't yet covered this topic.  "The three Unforgivable curses are the Crucio, the Imperius, and the Avada Kedavra curses," she stated, her tone imitating that of a professor.  "The Cruciatus curse causes the victim to suffer unimaginable pain," she murmured, her voice faltering as her eyes skipped over to rest briefly on Harry.  After all, he had suffered this torment first hand in fourth year, all thanks to You-Know-Who.  "Prolonged exposure to the curse has been known to cause the victim to go insane, or even death," she added, her voice hushed as she purposely avoided looking to Neville.  They hadn't learned about what had truly happened to his parents until fifth year - but it was a knowledge that none would forget too easily.  To be driven insane from a pain so intense that you could no longer even recognize your own son... it was horrible.  Swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat, she quickly continued on.  "The Imperius curse places the victim completely under the control of the caster, enabling the caster to force the victim to do whatever they wish.  And the Avada Kedavra curse... it causes instant death in a flash of green light," she murmured, turning once more back to her best friend.  "It is the only curse to which there is no counter spell to block or avoid it, and to be caught using any of the Unforgivable Curses will result in a life sentence to Azkaban."

    "Thank you, Hermione," Remus said, his voice quiet as the girl nodded once before reclaiming her seat.  "Today, we will start by working with the Imperius Curse," he stated as he bent to retrieve a small black cage and placed it on the desk before the class.  He hated this lesson above all others - but it was lesson that needed to be taught.  The children needed to see the results of these curses if they were to understand them - if they were to have any hope of not only avoiding them, but fighting them as well.  This lesson could very well save one of their lives some day.  He just hated what it forced him to do.  Shaking his head slightly, Remus looked at the class, noting that all of their eyes had become riveted upon the two black spiders that scuttled within their prison.  Even Buffy's green eyes remained riveted on the small creatures, her face pale and her eyes haunted.

    "If the will is strong enough, a person can be taught to fight the Imperius curse," he explained, forcing himself to continue even as he amended that sentence to himself.  After all, he had heard of how Harry had fought and thrown off the curse the very first time it was placed on him - a remarkable feat, especially for someone so young.  "If not, the curse will consume you and bend you to its will, no matter how strong the wizard."

    Unknown to the rest of the class, Buffy felt both Hermione and Professor Lupin's words slide through her and freeze her very core.  They couldn't know - none of them could possibly know what she had been through.  It may of not been magic, but the Centre had virtually placed her under their own version of the Imperius Curse when they first brainwashed her, and then later used some kind of drug treatment to make her their slave.  She had unwittingly killed four innocent men while being bent to their will, and their blood would forever stain her hands.

    As her breathing began to grow ragged and her slim form began to shake, Buffy felt her vision narrow until it was a tunnel that ended on the sight of the two innocent spiders that moved about their prison.  Their prison.  Her prison.  Gasping, she heard Lupin call out an unfamiliar word, the strange Latin imperio rolling off of his tongue as the spiders instantly reacted to his command and began moving about in ways that were obviously not meant for spiders.  Controlled.  They were being controlled.  And when the younger students began to laugh at the gross display, Buffy found that, slayer or not, she could handle no more.

    "No," she moaned, tears burning her eyes as she slowly climbed to her shaking feet, oblivious to the stares that she was garnering.  "No," she whispered again, her voice cracking as she slowly lifted trembling hands until they were pressed firmly against her ears.  "Stop it, stop it, stopitstopitstopit!" she said, her voice ending in a tortured scream as she turned and stumbled from the room, her slayer speed, agility and grace abandoning her as she crashed into the wall opposite the door and then angled down the hall.

    Back in the room, students and teacher alike stared at the open doorway in muted shock.  Buffy Summers was nothing if not always composed and collected.  She was the picture of strength and... well, strength.  To see her trembling and in tears - it was a sight that none could truly wrap their minds around.  Without a word, Harry slowly stood from his desk, eyes locking with Remus' for the briefest of seconds before he turned and jogged from the room.  He didn't know what had just happened, but he intended to find out.  Even when facing down a basilisk and a squad of Death Eaters, Buffy had never looked afraid.  But just then - she had looked horrified and so scared that... it tore at him.

    Biting his lip, Harry pushed the thought aside and hurried down the hall, his robes flapping behind him as he moved more on instinct than anything else.  Within minutes he was pushing through the doors to the castle and exploded out into the bright afternoon light on the grassy grounds.  Turning, it only took seconds for his eyes to light on Buffy's small frame as she nearly collapsed on the ground beside the lake.  Without thought he quickly jumped from the castle steps and hurried towards her, stilling only as he drew near.

    "Buffy?" he asked, his voice quiet so as not to startle her.  He had promised her that he would not forget his first lesson that she had ever taught him - the lesson on how dangerous it was to surprise a Slayer.  But despite his words, Buffy seemed oblivious to the world around her.  Instead, she lay on the ground, curled into a small, tight ball with her face buried and her shoulders shaking from the force of her sobs.  "Buffy?" he tried again even as he dropped to his knees beside her.  Unsure, he gently reached a hand out and let it rest on her small shoulder.  And when she didn't attack him in response, he fell the rest of the way beside her and gently drew her into his arms - more surprised, then anything, that she let him.  "Shh," he soothed as she allowed herself to be cradled against his chest, her face buried in his black robes as she continued to cry quietly against his shoulder.

    How long they remained that way, Harry didn't know.  Instead, he allowed the small slayer to cling to him as she cried and cried, his arms holding her close even as he felt the warmth of her tears soak through his thick robes.  Eventually, the tears began to dry as Buffy's sobs began to still until both continued to sit in silence, the sun's rays warming their backs.

    "I'm sorry," Buffy finally murmured, feeling control filter through her system once more as she remained hidden amongst Harry's voluminous robes, trying to find the energy to care about the scene she just caused.  It had just been too much - way too much for her to handle.  The memories had come back too strong, unbidden, and she quickly found herself defenseless against them.  "I-I just..."

    "What happened?" Harry murmured, as he shifted slightly, yet never pulling away.

    "The - the curse was just... it was just..." she murmured, trying to find words to explain the inexplicable terror that had filtered through her veins.

    "What about the curse?  I don't understand," Harry admitted, gently pulling her closer against him.

    Sighing, Buffy slowly allowed a calming breath as she contemplated Harry's question.  How could she possibly make him understand?  Even though her hell had ended four months ago, she had never once talked about it - had never had the strength nor desire to speak of it.  Maybe... maybe it was time.  As Harry tried to pull back to look at her face, Buffy refused to let him, using her strength to instead pull him closer so that her face remained hidden.  "Last summer... last summer some people came and took me away," she murmured, hating how weak and scared her voice sounded.  "They wanted to control me - to make me their weapon," she added, the tears returning to her eyes.  "They... they killed my mom," she whispered, her voice breaking at the admission.  "I was standing right there but I couldn't do anything.  They killed her and I could do anything," she whispered, her voice sounding so soft and broken.  "For months they... t-they hurt me, and twisted me, and four months ago they used me to kill four innocent people," she said, shuddering as the image of Quentin Travers blinked before her mind's eye.  "I killed them with my bare hands and I almost killed Giles," she admitted.  "It almost killed me.  It should have killed me."

    For a moment, Harry sat in stunned silence, trying in vain to wrap his mind around her words.  Someone had taken her?  Hurt her?  Suddenly the haunted look that she tried so hard to hide, but often times slipped through unnoticed... now it all made sense.  Swallowing slowly, Harry finally realized that the girl that they had met and welcomed into their circle wasn't really Buffy Summers.  Instead, it was the front that the real girl put up to hide her pain, for within, she was as shattered as they came.  And from the sounds of it, the pain was eating her whole.  For a moment, Harry thought to protest her statement, to remind her of how much her life meant not only to the friends she talked of back home, but to the people at Hogwarts and the wizarding world.  But even as his mouth opened around those words, Harry closed it once more as he instead hugged Buffy tighter against him. 

    After Cedric's death, Harry had thought much the same thing.  He knew that it should have been him that died that night - it should have been him that took the portkey to Voldemort.  The bastard had planned it that way and Harry managed to ruin everything.  After it had happened Harry had been devastated.  In response, everyone had told him those same meaningless platitudes.  He knew that they meant them, but it did little to ease his suffering.  If anything, it became a litany that had no value.  He didn't care what was best for others or how much the world needed him.  All he cared about was the fact that someone innocent had died because of him.  And in Buffy's case, it was that much worse.  Not only did an innocent die because of her, but they died at her own hand.

    Sighing, Harry instead offered the only thing he could offer.  Himself.  The real Harry Potter.  "My parents were killed by Voldemort when I was only one," he whispered, feeling her body began to relax against him as his words washed over them both.  "I don't remember them at all… all I have left are a few photographs and the memory of my mother's voice, pleading for my life to be spared and Voldemort's cold laugh as he murdered her.  She died protecting me," he murmured, his voice hollow and feeling bleak despite the sun's warm rays.  It was as though a shadow had settled around their huddled frames.  "Voldemort has been after me ever since – attacking anyone that I love in order to get to me.  In my fourth year he fixed a tournament that I was in so that I would win, changing the trophy into a portkey that would take me to him.  But I insisted that another contestant, Cedric Diggory, take the trophy at the same time as me.  I-I didn't know that it was a portkey," he whispered, his voice falling silent as the memories plagued his tired mind.  "Cedric died that night, and only because I had insisted that he take the trophy at the same time as me.  Only because Voldemort continues to seek revenge upon me for something I had no control over."

    As a heavy silence fell over them both, Buffy felt her tears dry once more as she slowly pulled away, green eyes locking with green.  "I'm sorry,” she whispered, finally understanding a little of why she felt so connected with the strange British boy.  After all, they were more alike that even she had imagined – both containing a past that was too tortured for someone so young.  They both carried for too much guilt and far, far too much hope for their worlds.  It was a bitter fate for them both.  But something of what Harry had said rang false to her ears.  "Harry, there's got to be another reason that Moldy Wart is always trying to kill you," she murmured, her words quite blunt as she absently tucked an errant strand of hair behind one ear.  "He can’t be after you just because he wants revenge for what happened sixteen years ago.  That's stupid," she declared, watching as a ghost of a smile tugged at the teen's lips.  "And in my experience, it's very rare to have stupid villains.  That's what they have fledglings for," she added, smiling ruefully as a number of ridiculously stupid minions came to mind.  "No, Moldy Wart is smart and he has a reason for wanting you.  It's why you've been so well protected for so long," she added, thinking back to the old wizard's words from just a short week ago.

    Intrigued by her words despite himself, Harry slowly leaned away, his eyes tracing over her delicate features – well, at least seemingly delicate.  If he ever voiced that opinion he was sure that Buffy would beat him for it.  Shaking away the thought, Harry focused on her musings.  To be honest, he had often raged over this same point.  It had never made sense to him that Voldemort would want his blood so badly.  He was just Harry – nothing more.  But each time he raised this point it would only garner yet another speech about how important Harry was to the wizarding community’s morale.  Morale his ass.  "D'you suppose that Dumbledore knows why Voldemort wants me so badly?"

    "Probably not," Buffy admitted, a small frown pulling at her lips, her earlier angst all but forgotten under the new mystery.  "If so, then he would have done something by now."

    "But why does Voldemort want me so badly, then?" Harry asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion.  "I'm really not remarkable in any way whatsoever!  Well, except for quidditch," he quickly countered.  "I do play a mean game of quidditch," he admitted with a ghost of a smile returning to his lips.  After all, that was the one thing that Harry felt he could truly and honestly brag about.  He didn't really do anything to defeat Voldemort when he was a baby.  His mother's love covered that task.  Instead, everything was just a matter of circumstance, both bad and good… a matter of destiny.  Quidditch and flying, on the other hand, was something that was all Harry Potter.

    Smiling at Harry's unabashed confidence in his flying abilities, Buffy slowly shook her head before a thoughtful frown pulled at her features once more.  "Your phenomenal quidditch abilities aside," she added, rolling her eyes at the teen, "there’s gotta be something else – like your connection with Voldemort," she added as she lifted one small hand and gently traced the outline of the red scar that his hair usually hid so well.

    Forcing himself to not pull away from her gentle touch, Harry slowly sighed.  "Dumbledore once told me that when Voldemort used the killing curse on me when I was a baby, some of his powers were transferred to me," he admitted, almost reluctantly.  "But the only power that I can figure out that he gave me was me being a parsel tongue."

    "No," Buffy quickly argued, her brow wrinkling as she allowed all of her senses to open to the boy before her.  "You're different somehow – different than the others," she murmured, her body nearly thrumming with the power that radiated off of his form.  "I can sense it," she added, her green eyes opening as she met his own confused gaze.

    "Sense what?" he asked, shaking his head quickly.

    "Sense you," Buffy returned, her expression turning thoughtful.  "It's like I was trying to tell you earlier.  Certain people feel different.  Dumbledore feels different – he feels like power.  And Harry… you kind of feel like that too, but it's more hidden," she said, frowning softly at her poor explanation.  "It's… it's like it's untapped somehow."

    His head beginning to whirl at her explanations, Harry quickly shook his head.  "Wait – hold on… you can sense magic?" he asked, his eyes widening slightly at this revelation.

    "Can't you?" Buffy asked, as though being able to sense magic was the most natural thing in the world.  "Can't you feel it?  The magic all around you – how it moves the air?"

    "I guess I've never tried," he admitted, shrugging slightly at her bewildered expression – at her eyes that seemed to say that there was no time like the present.  Sighing softly, Harry closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, forcing himself to focus on the air around him.  But as his shoulders began to tense, he felt Buffy's hand pull on his, bringing him back to her.

    "Not like that," she instructed, her voice soft.  "Close your eyes and relax – open yourself to everything around you."

    Sighing once again, Harry did as he was told, closing his eyes and allowing her words to soothe him.  Once more he lost all track of time as his senses seemed to expand out.  First he became aware of his sense of touch as Buffy's hand became all the warmer in his own – so soft and warm  - an anchor - while the wind’s cool breeze ruffled his black hair.  And then came sound as he heard the wind push the water of the lake towards the shore, gently swelling and crashing against the grassy edge.  And then.. and then came something else.  Intrigued, Harry began to feel what felt like twinges of something – like twinges of power – sparks of energy.  It was almost disorientating.  Buffy was right.  The power was all around him.  The magic was all around him.  Arching his back, Harry allowed this new sense to take in the magic that surrounded him, continuing to arch and turn until he was facing towards a spot where the energy was practically crackling.  Opening his eyes, he found that he wasn't really surprised that he was facing Buffy, sitting primly before him.  "You’re different somehow."

    "Good," Buffy murmured, a small smile lifting her lips.  "Giles said that the stuff that makes me so strong and heal so fast – all that good stuff is some kind of magic that got transferred to me when the previous slayer died and when I was called," she explained, shrugging away her words.  "Apparently all slayers have it – but Giles and Mr. Fellows explained that it's different than your kind of magic.  The two magics don’t mix, or something, and that's why I'm not affected by your magic."  Smiling wryly, Buffy realized that Giles and Samuel Fellows had found out what made her so different than her friends and the rest of the world.  They unlocked the secret of the Slayer – the one that the Centre had worked so hard to find.  And in the end, it was something that the Centre could never use to make someone like her.  Apparently, they were really looking in the wrong place.  Take that genetics!

    Suddenly, Harry pushed her hands away and quickly clamped his hands down over his ears, his eyes squeezing shut.  "Turn it off," he ordered, his voice hard as he quickly shook his head.  "How do you turn it off?!"

    "Turn it off?" Buffy echoed, confused by his words.  "Harry, it's a part of you.  You can't just turn it off."

    "But I don't want anything that came from Voldemort.  I don't want anything that's his," he declared, his voice filled with such venom… so much familiar venom that it tore at her heart.

    His plea was one that she could understand all too easily.  After all, how often had she asked for that very same thing when she was first called?  Demanding the fates to take away what they had given her so that she could be normal once more.  So that she could be her again.  Her and no one else – especially not some mystic Slayer chick that came with super powers and a sucky destiny that equaled death.  "You don't always want what Fate gives you, but most times, you don't have a choice in the matter," she finally murmured as she gently lifted his chin, his brilliant green eyes slipping open to lock with her own.  "Do you think that I wanted to be the slayer and everything, all the pain that came with it?  Destiny sucks, hard core," she whispered, smiling sadly at the bitter truth of her words.  "I've been aware of this fact for the last four years.  After all, being the Slayer has cost me any chance of growing up, of getting married, having kids… of dying old.  Being the Slayer killed me when I was only fifteen, made me send my first love to Hell, allowed me to almost kill a fellow slayer and… being a slayer killed my mom and almost destroyed me," she whispered, forcing herself to continue meeting his haunted eyes.

    "I never wanted this and I've tried running from it before.  It doesn't work," Buffy stated, her face grim.  "It always manages to catch up in the end.  And you know what?  It really sucks growing up knowing that you’re never going to grow old.  However, I learned the hard way that there’s no avoiding Destiny.  In that regard, I think that we're both in the same boat," she murmured, a small smile lifting her lips.  "I know that you never wanted to be the Boy-Who-Lived, but you are and you just gotta deal with it."

    As a comfortable silence fell between them, Harry thought about her words - about how much bitterness her voice lacked.  It was as if she had come to terms with what she was long ago and now merely went on.  She had no choice.  And maybe, neither did he.  "Okay, but we still don't know why he wants me dead," Harry quickly stated, changing the subject and pushing her words to the side to be pondered another time.

    "Don't we?" Buffy countered, a small frown pulling at her lips.  "Harry, I think that it's staring us right in the face," she stated, her eyes drifting away to stare out over the lake.  "Voldemort knows that he gave you a big jolt of something that night that your parents died - the night that he gave you that scar," she murmured, turning back to trace her finger over the inflamed skin once more.  "He gave you his magic, and with that magic he gave you the power to destroy him."

    For a moment, Harry could only stare at Buffy in stunned silence.  It was ridiculous.  Absolutely ridiculous.  Him, having some kind of grand power inherited from Voldemort himself.... it was beyond ridiculous.  It was frightening.  "But... but I'm not special," Harry protested weakly, his eyes pleading with her to take back her horrid words.  Having inherited Voldemort's parsel tongue was bad enough... but to have inherited his power?  His magical strength?  What else did he inherit?  What if Harry had the potential to become as evil as him?  As twisted?

    "Harry, we already covered that," Buffy murmured, smiling sadly as she gently squeezed his hand.  "You have the power in you - I can feel it," she stated, knowing the truth behind her words, even if Harry didn't want to hear them.  "You just don't know how to use it yet."

    Frowning, Harry slowly shook his head.  "Alright, so saying that I do have this power that you're talking about," he allowed, "and not saying that I do... how do I learn to use it?"

    At his question, Buffy could only shrug her small shoulders, an impish grin lifting her lips.  "Beats me," she admitted.  "Don't you remember?  This magic stuff is all out of my league.  Besides, maybe this is something that you can't be trained in, or something that you can't learn," she mused, her eyes losing focus once more.  Despite the fact that as a Slayer, the training never really stopped, she also remembered a time, upon first being called, that she had no training and instead relied upon the natural gift that, even without training, put her a step above the rest.  She was stronger and had a natural inclination to any weapon she put her mind to.  "Maybe it's just sitting there, waiting, and when the time comes that you need it, it'll be there and you'll just know."

    Sighing, Harry allowed himself to entertain that thought for the briefest of moments before a scowl uncharacteristically twisted his features.  "That's stupid," he declared, willing himself to actually believe that as much as he wanted to.  "I can't be the one to defeat Voldemort, no matter how much everyone else thinks I can," he continued, his chin lifting stubbornly.  "After all, Voldemort and I tried fighting each other back in fourth year and we learned the hard way that our wands can't be used against each other," he insisted, thinking back to the night that Cedric died and Voldemort was resurrected... the night that he was faced with the echo of his parents.

    "So don't use your wand," Buffy suggested, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.  After all, Willow and Giles and the others had been doing magic for years without a wand.  To her, it was the idea of actually using a wand that was foreign.

    Shocked, Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, completely floored by her words.  Not use his wand?  "Buffy, a wizard can't do magic without his wand," he finally whispered, as all the while a part of him asked himself why not.

    "You can't?"

    Surprised, both teens turned at the new voice, a long shadow suddenly casting them both into darkness as Buffy fought the urge to instinctively pull away from Harry's side.  As it was, she was settled comfortably on the grass between his legs, leaning slightly against his arm so that she could meet his eyes.  Shaking her head, Buffy smiled warmly at the old wizard, smirking at Dumbledore's choice of bright, almost neon-blue robes.  "You really like doing that, don't you?" she asked, part annoyed and other part amused by his innate ability to just appear before someone when they least expected him.  Sometimes she couldn't help but wonder if the guy was somewhat psychic - or maybe it was his power.  If that was the case, she sincerely hoped that Harry didn't get this weird when he fully embraced the power she knew he contained.

    Turning to the young Slayer, Dumbledore returned her smile, his blue eyes twinkling.  "Of course," he confirmed, winking at her before returning to his young student.  "Well, Mr. Potter, haven't you ever done magic without your wand?"

    "N-" Harry began, about to deny the claim without even fully thinking about the question.  But then, as his eyes widened slightly, Harry began remembering all of the small things that had just happened while growing up when he had wanted it most - such as setting the snake free in the zoo on Dudley's birthday all those years ago.  Confused, he slowly turned to his mentor.  "Just... just small things.  I guess I never really thought about it before.  We've never been taught anything about it in our classes."

    Smiling gently at the confused child, Dumbledore nodded his head gravely.  "That is because wandless magic is very, very difficult and very few can do it," he explained as he settled his old bones on the grass beside the two teens.  "It requires a great deal of concentration, will, and great power.  Wandless magic is like a forgotten art and there are few who still practice it."  At this, a serene smile seemed to lift the Headmaster's lips as his eyes seemed to grow distant, his silence stretching until he returned from whatever fond memory had captured him and returned his attention back to his companions.  "It just so happens that young Mr. Potter here happens to possess all three of these qualifications."

    Harry didn't even need to voice his confusion for his complete and utter bafflement to be apparent - it was written all over his face.  Apparently, an old lesson that had been forgotten with time was in order.  Smiling serenely, Dumbledore adopted his long missed air of a professor and turned to the young Gryffindor with sparkling eyes.  "Much like a Muggle lightning rod, a wand is used as a conduit to channel the magic that each witch and wizard contains within themselves, sheltering them from the raw edge of it.  Likewise, spells and incantations give focus to the magic.  In the end, neither is needed if the wizard or witch is strong enough to shelter themselves and control their magics, focused enough on their own to act by their thought's command."

    Even as a part of Harry groaned at the many, apparently wasted, hours he spent on perfecting his Latin and working to get each syllable just right, another greater part of him found himself beginning to resent the headmaster's words.  Apparently Buffy was wrong when she said that she didn't think that Dumbledore knew exactly why Voldemort wanted him dead so badly - and that knowledge set like a betrayal on his mind.  Harry couldn't even begin to count the number of times throughout the years that he had gone to this great man, this mentor to all young students at Hogwarts, and asked the whys that plagued his life.  To think that Dumbledore had known the answers to those questions all along... it hurt.  "Why didn't you tell me any of this before?" he finally asked, dismayed by the hurt that crept into his voice.

    Sighing at the note of betrayal in the young lad's voice, Dumbledore smiled wanly at the couple - even as Buffy took young Harry Potter's hand in her own.  "Because you weren't ready for it.  You weren't ready to face your Destiny," he replied, his words blunt and having the desired effect as the boy blanched and then quickly straightened, a small spark of fire burning in his green eyes that were so much like his mother's.  "However, with Miss Summers help," he added before Harry could protest, his kind eyes skipping over to the remarkable young woman who had survived so much to come to where she was today, "I believe that you have finally reached that point."

    "But I don't understand," Harry murmured, almost petulantly as his stubborn mind refused to wrap itself around the headmaster's words.  "Why me?  Why does it have to be me to fight Voldemort?  I mean... he's afraid of you!  Why can't you-"

    "No, my boy.  Voldemort doesn't fear me.  Not any longer," Dumbledore sighed, and as Harry Potter's shoulders seemed to sag beneath a great weight, the aging headmaster realized that he was finally beginning to understand.  Harry was beginning, although reluctantly, to understand the role that he must yet play.  "In my day I had the power to defeat Grindewald, but alas... time is finally catching up with me," he murmured, admitting his weaknesses readily.  "Power cannot diminish with time, by my physical strength can.  My body is getting too weak to harness the powers that I contain, and Voldemort knows this," he sighed, tired eyes finally turning back to the young boy that contained the hope for their world.  "I'm afraid that in the end, it will have to come down to you, my boy."

    "But you're not going to have to face him alone," Buffy quickly interrupted, her eyes daring Dumbledore to try and argue against her.  "That's the one thing that's kept me alive for these past five years - the friends that always stood by my side.  When they're not there, bad things tend to happen," she added, her expression going dark as she thought of an intense sword fight where Angelus had asked her the very same question.  He had taken away her weapons, her friends, her hope... and when asked in the end what was left, she had replied that she was.  Simply Buffy.  And that Buffy had proceeded to kick his ass.  She had won that battle, but at a cost that was too great to thing long on.  Without weapons, without friends, and most importantly, without hope she had lost Angel to hell.  She would die before she'd let Harry be faced with those same choices - with that same decision.  "You're not going to face him alone," she repeated, her voice firm.  "I can keep him busy while you do your mojo," she explained, squeezing Harry's hand to still his protests.  "Don't forget - his stuff can't hurt me, and besides, I've been itching to kick his ass for quite a while now," she added with a small grin.

    Despite the horror that filled his veins with ice at the thought of Buffy facing down Lord Voldemort himself, Harry couldn't help but be grateful for her words.  Just knowing that he wouldn't have to face the Dark Lord alone was enough to make his task at least somewhat bearable... somewhat.  "Sirius won't be happy to hear about this," he murmured absently, his mind going back to the vicious words that he and his godfather had exchanged nearly a week ago.

    "No, I imagine not," Dumbledore agreed, the inane smile never leaving his lips.  Yet despite the smile, if Buffy looked close enough she could almost swear that there was a bit of sadness behind his gaze - as though he didn't want this destiny for Harry anymore than Harry himself did.  "None of them will be pleased to hear of it.  They love you too much to think of you going in harm's way."

    "Giles still has a hard time dealing with my fate," Buffy admitted wryly, speaking what everyone in the castle was aware of.  "He still refuses to let me go out each night to face the bad stuff on my own, even though I've done it almost every night since I was called.  Even though he knows that it's what I do - what I'm there for - he's trying to ignore what it all means."  Sighing softly, Buffy slowly shook her head.  "I know that he wishes that he could take my place and let me rest, but he can't.  Because, like it or not, this is my destiny," she said, her voice growing hard before softening again, her eyes seeking out Harry's once more.  "Some day Sirius will realize the same thing for you."

    Shaking his head, his unruly black hair flopping before his vision, Harry slowly leaned forward and allowed his arms to tighten around Buffy's small frame, thankful that she didn't pull away.  "Until then... let's not tell him.  Any of them," Harry murmured, his green eyes pleading with Buffy and Dumbledore both to accept this small request.  "I don't want them to worry until they have to."

    "Of course," Dumbledore agreed, the smallest of frowns flitting across his features before they settled once more into a calm facade.  "And since you seem to be free of your classes for the afternoon," he continued, his lips lifting slightly at Harry and Buffy's guilty eyes, "why don't you come to my office now?  We can begin daily lessons on honing your concentration and practicing your wandless magic."

    "Only if I can tag along," Buffy quickly threw in, arching her neck so that her gaze could meet Harry's, silently asking him if it was alright.  "I'm curious," she admitted to his unasked question.

    "As Hermione would say, I guess there's no time like the present," Harry agreed, finally releasing Buffy and then accepting her hand up, their hands lingering longer than necessary before both broke away, small smiles lifting their lips.  Small smiles that, of course, didn't go unnoticed by the headmaster.

    "Are you sure about joining us?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes returning to the petite blonde.  "For your presence would require both quiet and stillness," he cautioned, citing the two things that she was notorious for lacking - at least according to her watcher, who was still fuming about the sleeping potion that she had given him, last he saw.

    "Hey, I'm capable - somewhat," she admitted, grinning impishly at their skepticism.  "I'll behave.  Promise."

    Shaking his head, Dumbledore merely sighed as the two linked arms and began leading the way back to the castle.  How that boy planned on concentrating with Buffy Summers in the room was a mystery.  Then again, if he managed with the distractions of a certain blonde slayer, then perhaps the boy did stand a chance of facing Lord Voldemort himself.  Hopefully... for if not, their world was indeed lost.

To be continued...