Racing With Destiny: Chapter 8
by Lisette

Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

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"Maybe death is the great equalizer, the one big thing
that can finally make strangers shed a tear for one another."
-Morrie Schwartz-

As Professor McGonagall led the two away, Hermione could only stare after them with wide eyes, her jaw hanging slack as conversation erupted around them. "I can't believe it," she murmured, her eyes locked on Buffy's back until she disappeared from sight. "I can't believe it," she repeated, her mind buzzing with unasked questions as she turned wide eyes back to her two closest friends.

"Can't believe what?" Ron asked as he began to dig into the plate of food that sat before him, obviously completely unaffected by whatever epiphany had struck his friend.

"I can't believe that Dumbledore somehow managed to get a Slayer to Hogwarts," she muttered, her words soft yet carrying just enough to reach everyone at their table. Instantly, a hush fell over the gathered witches and wizards as everyone turned to the bright young woman, some with surprise, others with understanding, and many with confusion.

Seeing this, Ron cleared his throat nervously before arching a brow at Harry. At his friend's confused shrug, Ron felt a bit of relief. At least he wasn't the only clueless, and from the expression on Ginny's face, she had no idea as well. "Um... what's a slayer?" he asked, knowing that he was opening himself up for a tirade, but unwilling to be left in the dark.

Sighing, Hermione shook her head before glaring at the redhead beside her. "Don't you ever pay attention in class?" she asked crossly before turning her attention back to the others gathered at the table. "Hagrid mentioned that he was going to cover Slayers in our Care of Magical Creatures class," she explained quickly. "He only mentioned the slayer in passing, but I did some further reading on the subject-"

"Of course you did," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically as Hermione glared at him.

"So what did you learn?" Harry asked before another argument could get under way.

"A Slayer is a very rare magical creature," Hermione stated, her eyes brightening considerably. "So rare, in fact, that there is only ever one slayer at a time. You see, according to the text that I read, a slayer is called The Chosen One - one muggle girl who is suddenly transferred a very powerful, deep magic when she is called - usually in her mid teens. This magic is supposed to be very old and very different than wizarding magic, and it gives her amazing strength, speed, and healing capabilities."

"And you're saying that Buffy is a slayer?" Harry asked skeptically, his mind trying to handle the concept of the petite girl he had just met containing such power. With a frown and small shake of his head, Harry tried to banish the absurd thought as it seemed highly unlikely.

"It all fits," Hermione insisted stubbornly, arms crossed over her chest. "She said herself that her companion, Giles, was her Watcher. The book explained that each slayer is a warrior that is created to fight other dangerous magical creatures, like vampires and demons. Long ago muggles and wizards created the Watcher's Council," she stated, sharing a brief nod with the older Weasleys. "This Council was created to find and train potential slayers and to guide a slayer once she's been activated," she stated firmly, a small frown pulling at her lips. "It stated over and over again how once a slayer dies, the magic is somehow transferred to the new slayer, and that this muggle is the one girl that can protect the world and restore the balance between Good and Evil."

As another thick silence fell over the table, Molly turned to her husband with a small frown. She had heard of the Watcher's Council, but had never really given much thought to talk of the Slayer - no more than she gave thought to other magical creatures that she never encountered, such as the fabled basilisk that attacked the school all those years ago. But, as in the case of the basilisk, when brought face to face with the legend.. well, it certainly put things in a different light. "And you knew about this?" she asked, her lips forming a disapproving frown as she glared at both her husband and middle child.

"We did have the misfortune of getting on the wrong end of the slayer at the gates to Hogwarts," Arthur admitted with a timid shrug, turning away from his wife's angry look. He probably should have told her earlier, but their confusion and the looks on their faces when the truth was revealed was too much to pass on. Even if it did mean that he'd be sleeping on the couch tonight.

"Another thing that Hermione didn't mention," Percy added eagerly, obviously quite pleased to know something that the younger girl didn't, "is that she also seems impervious to our magic." Smiling smugly, he turned his attention back to his plate before another grin lifted his lips. "Sirius tried to curse her and she ended up sending him to the infirmary with two broken ribs."

"She what?" Harry cried, straightening as he realized that he hadn't even questioned the fact that he had run into Sirius right outside the doors to the infirmary. He must have just finished getting his ribs mended when they stumbled upon each other. And then, with a quick shake of his head, he remembered Buffy's earlier words - her protests that Sirius had started their confrontation. He hadn't thought twice about it earlier, but now it all made sense.

"It was a misunderstanding," Arthur cut in, glaring at his son before smiling gently at Harry, misinterpreting his silence for anger. "It seems that Buffy is rather... protective of Giles-"

"Protective seems to be putting it mildly," Percy rebuffed, scowling at his father. "She nearly killed me!"

"And what did you do to her watcher?" Bill broke in, eyes boring into his younger brother.

For a moment, Percy floundered beneath his older brother's gaze before he finally turned his eyes back to his dinner. "I stupefied him," he muttered, earning a round of snickering from his siblings.

Clucking her tongue, Molly glared at her children until silence reigned once more at their table. "Poor girl," she finally stated, her tone clipped. "That's no life to lead for one so young. I can't even imagine what the poor girl's parents are going through right now," she added, shaking her head curtly. While she knew that the children were probably only thinking of the power that went with the slayer, she found her heart focusing on the part that went unspoken. The greatest tragedy of being the Chosen One.

As if reading her mind, Hermione's somber words quieted the group. "The text stated that most slayers who are called never last longer than a year or two before they're killed."

Sighing softly, Molly closed her eyes, the words touching too close to home. It wasn't difficult for her to imagine the pain that the girl's parents would feel when their daughter returned to them, broken and still. It wasn't difficult at all and that was the most painful thing. And for them, the end wouldn't come quick enough. Instead, from the moment that they learned of their daughter's destiny, the poor girl's parents were faced with the knowledge that each night she went out to fight, that night could very well be her last. It was a very, very slow death and sometimes Molly couldn't help but think that that was the worst kind of all.

"I... I wonder how long she's been a slayer," Ginny murmured, breaking the thick silence as her beautiful eyes lifted to meet her mother's. From the way her eyes sparkled, Molly knew that her daughter had been thinking along the same lines as her. "She can't be that much older than us."

"I don't know, Ginny dear, I don't know," Molly murmured, absently patting her daughter's hand beside her.

Watching this exchange, Ron frowned thoughtfully, finally turning away from his family and noticing his best friend for the first time. Harry wore a haunted expression that was all too easy for Ron to recognize. It was the look that he wore whenever he thought about his parents, or Cedric Diggory... or about losing any of them to You-Know-Who. Harry tried to hide it and pretend as though it was nothing, but Ron knew that Harry had never forgotten or gotten over any of these incidents. He even mourned the deaths of his muggle relatives that had hated him so much for so long. In a way, Ron supposed that Harry felt everyone's pain and somehow always connected everything back to him. If a random witch or wizard disappeared, Harry automatically attributed the disappearance to You-Know-Who, and to himself in turn. As he was so fond of pointing out, it was his blood that raised the Dark Lord. His blood that made him strong once more. "You alright?" he asked quietly, breaking his friend from his quiet musings.

Torn away from his dark thoughts, Harry met Ron's eyes and saw the concern there. "I'm fine," he said, shrugging his friend's worries away as he slowly pushed away from the table. "Listen, I'm going to head back to the common room and get started on the Potions homework," he said, announcing his plans to the others before turning and making his way from the bustling hall.

Concerned, Ron watched him go for just a moment before quickly shoving back and hurrying after his friend. "See you later, Hermione!" he called over his shoulder before disappearing from the room.

---

With an audible click, the large portrait swung open, revealing a brightly lit room beyond the dark hallway. Bustling her heavy skirts around her, Professor McGonagall stepped over the frame and swept into the chamber, her small eyes taking in the room with satisfaction. It was a guest suite located in the main part of the castle on the fourth floor, and from appearances, it seemed that Albus had chosen well.

The painting that guarded the entrance to the suite was an old portrait of a young girl child, younger than any child that had ever attended Hogwarts, with red tresses that were coiffed around small shoulders. Her smile was innocent and sweet, and the muttered password opened the painting to reveal a large room within, made warm and comforting with heavy rugs on the floors and faded tapestries on the walls. The room felt divided with a roaring fireplace to the right, an old couch and two arm chairs flanking the warm setting. To the left sat a large desk against one wall, book shelves adorning all other wall space while a large table with two chairs sat against the far wall, bright moonlight spilling over the scene from the three large windows towering opposite the door.

"I trust that you will find everything in order," she stated primly, hands clasped before her as both Mr. Giles and Miss Summers joined her in the room. "The house elves have already placed your bags in your rooms, which are located behind those doors," she said, indicating the heavy-set oak doors off to each side of the room with a wave, "and you have a private bath located over there," she finished, indicating the last doorway that sat to the right on the other side of the fireplace.

"Thank you, Professor," Giles murmured, eyes sweeping appreciatively over the shelves that were already partially filled with ancient texts and scrolls. "I'm sure that everything will be quite alright," he added as he absently started towards the shelving.

"Goodnight, then," McGonagall said before taking her leave, allowing the two to explore the rooms to their liking. A fact that Buffy quickly took advantage of.

Curious despite herself, the petite slayer bypassed the bookshelves and headed straight for the bedroom on the left, her eyes skipping over the room that contained a massive bed and a large desk, the tapestries done in a deep forest green and brightly lit by a few torches that burned on the walls. Eyeing the room, Buffy shrugged noncommittally before turning and moving across the common room. First she opened the door to the right of the fireplace, checking out the ancient fixtures and grimacing at the old claw foot tub that adorned the bathroom. "No shower," she muttered, obviously disappointed but just grateful that there at least seemed to be indoor plumbing. Shrugging lightly she quickly threw open the door to the left of the fireplace and froze at the sight laid out before her.

The room was a little smaller than the one across the way, but what it lacked in size it quickly made up in decor with two wide windows casting a silver glow on the chamber. Once more a large bed graced the opposite wall, this one richly adorned in the vibrant blue of the sky on a cloudless summer day. With a smile Buffy slowly crossed into the chamber and dropped back onto the bed, feeling the feather comforter adjust around her slim form as her eyes looked up into what seemed to be a summer sky up above, matching blue drapes surrounding the frame. It was beautiful.

Smiling contentedly, she allowed herself to drift amongst the clouds for a few moments before she forced herself to abandon the large bed. She had to admit that the thought of having a bed that she could call her own was tempting. It had been so long... Sighing, Buffy forced the thoughts away as she finally took note of the rest of the room. Large armoire already filled with her meager belongings, small desk, large windows... Frowning, Buffy moved until she was standing before one of the tall windows, her gaze drifting past the sweeping grounds and towards the dark woods that loomed beyond. It was as if their dark depths were calling to her. Calling her to join them in the darkness where she belonged.

"Are you aright?"

Startled, Buffy felt her muscles tighten before she forced herself to relax, her green eyes sliding over to her watcher's concerned countenance. She hadn't even heard him approach - didn't even know how long she had been standing there, her breath fogging the glass before her as she became lost in the dark woods beyond. "Everything feels weird here," she admitted, eyes sweeping over the darkness beyond the thick walls of Hogwarts.

"Your senses are most likely picking up the strong magics that surround this place," Giles explained as his gaze joined hers, taking in the dark night beyond the windows.

"Probably," Buffy agreed, shrugging slightly. "But it's not just the place. It's the people too," she admitted with a frown, concentrating on putting her feelings into words. "Everyone feels a bit different here... kind of the way that you've always felt to me," she explained, green eyes meeting his once more. "I always thought it was just the way you are because you're a watcher, but it must have been your magic I felt. Everyone just feels kind of... off," she murmured, her eyes narrowing. "But the old guy and Harry - now they really feel off," she added.

Intrigued, Giles slowly turned and leaned against the cold stone wall, his hands slipping his glasses from their perch and polishing them absently on the hem of his sweater. "I would imagine," he began, "that Dumbledore would feel different to you because he's a very, very powerful wizard." Sighing softly, he slowly replaced his glasses as his slayer turned towards him. "However, as for Harry-"

"It has something to do with the dark creep no one wants to talk about," Buffy interrupted, her tone sure as she frowned softly. "It's like I can feel power from Harry, but not. Like he doesn't know it's there, or something... like it's buried. But it has to be because of what happened when he was little," she continued, her voice growing stronger. "Because it feels all dark and twisted," she murmured, nose crinkling slightly as Giles' lips dipped further into a questioning frown. Sighing, Buffy's eyes drifted back to the dark wood that beckoned her, her thoughts threatening to ensnare her before she quickly pushed her musings away, forcing a bright grin for her watcher. "And so says the girl who just recently got her brain put back right," she quipped, her tone self-depreciating as she slipped away from him, snagging the large duffel as she went and depositing it on the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Giles asked as she began to rummage through the bag before her, pulling out the occasional weapon and tossing it haphazardly on the blue comforter.

"Well, I might as well get down to doing what I was brought here for," Buffy returned absently. "You know, a glorified games keeper," she added with a small smile, lifting her head briefly before quickly returning to her perusal of the bag.

Sighing, Giles abandoned his position by the window and moved until he was staring down at his slayer's bowed head. "Buffy, you are needed here," he murmured as he gently laid a hand on her small shoulder, wishing that she would share even a fraction of what was going through her mind, whether it was the simple fact of missing her friends in this strange place or... or something darker.

For a moment, Buffy took comfort in that simple gesture before she shrugged his hand away. "I'm gonna check out this forest of theirs," she murmured as she selected a long sword and a crossbow. "I'm getting a bit antsy and want to go kill something. 'Sides," she added with a small grin, "it's still early our time."

Smiling slightly, Giles nodded his agreement as he pulled a large axe from the bag and propped it on one shoulder. "We might as well," he agreed as he moved into the next room, grabbing his jacket and slipping into the heavy fabric.

"Hold up," Buffy protested as she followed her watcher, a hard frown pulling at her lips. "Who invited you?"

"I'm your Watcher," Giles cut in, his tone abrupt as he dared her to argue further. "I don't need an invitation. Besides, you're not on the Hellmouth any longer," he added, smiling to soften his words. "You're likely to encounter creatures unlike anything that you've ever seen before. You need me along."

Sighing dramatically, Buffy made a big show of considering his words before finally nodding her acceptance. "Alright, but don't whine to me if you get bored later," she stated as she slipped the sword into a sheath and draped the strap over one shoulder, adjusting it until it was comfortable before doing likewise with the crossbow.

"I'll do my best to refrain from all fits of whining," Giles deadpanned as he returned to her room and exited a second later with a small dart gun, tossing it to his slayer. "In case we encounter something that should be sleeping instead of dead," he said, answering her unasked question. "After all, not all dangerous creatures should be slayed in those woods. Merely those that don't belong and that could be swayed to Voldemort's side."

"Hey, you're the boss," Buffy sighed, trying to find a good way to carry the weapon as she made her way to the portrait door, stopping only when she realized that her watcher wasn't following. "There a reason you're not coming? I mean, I thought we already went over this."

"Are you telling me you forgot about the cold already? After all of your earlier complaining?" Giles asked, pointedly looking at her thin shirt - hardly the clothing needed for such a cold night.

Grimacing, Buffy slowly took in her own clothing once again. "Well you see, there's a slight problem with that," she said with a weak grin. "Someone forgot to mention that England is freaking cold and I left my heavy coat back in the downstairs closet at the apartment," she admitted as she glared pointedly at her warmly dressed watcher. What she didn't mention was the fact that she was actually quite accustomed to being cold. Having spent five months enclosed in a small concrete prison far beneath the earth's surface with no heat and wearing only a thin tank top and pants - well, she either had to adjust to the cold or die. And while at times she hoped for the latter, she adapted instead.

Sighing, Giles shook his head as he turned and went back into her bedroom. "I'll see that the others add your coat to the shipment containing the rest of my personal belongings," his muffled voice said, filtering through the door before he returned a few moments later, a heavy black cloak in hand.

Eyeing the long lengths of material, Buffy turned wide eyes to her watcher. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, firmly crossing her arms across her chest, one hip cocked to the side in the perfect pose of defiance.

"Either you wear the cloak or you're not going out, and that's final," Giles said, trying his best to look as stern as possible - and failing miserably as Buffy arched a slim brow at him.

"You're not my dad," Buffy countered, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "You can't tell me what to do."

Shaking his head wryly, Giles tossed her the cloak, his slayer catching it effortlessly in her small hands. "I doubt that even your father would be able to tell you what to do," he retorted as she held the soft material in her hands, fingering the silver clasp. "However," he added as he began helping her to remove the straps of weapons from her shoulders, "I am your watcher, therefore yes, I can tell you what to do."

Sighing dramatically, Buffy ditched the rest of her weaponry before caping the heavy material around her shoulders, admiring the way the cloak fell down to the floor, trailing right above ground level, secured by the small silver clasp. Even though she would never admit it, the idea of wearing such a different piece of clothing was fun - like playing dress-up or something. She kind of felt like she was back in the really olden days - like the time of Giles' childhood or something. Smirking at the thought, Buffy shifted the sword and crossbow straps until they were resting over top, within easy grabbing distance should they be needed. "Well, let's do this," she said, a grin lifting her lips at the thought of what was to come.

Continue to Chapter 9