1. Prologue

_**Prologue: Xander Goes AWOL**_

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I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Harry Potter. They belong to Joss Whedon and Joanne K. Rowling respectively.  
AN: The Potter-verse is going to start appearing in a significant fraction in the next chapter. This is only the prologue.

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_Democratic Republic of the Congo_

_July 13th 2004_

Xander Harris had fought the darkness for close to a decade. His journey had taken him from a wipe-out on a skateboard in Sunnyhell High all the way to this moment in the wilds of Africa. The rift was expanding and if Xander didn't close it then the rift in time and space would disrupt the fabric of reality to the point where all life on Earth would be wiped from existence.

It was times like this when Xander questioned the sanity of demons. Tempus, the Chaos Demon responsible, would be wiped from existence too if the rift continued to expand as it was. Still, he supposed, that was chaos demons. The little buggers were unpredictable.

Xander carefully cut his left palm open, working up a good blood flow. These darn portals were all the same. Blood and life. Xander breathed deep. This time it was his turn. There was no hated vampire or suicidal slayer to take the plunge this time. Xander walked through the rift, unsure of what would happen to him.

It is a quirk of rifts in space/time that the person closing them could be sent anywhere or anywhen, but not both. In the case of Xander Harris, this meant he was sent back around half a century in time. After all, fate was not done with Xander Harris.

* * *

_International Council of Watchers, Main Headquarters_

_London, England July 30th 2004_

"Where's Xander?"

Rupert Giles sighed dramatically, getting quite tired of the question. It wasn't that he was happy Xander was gone. On the contrary, Giles was devastated at the loss of the person who was the closest thing he had to a son. It had been over two weeks and there was still no sign of Xander. He had been last seen at the African Headquarters before an urgent call had come in concerning a chaos demon. Nothing more could be found except for a burnt up area that was probably where the battle had taken place.  
"For the umpteenth time, Dawn, I haven't the foggiest idea where Xander is. You have seen all the same reports as I have. If you haven't discerned Xander's fate from them, then there is no point in asking me."

The brunette sat down hard at the rather emphatic pronouncement. In all fairness Giles had every right to be irritated, but the idea that Xander might never be coming back really hit her hard. Finally she nodded sullenly. "Okay Giles, I'll drop it. What's next on the agenda for today?"

The man smiled slightly. "A new ally is sending an ambassador to meet with us. They may even be willing to allow us to train potentials and slayers from among their population."

Dawn's eyes widened. "I wasn't aware that there was a nation that the watchers weren't able to take potentials from. We seem to have treaties with every country known to man…"

The aging man shrugged uncaringly. "These people are not exactly a nation in the normal sense, my dear. They are more of a nation within a nation. They have enclaves within every country in the world. We have been approached by the enclave that represents Great Britain and Ireland as a sort of test case. Assuming that things go well, we can expect to be approached by others of these… wizarding enclaves."

"Wizarding?" Dawn's face betrayed her utter confusion. "At first blush I'd expect that to be a mystical society of some sort, but wouldn't we have heard of it?"  
Giles shook his head. "You are correct that they are a mystical society, but their magic is rather different than ours in many ways. They are what one would call sorcerers. This essentially means that their magic comes from within them, usually amplified by a focus of some sort. The type of focus varies significantly between the various enclaves, or so I'm told. Anyway, our type of witches are what they would call channelers. They have no inherent magic of their own. Instead, they channel the power of a god, a demon or even the earth itself. Channelers have to be particularly mindful of the cost since this magic is not theirs. A sorcerer's magical power depends upon the size of his or her magical core. A channeler's, on the other hand, depends upon how much power they can channel through their body at once."

"And we've never heard of them because…?"

"Because wizarding society is completely separate, for the most part. They live behind incredibly powerful concealment spells and have done so since the separation. The separation came about due to events like the Salem Witch Trials and the proliferation of cheap firearms."

Dawn nodded sagely. She could imagine how such events might drive a society underground. "So they are sending an envoy. When will he get here?" A loud snap caused Dawn to screech and leap towards Giles, searching for a weapon.

"I'm right here." The smooth voice was eerily familiar.

Dawn stood up and turned around, her jaw dropping at the far older, but certainly familiar face. "How in the…" Words failed her.

Giles was not quite as inarticulate, though his shock was equally palpable. "Good lord, Xander. What happened to you?"

Alexander Harris, special envoy for the Ministry of Magic, grinned manically. "It's a long, long story, G-man… Longer then you can possibly imagine."

* * *

And here we go...

Jasper


	2. Chapter I: Sorting Things Out

_**Chapter I: Sorting Things Out**_

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I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Harry Potter. They belong to Joss Whedon and Joanne K. Rowling respectively.

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_Headmaster's Office Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_September 1st 1994_

"Come in, Minerva!"

Minerva entered the office of her boss with a feeling of being rather taken aback. She had already been put off balance by his rather abrupt letter which had requested her presence in the first place. The rather curt-sounding invitation to enter only served to put her even more ill at ease. "What can I do for you, Albus? You do realise I have things to prepare for tonight?"

The old man looked up and Minerva was shocked by the sheer look of exhaustion on the hundred-and-something-year-old man's face. "I'm afraid that the curse of the defence position has struck early this year, Minerva."

McGonagall felt her jaw working soundlessly as she desperately tried to formulate an intelligent response. "What happened? Is Alastor all right?"

Dumbledore heaved out a long-suffering sigh and then stood, pacing pensively. "It would appear that Alastor was attacked last night, Minerva. I am not sure by whom or for what purpose. All I can say for sure is that the battle was fearsome and that Alastor was left in a coma as a result. His attackers apparated out quickly just after help arrived."

"But surely Alastor could have held them off until a rapid-response team from the Auror Command could be scrambled?"

Albus nodded faintly. "I expect that would be so, Minerva. However, it seems that Chief Auror Rufus Scrimgeour believed Alastor had become too paranoid in his old age. Scrimgeour had him removed from the register so that when Alastor's 'auror needs assistance' signal came in, no one answered. The only reason anyone came at all was because Alastor's security system went off and was stumbled upon by muggles. Arthur Weasley went to smooth things over and found Alastor in his current state."

Minerva's lips formed into a fine line, frustrated by Scrimgeour's incompetence. "Can we expect Alastor to recover, or will he be joining Gilderoy?"

The headmaster's lips quirked faintly at the memory of that particular defence professor. "Thankfully, Alastor will recover. Unfortunately, he is expected to need most of the year to do so. That, as you can imagine, leaves us without a defence professor."

The deputy headmistress nodded gravely. Dumbledore's grim face made much sense in this context. This was the first of September. Students would be arriving in a few hours. It would not do to be lacking a teacher in one of the core classes that Hogwarts offered, especially one of the 'wanded' subjects. "A former defence professor?"

Albus shook his head sadly as he sat back down. "Those who survived intact are like Remus. They, for various reasons, want nothing to do with another term in this subject."  
Minerva sighed an moved on. "An auror, then?"

Again the headmaster shot it down. "You will find, Minerva, that few aurors are eager to take a substantial deduction in pay in order to teach today's youth. Especially when one considers that teaching is a great deal more work."

"Severus, then? He is always asking about the position."

"Unfortunately, Minerva, that creates as many problems as it solves. While it would deal with our defence spot, it opens up a potions spot. Severus is one man and cannot be expected to teach both and be head of Slytherin house as well. To move Severus necessitates me finding a qualified potions master to take his post on short notice. If anything, I expect that to be even more difficult."

A grunt of affirmation was all Minerva offered this time. She was beginning to understand the headmaster's frustration. It was just too bad that her husband couldn't do it… Minerva paused. Why couldn't he? "Albus…"

Dumbledore looked up at Minerva again, noting a change in the lilt of her voice that suggested a solution had been found. "Yes, Minerva?"

"What about my husband?" The suggestion brought a wince to the headmaster's face but Minerva plowed on anyway. "I know that you two don't get along Albus, but we are desperate. And with the Tri-Wizard Tournament starting this year we cannot afford to be caught without a defence professor. It would be embarrassing to say the least. Alexander is a trained hunter of dark creatures and was quite active during the first war…"

Albus scowled. "Your husband is a loose cannon…"

McGonagall was becoming frustrated with her old friend. She absolutely hated his tendency to get into pissing matches with her husband especially since, in a war of the words, her husband nearly always won. Alexander scoffed openly at Dumbledore's grandfatherly looks of disappointment when they were pointed at him. "Come now, Albus. I know that he doesn't walk the line you do, but at least the one he walks goes in the same general direction. Alexander is skilled enough to take the position, he's impressive enough to keep the other schools in line and he's on the right side, regardless of the subtle differences in your styles."

"The man's policies regarding vampires are…"

"Not in line with your own. I know that. But others feel as he does. Goodness knows he's very popular in Durmstrang for example…"

"I'm certain he is. His practice of borderline dark…"

"Stop right there Albus or you will have to replace a transfiguration professor, as well. I've known Alexander for around forty years now. He has never used the dark arts in combat. Even when the unforgivables were licenced for use on werewolves and vampires by law, Alexander still refused to use them."

Albus nodded, conceding the point. "I apologise, Minerva. You really think he would accept a position in an institution I lead?"

Minerva smirked. "I assure you, Albus, Alexander will accept if you send him a request. In fact, I will hand-deliver it."

Dumbledore suddenly found he didn't want to know what Minerva might do to persuade her husband. Despite his proclivities, Dumbledore could not begin to understand what attracted Minerva to the one-eyed man…

* * *

_Great Hall Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_September 1st 1994_

"Whitby, Kevin!" Minerva's voice rang out across the Great Hall as she called the last name on this year's list of first years.

A mousy, shy-looking boy trotted up and mashed the sorting hat onto his head. A few moments passed and suddenly the hat's strident voice was heard, emanating from the seeming rip in its side. "Hufflepuff!" Mr. Whitby hopped up, just barely remembering to drop the hat onto the bench before bolting for the table filled with his new housemates.

Minerva, the sorting complete, picked up the stool and hat and brought them with her to her place at the head table. She idly wondered where in heaven's name her husband was. If he didn't arrive soon she promised herself that she'd flay him alive for embarrassing her like that.

As Dumbledore told everyone to tuck in, he threw a significant look her way. Sadly all that Minerva could do was shrug. He still had time. Alexander would be here. He had promised her that much and he had not broken a promise to her yet… well, except his promise to burn his collection of Hawaiian shirts. She was still trying to get that promise enforced.

After a satisfying dinner, Minerva watched as the headmaster began an extensive dissertation on all the things Argus had declared off limits this year. Honestly, someone really needed to buy Filch a sense of humour. Minerva silently shuddered to imagine what Alexander was going to put the man through this year.

Minerva blinked suddenly at Dumbledore's declaration that quidditch would not be played this year. While she did not contradict him, she prepared herself to argue the point later. Quidditch was not particularly arduous, falling mostly to Madam Hooch. Of equal import were the devastated looks on the faces of Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Fred Weasley and George Weasley. All four of them were in their sixth years. Canceling a full season would put them in a bad position if any of them were considering professional quidditch careers.

Just as Dumbledore was about to announce the Tri-Wizard Tournament, a loud bang echoed through the hall. Minerva looked up and offered a slight smile as her husband strode theatrically through the door. She thought the hat he was wearing was a touch ostentatious, but he despised the typical pointed hat that was required of students. He claimed they looked okay on her but made him look like a tool, whatever that meant… The grey that was creeping across Alexander's temples only added to the rakish air he portrayed.

Alexander was rather larger and more intimidating then most other wizards. He strongly held the belief that anyone who hunted the dark had to have a strong body to match their strong mind and magic. There were often times when that was all you had available. He had certainly proven it true the once, back in 1980. That was a memory she'd never forget, no matter how much she had wished to at times.

Her husband had apparently gone all out this time. In addition to that absurd hat, he was decked out in his full hunting gear. His scimitar was worn comfortably at his belt and she would wager her family fortune that he had at least two knives concealed on him somewhere. And, of course, no one could miss the leather patch. It was another of his quirks that Albus seemed to dislike. Instead of getting his eye replaced like most people, Alexander simply wore that eye patch. He claimed that Moody's eye was only good for scaring small children. As much as Minerva liked Moody, she couldn't help but agree with her husband's evaluation.

She glanced over at Dumbledore and was mildly amused by the faint expression of distaste on the old man's face. She didn't even have to look to guess Albus was looking at the fur pouch at Alexander's side. Albus knew what the pouch was, even if the students didn't.

Minerva smiled faintly as her husband strode confidently up to her side, planting a kiss on her cheek before taking the open space beside her. She couldn't help but blush faintly as she noted her Gryffindors goggling at her faintly. Honestly, did they think she didn't have a life outside of her teaching? It was vaguely insulting really.

Albus had apparently managed to get a hold of himself and finally introduced his new staff member to the student body. "May I introduce our new defence professor, Professor Alexander Harris?" And the student body exploded into a thousand different whispered conversations.

Alexander leaned over to her, smirking as usual. She still had money that he would have been a Slytherin. "Do you get the impression they've heard of me?"

* * *

For those who are curious about Xander's hat, think of Will Turner's hat at the end of Pirates of the Caribbean I: The Curse of the Black Pearl.

FTR: Things that occurred in the intervening years since Xander landed in the nineteen fifties, until now will be mentioned through memories, in conversations, etc... The first couple of decades would have been fairly boring anyway... ;)

Jasper


	3. Chapter II: Throwing the Prof a Curve

_**Chapter II: Throwing**** the Prof a Curve**_

I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Harry Potter. They belong to Joss Whedon and Joanne K. Rowling respectively.  
I'm back ;)

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_Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_September 6th 1994_

Harry James Potter, known by most as the Boy-Who-Lived, glanced around the classroom warily as he entered his favourite class. You could tell a lot about a professor by the way he decorate his classroom, or his office for that matter.

Quirinus Quirrell's classroom had been an empty shell, which rather described the wizard himself. It had also smelled strongly of garlic, almost symbolic of the fact that something didn't smell right about Quirrell.

Gilderoy Lockhart's classroom was a testimonial of the man's utter self-absorption. Really, what did pictures of Lockhart and various choice pieces of fan-mail have to do with the subject, anyway?

Remus Lupin's classroom had always had an interesting dark creature to study, indicating Remus' primary passion, and hinting at the fact that he himself was a dark creature…

Alexander Harris' classroom was a confusing sight. At first sight, it actually resembled Lockhart's. It had an entire wall devoted to pictures. Where it diverged was the fact that these pictures were not of Harris himself. They were photographs of other people. Some were moving, in the characteristic style of wizarding pictures, whilst others were still, in the style of muggle pictures.

There seemed to be no correlation amongst the pictures. Some were old, some were young, some were male, some were female… They weren't even all human. Some of them were quite clearly of non-human blood.

The second wall was filled with articles, mostly from various wizarding papers, mentioning one atrocity or another. This wall was a little more clear. They were all articles concerning attacks by dark wizards or dark creatures. There was even one about the day his parents died. Interestingly enough it was one from the _Salem Diviner_, which seemed to stick to the facts rather sensationalising the death of his parents like the _Daily Prophet_ had.

Harry glanced at the head of the room to find his latest teacher sitting behind a large desk, his feet up and his face buried in a copy of the _New York Fortune Teller_, the wizarding version of the _New York Financial Times_. As people started pouring into the classroom, the teacher continued to ignore the class, presumably waiting for the bell that signaled the beginning of class.

Five minutes later and the class was getting antsy. The bell had rung a full minute ago and the teacher had simply turned the page. Harry noted that Hermione was practically glaring a hole through the teacher's paper.

Another minute passed by and Draco Malfoy slipped in late, entering and sitting down, his face innocent as only Malfoy could fake. "Two points from Slytherin for being late for class, Mr. Malfoy."

The Slytherin shot an incredulous glance at the professor, who was only now lowering his paper and standing up. "But the class hadn't even started yet, Professor…" The whiny voice grated on more then a few.

Harris shrugged. "Of course it hadn't. I was rather hoping to start with a full classroom. Since you were late, you wasted my time and the time of your fellow students. Next time, don't be late."

"When my father hears about this…"

"If Lucius Malfoy wishes to speak to me, he is always welcome. I look forward to completing a conversation he and I had during the war." The unmistakable hint of threat was in the air now.

"My father was a victim of the imperious curse."

The professor grinned. "That so? Well then, I'm sure you'll enjoy my lesson on the unforgivables later. I suspect it will be educational for you…"

Harris seemed to dismiss Draco from his thoughts and began to address the classroom. "I am not going to bore you lot by calling attendance. I can see that you are all here and my wards tell me the same. I am Alexander Harris, yes that Alexander Harris for those among you who may have heard of me.

"This first class will include a fairly extensive exam on just what you should have been learning this past three years. I am doing this because there are rumours that the teaching in this class has been largely substandard. I therefore need to know how much catching up you people need to do. This exam will be a simple pass or fail test. You pass if you can convince me you gave it your all. You fail if I am unconvinced." Harris snapped his fingers theatrically and an exam appeared on every desk. "You may begin."

The test took a full hour to complete for Harry. The next students managed to complete the work fifteen minutes after Harry. After an hour and forty-five minutes, only three were left. Neville Longbottom and Gregory Goyle were two of the weakest in the class and were therefore a good deal slower then their classmates. Hermione was writing a bloody novel, it seemed, probably to make sure she wasn't accused of not giving it her all. "Time's up!" Hermione looked panicked, but still handed her test up, as did Neville and Goyle.

The defence professor sat on his desk and stared out at the class. "I will not be teaching you much for today's class. I'd like to get an idea of how much you know before we delve into anything too taxing and I'm sure you folks don't want to spend the rest of the class watching me read your exams over. Instead I will be teaching you the sort of thing that this class does not normally teach."

Hermione was positively twitching in her seat, but seemed able, just barely, to maintain her silence.

The professor ignored her and continued. "Would you all please turn around and look at the pictures on the rear wall?"

Harry stood and was once again confronted with the confusing slough of pictures on the wall. What were they all about?

The Harris' voice shattered Harry's thoughts. "Has anyone caught the common thread amongst those pictures?"

The classroom was silent as everyone considered. Harry quickly concluded from the confused expressions abounding that everyone was just as stumped as he was. Even Hermione looked uncertain. She raised her hand anyway.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"They're all dead."

Most of the students, Harry and Hermione included, turned about to see the teacher nodding. "Almost correct, Miss Granger, though not quite precise enough. That is certainly as much as I expected anyone to guess. Take two points for Gryffindor.

Harris locked eyes with each and every person in the classroom, one at a time. "Most of the people on that wall are dead, and those few who are not are not ever expected to recover. They are people who were my friends, at one point or another, and who fell in battle, fighting the night."

The man sighed. "Warriors of the dark side can be clever, cunning and cruel. They can come in many unexpected shapes and sizes. The sad truth is that one day you may be fighting a member of the dark side who wears the face of one you once called friend."

Here Harry flinched, wondering if Harris was referencing Sirius. If he was, he didn't even glance at Harry. "The people on the wall behind you were not victims. Every single one of them died or fell as a true hero. Some are known to you, I am sure. Others are known only to me. But rest assured they were all heroes. That is one thing that this class is not meant to teach, but I will teach you anyway. Remember the fallen. Honour those who fell before you and fought for the light."

The class proceeded into a solemn silence that even Draco did not dare break. It went on for a full minute before the professor himself broke it. "Now, are there any questions for me about my class or myself?"

Hermione's arm was up like a shot.

"Yes, Miss Granger."

"What do you plan to teach us this year?"

The teacher acknowledged her with a nod. "First I plan to make sure everyone is up to date on what you should already know. If what I've seen in other classes applies to you as well, then I fully expect that your second year, in particular, was a completely wasted year as far as this class is concerned. After that I intend to cover the fourth year curriculum that is listed in your handbooks and to cover defending against the unforgivables, alternative defence tactics and the various ways to kill or hurt a vampire. Next?"

Hermione's hand shot up again, but this time was joined by Harry's. He hadn't had any questions before, but he certainly did now.

The defence teacher nodded at him. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"What exactly is the handbook, Sir?"

Most of the student body gave Harry a look that suggested he was a moron. Malfoy was grinning like the cat that got the cream. The teacher himself merely arched his brow in curiosity. "You are muggle-raised, are you not, Mr. Potter?"

The question seemed odd, but Harry figured it was known to most people. "Yes. What does that have to do with anything?"

The teacher's eyes narrowed at the faintly disrespectful tone, but the man did not discipline Harry. Not yet, anyway. "Your handbook should have been given to you with the rest of the standard muggleborn package. It is usually hand-delivered, along with your letter, by a Hogwarts professor. I take it yours was missing from the package?"

Now Harry was starting to get slightly angry. Something strange was going on, and everyone seemed to understand it but him. "I never got any muggleborn package."

The defence professor frowned. "This is a concern, Mr. Potter. I would like to return to questions pertaining to the class, for the moment, but see me after. You and I need to have a chat."

Harry saw the man was serious and decided to accept being put off for the moment. "Yes, Sir. I'll be there."

The man nodded as if pleased. "Excellent. Any other questions?"

"Is it true that you kill werewolves?"

Harris' eye locked on a Slytherin student who had spoken out of turn. "Please wait until I call on you in the future, Mr. Nott. I kill werewolves when they prove themselves to be a danger to themselves or to the community. To date, I have only met two werewolves that I believed were beyond redemption. The first was killed by another werewolf, so I didn't have to do the job. The second was Fenrir Greyback. I'm sure you've heard what I did to that beast…"

Nott shuddered slightly. His father had been witness to Alexander's battle with Greyback. The boy was, as a result, very wary of the scimitar at Harris' side. He knew very well that the blade was no showpiece.

"They are not beasts. They are sentient beings who…"

"One point from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn, Miss Granger. I have given one warning to one of your classmates." Here Harris gestured to Nott. "I am a firm believer that ignorance of a rule can be excused only once. After that you know the rule and are bound by it."

The Gryffindor looked like she wanted to argue but was cut off as the teacher continued. "As for werewolves, I am well aware that they are sentient beings. I described Greyback as a monster, not werewolves in general. Now, are there any other questions?"

No one spoke up this time or raised a hand. Hermione appeared a little caught off guard. She wasn't used to being taken to task by anyone but Snape, especially for something she actually did.

Professor Harris looked them over and appeared satisfied for the moment. "Excellent. Class officially ends in three minutes, so let's get to homework. I would like a three to four foot essay concerning Fenrir Greyback and whether I was right to end him. Make certain to reference his various actions in the newspapers, as well as reference books. You may take either side of the debate. I will not mark you down if you defend him. However, do be sure to explain yourself well. I do not mark people down for disagreeing with me, but I do expect them to defend their positions."

Harris glanced at his watch and nodded. "All of you, save Mr. Potter are dismissed. Mr. Potter, if you'd come up here please…"

* * *

And so it begins...

Jasper


End file.
