Disclaimer: Joss owns BTVS. Rowling owns HP. And we are merely players in their sandbox.
AN: The first two chapters of this are NOT my work. They belong to TheLaughingMan, who gave his permission for a continuance. You won't be subjected to my writing until Chapter 3.
He had run. It was cowardly, sneaky, and cruel to his friends, but he had run away from it all. Not something that a Gryffindor would do, he knew that. He hadn't run too far, but they would have never found him, even if they were standing not two feet from where he was. He had hidden in time itself. They said it couldn't be done. They also said the Hallows didn't exist, but he had once again proved them wrong.
It had been mere weeks after the defeat of Voldemort that he had gotten the urge. The dark arts that he had used for 'the greater good' had called to him again. They had been frightened when he had used the Unforgivables during the hunt for the Horcruxes and they had been right to be afraid. He had tortured Carrow and he had enjoyed it. He had thought that he could use the dark arts without any repercussions. To fight fire with fire as it were. That there was no light or dark magic, just magic. He had been arrogant and wrong.
So to satiate the craving he had started doing small dark spells that he had learned in the library at Grimmauld Place, which had been where he lived after the war. It hadn't been enough. The weak spells had kept him satisfied only for a short while. So he had delved deeper into the arts to get his fix and after a while the Dark Arts no longer worked. He had craved more, more than just the rush, the forbidden magic had left him with the need to hurt, to control, and to kill.
Then he discovered the Black Arts, demon summoning, calling terrible hallucinations down upon unsuspecting people for amusement, and destroying lives for the high that only the Black Arts could bring. It was better than any drug, better than the greatest sex. Nothing else was the same as Black Magicks. Nothing could come close, not women, not whiskey, and not even the hardest drug. The Black Arts were more pure than the Dark Arts, more primal and ritualistic. You didn't need a wand or even be a wizard at all. Best yet, it was untraceable by the Ministry.
Nobody noticed. After he had discovered that Ginny had been lacing him with Amortia, he had broken up with her, and his friendship with Ron had suffered because of it. He sympathized with Ron, he really did, not knowing whether to support his sister or his best friend, especially since Mrs. Weasley didn't seem that sorry about what Ginny had tried to do and you have one confused young man. In the end Ron had simply concentrated on his relationship with Hermione and had not gotten involved.
Meanwhile he had fallen into an abyss that he couldn't have found a way out of even if he had wanted to. In his desperation to get away from the press, lest they find out about his new hobby, he had found a experimental spell in one of Dumbledore's notes. If he had been in his right mind he would not have tried it, if he had the least bit of common sense he wouldn't have tried it, but he had.
It hadn't worked like it was supposed to. It had instead sent him back through time to the year 1971. He had been gleeful when he had found out, he had no name, no 'criminal' record, and he could do whatever he wanted without worry of reprisal. Of course, he had feared that somebody would notice his resemblance to James Potter or might even confuse him with his father. He had needed to change his name and his face.
Using a ritual he had succeeded at both. He picked his name from his grandmother's maiden name Giles and his first name Rupert from his first friend Rupert Burton. His new face had resembled his original one save for the hair and eyes. He had experimented and discovered he could shift between his new form and his original one at will.
He had taken London by storm, murdering, stealing, and getting girls by the dozen. People had taken to calling him Ripper because of his viciousness and it stuck. He had made new friends with similar interests and together they had delved deep into the Arts bringing chaos wherever they went. They became his family and together no one could stop them.
Then a summoning went wrong and one of his 'family' had died. He had been horrified as had the others. They backed off from magic, even Ethan had slowed down. He had been ashamed, it had been his wake up call. He hadn't cared if nameless people suffered but his friend had died due to his addiction and recklessness. He knew he had to change. Like Dumbledore before him, he now had to pay penance for what he’d done.
He had signed up to the Watcher's Council. Years went by and he used a mask that he modeled after Percy Weasley to dispel any doubts that he was dangerous. Nobody suspected the stuffy, yet promising young Watcher to be anything but what he seemed. Then, after twenty five years of hard work and field missions, he got his chance to train his own Slayer. Instead of a Slayer he had found a daughter.
She had, against his wishes, made friends with the local children and brought them into the fight. He had thought that they would be useless, he had never been happier to be wrong. Willow had been a bright girl who had reminded him greatly of Hermione, right down to the crush on the oblivious best friend. Xander, had been a strange mixture of Ron and Neville, goofy, loyal, and brave, with hidden talents and balls of steel. He hadn't missed the bomb in the basement the next morning after the Sisters of Jhe had attempted to open the Hellmouth.
Sadly, his children, as he called them, had repeated some of his own mistakes. Willow had delved into Black Magick and he had been forced to stop her. He had told his children that he used the coven's powers but he doubted that they believed his lie completely. Xander especially had seemed doubtful. How was he supposed to tell them that he was afraid of his own power, of the temptations that he faced whenever he used it more than sparingly?
It seemed his lie had been for naught when he had to use his powers to track down, gather, and defend the potentials. He had asked them to keep his powers secret and they had obliged. Though, Xander had suspected his hidden powers again, Buffy and the others did not, thankfully, ask him any uncomfortable questions.
After the battle with The First, he had had tried to access the Council's vaults and accounts, but he hadn't been able to. He knew now what he had to do in order to get the necessary funds. He had to dip into his own accounts.
To the Wizarding World, Harry Potter had been gone only for a few months, but to Rupert Giles it had been far longer. Thankfully his other form had not changed with the passing years. Because he hadn't used it, it hadn't aged. Simple as that.
Now, after years of hiding from his past it was time to confront it. Only heaven knew what the others would say when his secrets came out in full or when the girls he looked at as his own daughters saw his true form. He felt a shiver run down his spine when he thought of what Faith would say or rather do.