A/N: This story is also published on fanfiction .com under my pen-name Smokey.Melons. Also I do not own BtVS or Harry Potter.
Harry Potter was not a normal man. He was not even a normal wizard. Harry Potter hadn't been normal for the past two decades.
Harry as he still thought of himself, was to be met soon by one Quentin Travers of the Watchers Council. Having been employed by them for the better part of a decade didn't mean Harry of course particularly cared to meet with a board member in person. He sighed.
There was no help for it. He would have to grin and bear it. Maybe there would be something interesting to translate. The Council had been collecting fascinating documents since before the Library of Alexandria.
Harry glanced around his office. Nothing was out-of-place. And if he started working on that new find from the thirteenth century...
Knock Knock interrupted his musings.
"Sir," his assistant inquired. "There's a Mr. Travers here to see you. Should I send him back?"
"If you must," he mumbled before he could censor himself.
"Yes Amelia, you may show him in."
Why did she always call him Sir. He wasn't a Sir. He'd never been a Sir. Dumbledore was a Sir. Not him.
Before his internal monologue could devolve any further, a stocky; steely man in an impeccable suit closed his office door.
Harry grimaced at the name, "Quentin." Uncomfortable silence ensued. After a few seconds pause, his visitor began again.
"I suppose now that pleasantries are done, I'll get straight to the point. I'm afraid, Rupert that Merrick is dead. He died defending his Slayer." Travers kept speaking, but Harry had stopped listening. Merrick was dead and the news hit him like a well aimed bludger to the kidneys.
Merrick had been... well Harry never exactly knew what Merrick represented, but brother in arms and mentor seemed closest. Now the man who pulled him back from the abyss when he was teetering was gone. Dead.
A thought suddenly occurred to Harry, distracted now from his grief. "What of his slayer? If what you say is true, a new girl had to have been chosen."
"Ah..." Travers reddened, "We are... not entirely certain. She disappeared after eliminating Lothos.
"Lothos!" Harry whispered to himself in shock. A freshly called slayer had taken out Lothos!"
Once or twice every century, Lothos had stalked the Slayer Line and butchered the doomed child. At last count fourteen different Slayers had been lost to him. And Merrick's Slayer had staked him. Further more; wonderment filled his voice, "She Survived. Another has not been called?"
"According to eyewitness reports, she vanished on the back of a motor bike after setting fire to her high school gymnasium," filled in Travers with a put upon heir.
"She set fire to a school building!?" Sacrilege shrieked little part of his brain that still sounded like his long dead friend Hermione. Setting fire to a center of learning (even if it was only an outbuilding), was atrocious behavior.
"Yes, we can only assume it was to finish off his remaining followers. A drastic course of action, though."
"And who is to be her new watcher?" Asked Harry slowly. "You aren't here to just inform me of Merrick's passing, are you?" His voice catching a little as said the name of a dead man.
"No," Travers started calmly "I am not. You are the only field trained Watcher currently without a potential," Now sounding tired. "The Council knows this is too much to ask, and thus far we have respected you wish to not become further involved in our affairs. But our only other option is Wyndam-Pryce's son and he's more than a year from completing his studies."
At the mention of Wyndam-Pryce, Harry and Travers shared a look. That pompous, overbearing windbag was worse than Draco Malfoy in top form. Petty and arrogant to an extreme in a way that made, if at all possible, Malfoy seem modest. Harry cringed, to think what Wyndam-Pryce's son would be like.
"And how am I supposed to train the girl if she cannot be located?" Harry snorted.
"The Devon Coven foresees her arrival in Sunnydale, California by summer's end." Informed Travers.
"Sunnydale, Sunnydale... Why does that sound so familiar?" Harry should know that name. Just hearing it caused goose-flesh on the back of his neck. Travers gave him a hard look. And the familiarity of the name crashed into his soul.
"Boca del Inferno, Mouth of Hell!" Harry clenched his fists, "Merlin, you're sending a barely educated slayer to the most active Hellmouth on earth! What could posses you to perform such feats of lunacy."
Travers gave him an exhausted patronizing scowl, "We have not sent her there, but there she will arrive none the less. It has been decreed by The Powers That Be."
The Powers That Fucking Be. Oh Harry hated them. They'd stolen his childhood, killed his friends, and murdered his family all so he could be their perfectly molded pawn in the Wizarding World. The only place Harry had ever felt at home in his entire life. And they'd used him to destroy an entire magical society because his people, had gotten to influential, to powerful to let stand.
The Wizarding magic that once resided inside of him, had been a warm fizzy feeling of guiding light in his soul. And The Powers That Fucking Be arranged events is such a way that he could never have that back.
And now they'd chosen Merrick's Slayer, His Slayer now, as a new pawn in a different game. Any other slayer he could have accepted, ignored, blocked from his thoughts. But not a girl Merrick cared enough about to die for.
"I'll do it." This was not a rational decision, becoming involved with the working of destiny again. But Harry Potter had never been all that rational of a man. It was time to release the solider responsible for the destruction of Voldemort and Wizarding Magic, whom he had kept so tightly repressed over the years. Ripper was now coming out to play.
And Travers, Gods Bless him, working for The Powers That Fucking Be had better watch out. Because Harry Potter, Ripper, never lost a fight.