Legacy Of The Fathers

Chapter One - Lost

Author's Notes: I actually had this sequel in mind immediately after I wrote chapter 19 of Heir of Voldemort. I know I have a ton of other stuff I should be working on, but I'm in a-certain-character-mode atm and...well...the other stuff I'm working on is kind of... certain-character-less, so this is what came of it.

Also, this looks like it could well turn into a mini-epic as well, although its going to be a lot more fun and less dark than HOV was (it will still have some semi-darkness cropping up, but not for a while).

For anyone who doesn't know the back-story on this, I would suggest reading Heir of Voldemort, but if you don't wanna - here's a basic summary: Xander Harris (of Buffy the Vampire Slayer) is the Heir of Voldemort. His mum was forced to be Vol's consort and Xander was the result. Now, it's a year after the second fall of Vol, who later...uh... 'died' in Azkaban. Xander's mother is also dead. Can't you feel the joy?

____________________

"Xander."

His cheek resting on top of his left arm, which was folded on the table in the library in Sunnydale High School, eighteen-year-old Alexander Harris, the one son of Lord Voldemort and only Heir of Salazar Slytherin, was doodling on a scrap of paper.

Black curls of hair were flopping over his brown eyes, which were strangely haunted and shadowed, but he didn't seem to care. They were fixed on something beyond the paper he was etching on.

"Xander?"

A very attractive circle was taking shape on the piece of off-white paper, the tip of the pen scratching in black ink to fill it, covering over the over-happy smiley face that he had drawn two minutes earlier.

"Hey? Xander?"

A pair of horns emerged out of the top of the solid black circle and his pen drifted down to a blank corner, where he started to draw a pair of narrow, evil-looking eyes with vertical slits for pupils.

A hand touched his shoulder, making him visibly jump.

Two girls were staring down at him with concern on their faces.

"Xander, are you...okay?" Willow, the red-haired one, asked carefully.

He smiled at her, but none of his teeth were visible. His eyes remained sad, as he sat up and laid his pen down. "I'm good," he replied, although his tone of voice was anything but good.

"Xander, something's bothering you," Buffy, eighteen-year-old vampire Slayer, laid a hand on his shoulder. "You know you can tell us, right?"

His tired smile widened a little, forming creases in his cheeks, but still, none of his teeth appeared in that familiar wide grin he was known for. "Sure," he answered. "I guess I'm just kinda tired..."

Before they could pose further questions, he got to his feet and walked towards the swing doors, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans, his sneakers scuffing noisily along the polished floors.

"Do you..."

"Something is seriously bothering him," Willow interrupted before Buffy could finish her question. She twisted her hands together anxiously. "Something happened when he was away..."

Alexander had been whisked away by Rupert Giles, their guide, friend and mentor, a month before. Neither of the girls had been told where they were going, only that it was something to do with Alexander's mother.

Since he had arrived back, a week after he had departed, he had barely spoken.

He seemed to have turned in on himself, the turmoil that they could see in his eyes restrained within him. Distracted, exhausted and looking utterly miserable, nothing they had done or said had helped.

"I-I-I believe I have found..." Giles' voice trailed off at the sight of the girls gazing silently at the doors of the library, which were swinging slightly where Alexander had just disappeared through them. "Xander has gone?"

Willow nodded, turning to the librarian anxiously. "Giles, what happened to him when you were where ever you were?" she asked. "Why is he so not-Xandery? Who made him so sad?"

The Middle-aged Englishman sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing them on his shirt. "I-I-I'm afraid that only Xander can answer those questions, Willow," he replied gravely. "It isn't m-my place to-to-to say."

"But he won't tell us, Giles," Buffy added. "We've tried to ask him. We've told him we just want to help him and make him feel better," Willow nodded in agreement with her friend. "He...he won't tell us."

The Watcher looked towards the doors that were still swinging slowly.

"Give him time," he said quietly. "That is all I can suggest." The two girls nodded, exchanging worried looks. Giles wished he could be the one to explain exactly what had come to pass, but he knew that it was impossible.

It was Alexander who had to tell them, when he had finally come to terms with the enormity of just who and what he truly was.

"You were saying you had found something?" Willow asked carefully.

The watcher nodded, grateful that they weren't pursuing Alexander too closely. The boy was still numb with grief over the death of his mother. He needed time to think things over and his friends seemed to be able to sense it.

"I do believe I have the correct text," he replied, handing the book to the red-haired girl. "I marked the passage that seemed relevant..." Glancing at the clock over the library doors, he sighed. "Excuse me a moment."

Leaving the Slayer and her amateur witch friend poring over the hefty tome, the Englishman made his way around the counter and back into the office, closing the door behind him, cutting off all sound to or from the main library.

Sitting down at the desk opposite the door, he laid his glasses on the desk and picked up the receiver of the telephone. Tapping a series of numbers in rapidly, he leaned against the hard back of his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose as he waited for an answer on the other end of the line.

"Rayne," a familiar voice said.

"Ethan."

"Ripper?"

"Yes," Giles sighed. "Listen, its about Alexander."

He could almost see his former friend tense up. "What about him?"

"He's getting worse," he replied quietly. "He's barely said a word to anyone since we got him back and his friends are starting to worry. He won't speak to them or tell anyone what happened."

"You're surprised?" Ethan snapped, then sighed down the phone. "Christ, Ripper, just think what the kid went through. He finds out his dad isn't his dad. His mum is a witch incarcerated for being raped by his real father, who was a megalomaniac wizard who terrified and murdered whole generations of families in our world, which he also knew nothing about..."

"Well, yes..."

"Not to mention the fact that his beloved mum, the person he cared about most in the world, died because of him being who he was," Ethan continued as if Giles hadn't spoken. "And he was the cause of Voldemort's death..."

"WHAT?"

"Oh come on, Ripper, where are those brains we've heard so much about! Alex was in Azkaban on the day You-Know-Who so kindly went and popped his clogs. He had my wand with him. He had heard Fudge say the killing curse the day before. Can't you add it up?"

Giles was suddenly very relieved to be sitting down. "Good God..."

"I'll say," Ethan heaved another sigh. "Do you think I should hunt him down and give him a shoulder?"

"Aren't you...wanted in Sunnydale now?"

There was a pause. "Um...well, yes, I suppose I am..." he reluctantly replied. "I think that means I shouldn't show my face for the time being, unless I want my face and or my head to go missing..." He huffed a frustrated breath down the phone. "God...wish I could be there for the kid..."

Giles massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. "I would offer him my support, but I sincerely doubt that I have enough understanding of the situation to be of much assistance."

"Plus he thinks you're an arrogant prat most of the time," Ethan added.

"Ethan..."

"Hold on a tick...I just had a thought..."

He knew it was petty, but the watcher snidely inquired. "Did it hurt?"

"Shut up, you arse," Ethan retorted. "Look, do you know where Alex is just now?"

"At this precise moment, I have no clue whatsoever," the watcher replied, leaning back in the seat again. "I had been in my office and went to find Buffy and Willow. Apparently, Alexander had just departed."

"And you say you 'watch'," Ethan snorted derisively.

"I don't have eyes in the back of my bloody head, Rayne," Giles growled. "In case you didn't notice, I do have a Slayer to keep informed of dangers on the Hellmouth and she does tend to need some attention now and then."

"Ripper, we are talking about the son of Voldemort here," Ethan's voice was cold and scathing. "Think about this. If he gets to the state of depression where he doesn't care what happens, your Hellmouth won't mean bollocks. You have one of the most powerful untrained wizards in the world in your hands and if he decides he wants to end it all, you can guess again about stopping him."

"Xander would never..."

"Ripper, the Xander you knew two months back isn't the same a the one we brought home with us. We both know it."

"But he is a good boy..."

Ethan sighed. "Yeah," he admitted. "But he's never had to deal with losing his mum and killing his own father before, has he? That kid is going to have some serious issues to deal with and if someone can't be there for him..."

"You honestly think the power could touch him?"

"Touch him? Ripper, he's swimming in the stuff. We discussed this before and you know I'm right about the kid. If I had been him, I would have blown that Ministry panel to pieces just to show them I was serious about getting Cass out of Azkaban," A melancholy note filtered into Ethan's voice. "We're just lucky that the boy has some sense of control. He has more power than either of us ever did. I'd guess even more than his old man. He would have to, to be able to do him in like that."

"But he doesn't know how to use it."

"Which makes him all the more dangerous."

Giles squeezed his eyes shut. "We...we need someone who can talk to him."

"Which brings us back to my original though that you ignored," Ethan said coolly. "I have an idea, but you'd need to find out where the boy is. Do you have any clue, anything at all, where he might be?"

"My only assumption is anywhere that his friends would not look for him."

"A cemetery?"

"Too obvious."

"Home?"

"He has been staying at my home, since we returned, but I doubt he would go there at this time of day. He wouldn't return to his own home. He doesn't wish to face his adoptive father and there are too many memories."

"Can't say I blame him," there was a brief silence. "Ripper, would your flock of nice girls ever go near a pub?"

"Only to beat up the demon-serving owner."

Giles could visualise Ethan's smile of relief. "Then we've found where our boy will be hiding out. I'm going to get in touch with someone who might be able to help him where we can't."

"Do I want to know?"

"It's probably safer if you don't for now," Ethan replied with a chuckle. "Don't you worry about our boy. He just needs someone who can give him a nudge back in the right direction. Someone who owes me a favour or ten."

"Ethan, this better not be one of your demon girls."

"Don't worry, Ripper, he'll be in safe hands. Trust me."

Before he could comment, the line went dead and he wearily placed the receiver back in it's cradle, a ponderous look on his face. "You let anything hurt that boy and I'll kill you myself, Ethan," he muttered.

He didn't notice the puzzled looks that were exchanged by a blonde-haired Slayer and a red-haired witch, who had been listening on the other side of the glass of the office window.

***

"Look, buddy, I don't wanna say no, but you're too young..."

Alexander's dark eyes narrowed at the barman. "Willy, shut up."

"All right, buddy, all right, just don't expect me to give you booze..." the barkeeper said uneasily, twisting a dishrag between his hands. "You can sit, but I don't think my customers are going to like it, if you know what I mean."

"I just want to sit, okay?" Alexander sat down heavily on the stool beside the bar, resting his bare forearms on the cool surface and lowering his chin to the spot where his wrists crossed.

The small pub was usually visited more by demons than it was by humans. A few of them had given the teenager dirty looks when he had pushed through the strings of beads that hung over the door, but he had ignored them.

Yes, it was a gloomy little dive, illuminated by a few tacky neon lights on the walls, with a few booths along one of the dirty walls, some tables scattered here and there and a grimy bar. It was lorded over by an equally sleazy little barkeep by the name of Willy, but it was away from his friends and their questions and worry, which was all her really needed now.

Gazing sightlessly at a point beyond the counter and beyond the dusty bottles of various spirits, Alexander sighed wearily, his chin comfortably positioned on his folded arms.

Again and again he found himself replaying his mother's last few moments in his mind and he wished, just wished that he had been able to have five minutes longer, two minutes, one minute...anything...

It had been so sudden.

One moment, she had been there, talking to him in a shaky breath, then...nothing.

She had slipped through his fingers, just like that.

Closing his eyes, he could feel tears burning behind his lids and drew a calming breath. Crying wouldn't bring her back. Crying in a demon bar, while surrounded by demons looking for an easy victim definitely wouldn't be helpful either.

He almost chuckled at that logic.

What, he wondered, would they say if they knew who he was?

Who his father was...

Ethan had, on the flight across to Britain a month earlier, explained something about his biological father, about how infamous he truly was. Something about almost every demon being aware of and afraid of him, because he was so powerful.

Would the demons sitting around him be afraid of him if he stood up and announced his real identity? Or would that make him an open target, since he clearly was utterly defenceless and more muggle than magic?

It was worth considering.

Not that he would use the powers his father had cursed him with, unless it became absolutely necessary.

As much as he could feel the strength of the magic rippling through his veins, he knew it was that very power in his blood, which had turned his father into a monster that the world had come to fear.

On the way back from Britain, when Giles and Ethan had thought him to be fast asleep, they had spoken in hushed voices about his power and were in agreement that he was probably equally powerful when compared to his father.

Or more powerful.

More powerful than the most infamous wizard in the wizarding world's history.

Yes, there were other wizards who were infamous, but none for the reasons that his father was renown: Merlin and Dumbledore being two that Ethan and Giles had both mentioned in passing.

Yet, it always came back to Voldemort.

Shaking his head, Alexander released a sigh.

All he had ever wanted was a normal, everyday, regular family. A mom and dad and maybe a brother or a sister or both. And a dog. Every proper, regular, everyday family had a dog.

And what did he have?

An ex-witch for a mother, who had been sent to a wizarding jail because of who she had been forced to sleep with, lost her mind, then died before he had a chance to let her know how much he loved her.

A psychotic, power-crazy wizard who had tried to take over the world several times as a biological father.

An alcoholic ex-football player with a vendetta against the world as a step-father.

A demon-worshipping ex-wizard as a God-father.

A Slayer and a witch as best friends.

And, perhaps strangest of all, a cheer-leader as an ex-girlfriend.

He almost grinned at the weirdness that was his life.

And he had never even got the dog.

Letting his mind wander, he registered the sound of someone approaching the bar, the stool next to him being pulled out and the sound of leather clothing squeaking against the worn leather of the stool seat.

"All right," a vaguely familiar voice said. "Get me a bottle of your best and most expensive whisky and don't try to fob me off with any old crap."

Willy mumbled something and scuttled off. He was back moments later and there was a clunk as a bottle was placed on the surface of the bar.

Alexander slitted his eyes open and glanced sidelong to see a bottle of Scotch sitting less than a foot from his head. He was sorely tempted to grab it and run, but sighed and settled for closing his eyes again.

Some coins rattled on the bar top and Alexander heard them scrape across the surface as Willy claimed them.

"Hey! What the hell are these meant to be?"

"They," the voice replied, "are called coins. Money if you prefer. I did hear that people in this miserable corner of the world used such a thing."

"But they ain't dollars, pal!"

"They're solid gold. They're round. They shine. They can be used to buy whatever you like," the male voice said politely, in a tone that still managed to suggest that Willy was incredibly stupid. "You take them and stop complaining or I take them all back, bash your face in with this bottle, then show you just how many I can shove up your arse before you pass out."

"Uh..."

Alexander couldn't help snickering.

He had only ever seen Buffy threaten Willy before and to hear someone else do it with such polite proficiency was amusing.

"So, are you quite satisfied with my mode of payment?"

"Uh...yeah...yeah, I think I'll...I'll...uh take the money...and leave you to...uh...enjoy your drink, sir."

There was a patronising chuckle. "I thought you might," the young man's voice said, then Alexander jolted, as an elbow jabbed him rudely in the ribs. "And you, would you please stop tripping over your face? I come here to get pissed and I really don't need to feel like I'm sitting next to the most depressed prat in the world."

Turning to retort to the man next to him, Alexander's mouth fell open in shock, his eyes wide. "You!"

Draco Malfoy's pale face split into a grin. "Nice to see you too, arse-bandit," he said cheerfully, shaking the full bottle of whisky in his hand. "Now, if I remember right, we have some unfinished business."