Dark Destinies

Disclaimer: Most characters featured in this story are not of my creation. They belong to their respective creators, J.K. Rowling, Joss Whedon, and any and all parties related to Bloombury Publishing, Scholastic Inc., AOL/Time-Warner, Fox, and Mutant Enemy. Grrrr, arrgh.

Chapter 3

"Rayne!" Sixteen-year old Rupert Giles exclaimed helplessly.  "I'm surrounded!" He curled up his fists, and began to pummel the creatures who were attacking him.  But deep inside, he knew that he'd never be able to overpower this large group of vampires. "A stake!  Hurry!" He opened his right hand in the direction of the Auror.

"Ferula!" Claudius Rayne exclaimed, waving his wand with a neat flourish.

Rupert's hand suddenly enclosed around a thick but short wooden rod, which was pointed at one end.  He quickly plunged the stake into the hearts of two vampires, which allowed him to get away from the hoard.  "Now!"

Rayne began to chant something under his breath.  Wooden stakes materialized in mid-air around the vampires.  With another flourish of his wand, Rayne sent all the stakes to their targets, and the vampires exploded into dust.

"I think that's the last of them," Rupert said.  "I lured them from their nest."

"That was foolish, Rupert," Rayne grumbled.  "You could've gotten killed.  And where's your stake?  I know I conjured one up for you."

"I dropped it while I was running.  Didn't seem as important as getting away."

Rayne gave a frustrated grunt as they both walked down the quiet streets of Romania.  "What would your father say?"

"I think I'm what's called, an 'acceptable loss.' Rupert replied, with no humor in his voice.

"Your father entrusted me with your life.  He knew that sooner or later, you'd have to face vampires, and I'm one of the only Aurors with close ties to the Council.  If you'd have gotten killed..."

"But I didn't, that's the important thing," Rupert said.  "And what's the big deal if I die anyway?  Another Watcher would take my place in the Council.  I'm expendable, like the Slayer.  D'you know what the lads at school call me?  Ripper.  They know that everywhere I go, someone or something dies."

"Never!" Rayne yelled, turning on Rupert.  "Never talk about life like that!  Your life is a precious gift, your destiny is to combat the forces of darkness.  One less soldier, and we of the Light mourn!"

"All right, all right.  I'm sorry," Rupert said, not sounding apologetic at all.  "Christ, if I'd known you'd react like this, I would've just waited for you to drive those vampires out of their nest."

"Come along, Giles," Rayne mumbled.  "I'll Floo Powder you home."

"Sloppy," Stephen frowned at his son's scribblings.  "You didn't use the text I asked you to, did you?"

"But I know Sumerian!" Rupert said.  "I didn't need the extra text to translate that..."

"Son, prophesies are very delicate things," he crinkled up the notepage and flung it into the fireplace.  It flashed brightly, then turned dark and fell into ashes.  "One mistranslated word, one switched-round syllable, and that could change the meaning entirely.  Why, I could tell you about the time I..."

Rupert stood in front of his seated father, fuming inwardly.  "Dad, I don't care about prophesies, or evil, or good, whatever the hell we're supposed to be fighting.  I'm tired of all this!  It doesn't work!  We, we fight and fight against the darkness and it still pushes back.  It's not, it's not right."

"We're not fighting to win, Rupert," Stephen said slowly.  "We're fighting to ensure the balance.  Evil pushes, we push back.  We'll never vanquish the darkness.  That's not what we're here for."

"Then what's the bloody point if we can't win?  Like, say, some lads jump me at school.  I beat 'em down and they don't come back to bother me.  That's what it's supposed to be like!"

"I hate that you're using your training to bully your schoolmates," Stephen said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, but I got all my O-levels," said Rupert, beaming.

"Yes, which means you shouldn't be running around with toughs!  You'll be going to Oxford soon and..."

"Who says I'll be going to Oxford?" Rupert frowned.  "After I graduate, I'm going backpacking across Europe, maybe join a rock band..."

Stephen gave his son a hard, unforgiving stare.  "It won't work, you know."

"What won't work?"

"Trying to escape your destiny as a Watcher.  Believe me, when your gran told me, I was just like you.  I hated it all, the training, the learning, the extra work.  D'you know what I wanted to be?"

"Should I care?" Rupert sneered.

"When I was your age, I wanted to be a doctor, wanted to help people with their physical problems; Heal them.  Then your gran told me that what we're doing is far, far grander than any other calling.  This is a ancient battle we're fighting, Rupert, and our side needs all the soldiers it can muster."

"And another thing," Rupert said.  "It doesn't help when Claudius Rayne treats me like I'm a bloody child!  I think he expects me to shatter to pieces whenever we go patrolling somewhere, like i'm a china doll or something."

"I admit he sometimes acts, overprotective, of you," Stephen said.  "It's only because he lost his own son, you know."

"No, I didn't know that," Rupert said.

"You told me you read all the books I gave you."

"All right, so I skimmed through most of them.  What does it matter?" asked Rupert.

"It matters, Rupert," Stephen said.  "Claudius Rayne and his wife are both powerful wizards.  They'd have to be; they're both Aurors.  They had a son.  He was thoroughly Muggle.  No magic within him at all.  In fact, he'd be about your age about now...if he had lived."

Rupert's back stiffened.  "What happened to their son?"

"No one's sure," Stephen said quietly.  "He disappeared when he was around ten years old.  Of course, they used all sorts of finding spells and charms to try and locate him, but they couldn't.  Everyone assumes that he died.  Only the most powerful dark magic would be able to shield the boy from Aurors, and no one in the wizarding world's that strong.  No one."

"What was his name?"

"Ethan," Stephen replied.  "But you would have known that if you had read the books.  I want you to try translating the prophesy again.  It's hard going, but it'll click in your head.  I promise."

Rupert skulked off.  It all wasn't fair.  At first, he thought that being a Watcher was fun.  He got to witness the defeat of so many demons and evil wizards, but there were other things he hated.  The study, for one.  He had twice the homework of any other lad his age, and he never got to see his friends.  When he did ask to spend time with them, they'd scoff, saying that they didn't want to be seen with Ripper in their midsts.

Ripper.  Was it his fault that his clothes were often stained with blood?  He'd tried to explain that the blood was demon blood, but no one would listen.  Just evil Ripper going around killing off things.  Then they said that he seemed old, ancient beyond his years.  Rupert had seen too much of the darkness of the world, the darkness that he was destined to fight.  He was destined to train the Slayer--as all Watchers are--but who actually was the Slayer?  Claudius Rayne had never seen her, but the Auror was sure that she lived somewhere in east Asia.  Rupert couldn't imagine taking care of another person.  He entered his room and stared hard at the ancient books lying on his desk.  He growled softly, hating the books, hating the things they described, and, worst of all, hating himself for disappointing his father.  He shoved the books off of his desk, satisfied with the clattering thuds they made as they hit the floor.

"Bloody prophesies," he whispered out loud.

One of the books had fell open.

"Oh, great, I suppose this is one of those destiny things too?" he sighed as he stared at the open page, the page that his father asked him to translate.  He picked the book up and placed it on his desk again.  Then he searched the floor for the text his dad asked him to use as reference.  "Here it is," he mumbled.  "So, then, how the hell did I get it wrong?"

It took him three hours but he finished the prophesy to his own satisfaction.  No wonder his dad noticed his sloppy work.  Rupert didn't translate it properly.  He stared at the notepad and his scribbled writings on it.

The Snake with no name but his own shall rise
and it will devour all in its path
But the Child shall stop him
And the Child shall be marked...

"No, not marked," Rupert mumbled, scratching the word out with his pen.

And the Child shall be scarred forever
with a bolt from the heavens

"There, that's what the bloody thing meant!" Rupert said excitedly to himself.  He pondered sharing this news with his father, but then he decided not to.  "No point in getting him upset again, if I got this wrong."  For some strange reason, Rupert became transfixed by one line in the prophesy.

And the Child shall be scarred forever

He didn't know why the line fascinated him.  All he knew was that there was something strangely familiar about it, as if this was something he was meant to know.  He shook off the weird feeling and plopped the notepad on his desk.  As he got ready for bed, he wondered about the prophesy again, and about the one line that sat churning in the pit of his stomach.

Why did it bother him so?  It was only a prophesy, and prophecies weren't the most reliable things in the world.

But still...

Rupert turned the line over and over in his mind as he drifted off to sleep.