The Old Gang
A/N: This is my first fic, like, ever, so please be gentle! And, by the way, I wouldn't say 'no' to reviews! =) Also, the title is subject to change, as I made it up in about 2 seconds without giving it any thought. In addition, I've attempted to reformat this story so that it can be readable. Sorry about the way it was before, but it looked fine on my computer--I didn't know that once I uploaded my story, my paragraphs would cease to exist. I tried to add italics for the flashback and letter, but that didn't exactly work out, so everything inside the * Asterisks * is meant to signify a flashback, and I'm just going to leave the letter as is. That said, enjoy!
Disclaimer: All this good stuff does not belong to me, but is the property of J.K. Rowling, Joss Whedon, and whatever companies have copyrighted their ideas. In other words, not me. The plot's mine, though!
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter One: The Owl
**********
He stood rather awkwardly next to the barrier, not quite sure what to do next. His parents, both muggles, had simply dropped him off at the station with only a good-bye wave and a demand that he "owl" them immediately upon his arrival at the castle. However, it didn't look to him that he would be able to arrive at the castle at all, as the platform that his train was supposed to be at seemed to be nonexistent. He absentmindedly drummed his fingers on his trolley, and glanced at his watch with an air of nervousness. "10:47," he muttered. "I've just got thirteen minutes until that damn train leaves, and I can't even find the platform. Should've known it wouldn't just be there, all nice and cozy between platforms 9 and 10. Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters," he read off his ticket. "That's a dead giveaway, right there. Couldn't be that simple to get to, with a name like that."
The eleven-year-old boy sighed exasperatedly, and glanced around King's Cross looking for someone, anyone, who could help him figure out how to get onto the bloody platform. He didn't need to look far. Coming his way were what appeared to be a rushed looking mother, a slightly frazzled father, and a dignified and rather bossy looking girl about his age who was proudly carrying an eagle owl, which regarded him and then ruffled it's feathers and clicked it's beak. Feeling relieved that he'd found a wizarding family, he abandoned his trolley by the barrier and rushed forward to meet them. "Er--might you be able to tell me how to get to Platform Nine and Three Quarters?" he hesitantly asked the mother. "You see, it's right here on my ticket," he added, brandishing it at her, "but I can't seem to find it."
"Why, of course dear, we were just heading there ourselves," she responded sympathetically, taking note of his uneasiness. "It's you're first year, isn't it?" she asked knowingly. He nodded meekly in reply. "You must be from a muggle family," she continued on, "but don't worry about how you'll get along at Hogwarts. There's plenty of people like that, and they always catch on quick enough. All first years are on about the same level, as it is, I reckon. You'll have loads of fun, don't you worry, and you'll learn plenty, too. Ah, here we are," she said, motioning at the barrier. "Now, it's quite simple getting to the platform; all you have to do is walk through the barrier to the other side." He stared at her, dumbfounded at this piece of advice, but she paid him no heed. "Now, be discrete about it, mind you, and don't forget your trolley." The boy was still gawking at her, not entirely sure he'd heard right. "Well, go on, then," she urged him.
"I'm sorry--I don't think I heard you right. Did you say to walk through the barrier?" he asked, baffled.
"Well, if it's just that hard to believe. . ." She turned on her heal, and marched determinedly toward the barrier, but the next thing you knew, she was gone. The boy turned to her husband, who shrugged.
"Come along, then, you two," he said, and then disappeared after his wife.
The girl then turned to him, and put her hands on her hips. "Oh, get used to it," she told him. "You are a wizard after all, so stop being so disbelieving and hurry up!" She too marched off in the direction of the barrier, but stopped in her tracks and turned back to him. "Otherwise, you'll be late."
The boy took hold of his trolley, gripped it tightly, and yelled after the girl, "Hey, wait for me!" Squeezing his eyes shut, he broke into a run. When he sensed he should have been running into solid brick, he heard only a WOOSH!, and seconds later his ears were met with the sound of a train whistle. He then chanced opening his eyes, and took in the sight of a gleaming scarlet steam engine billowing smoke. The woman who had helped him patted him on the shoulder.
"Well done! I told you it wasn't that hard! By the way, your luggage goes in that compartment there," she said, pointing, "and after you've deposited that it might be best to scurry onto the train, as we're running a bit late." She turned to her daughter. "We'll miss you, dear, and be sure to write whenever you can." The woman glanced at her watch again, which the boy could see from where he was standing read, 'Get a move on!'
"My, it's even later than I thought!" With that, she gave her daughter a quick kiss and told her in words similar to those similar to his parents', "Owl us as soon as you get there, you hear? And don't forget to tell us what house you get in!"
"Bye, Minnie, dear, see you at Christmas!" her father smiled, and waved jovially, and then he, along with his wife, disapparated with a *POP!*
The girl began to walk briskly toward the train, and he followed her, putting his luggage in the appropriate compartment and then boarding the train. "So," he turned to the girl, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. You, of course, are 'Minnie,'" he began, sniggering.
"Minerva," she cut in, correcting him. "Minerva McGonnegal."
"Well then, Minerva McGonnegal, it's a pleasure to meet you." He stuck out his hand and she reluctantly shook it. "I'm Rupert. Rupert Giles."
**********
~~~~~~~~~~
Tap, tap, tap.
Rupert Giles snorted sleepily as he attempted to bury his face in his pillow to drown out the incessant tapping noise that had awoken him.
Tap, tap, tap.
There it was again! Giles grunted and unwillingly sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his bleary eyes. He fumbled for his glasses on his nightstand. Once he found them, he put them on and glanced towards the window, which seemed to be the source of the noise, and gasped. There was an owl at his window.
Giles leapt out of bed and bolted to the window as quickly as his feet would carry him. He pushed it open, and the bird flew in, and perched itself on his bedpost. He hurried over to untie the strip of parchment that had been hastily attached to its leg. Unrolling the parchment, he noted the urgency of the message both by taking in the content and observing that the untidy scrawl belonged to someone whose penmanship was really quite satisfactory. Turning on his bedside lamp, he scanned the note, and read:
Rupert,
I hope this letter finds you well. Unfortunately, things here in England are not well, and a pending crisis is upon the wizarding world. It's been thirteen years, I know, but it's been a long time coming. We need all the help we can get--please recruit anyone you know who could be of service to us. We need the Old Gang back, Rupert, and I think you know why. It's happened. Voldemort has returned to power. Please reply to this owl immediately.
Albus Dumbledore
Giles, though in shock at this news, managed to gather his wits. He rummaged around in a drawer for a moment before pulling out a sheet of parchment, a quill, and some ink. He scribbled back that he would be willing to help in any way possible, and that he had some friends he thought might be helpful to the cause, and promptly attached his reply to the delivery owl's leg and sent it on it's way. He could already feel the trepidation and anxiety setting in, and made a mental note to organize a Scooby meeting for the next day. Voldemort was back. Giles groaned in anxiety, and then whipped off his glasses, and began cleaning them--this time rubbing so hard that he threatened to punch a hole in the lenses.
~~~~~~~~~~
That concludes Chapter One-I hope to update sometime this week, but you never know with my luck.and evil teachers. Anyway, I should probably say that although McGonnegal is probably a lot older than Giles, I don't really care. Timelines are an obscure thing that can be tampered with for my purposes, and that's that. So, in conclusion, be kind, rewind (er, wait-I mean review), and I hope you liked it!
A/N: This is my first fic, like, ever, so please be gentle! And, by the way, I wouldn't say 'no' to reviews! =) Also, the title is subject to change, as I made it up in about 2 seconds without giving it any thought. In addition, I've attempted to reformat this story so that it can be readable. Sorry about the way it was before, but it looked fine on my computer--I didn't know that once I uploaded my story, my paragraphs would cease to exist. I tried to add italics for the flashback and letter, but that didn't exactly work out, so everything inside the * Asterisks * is meant to signify a flashback, and I'm just going to leave the letter as is. That said, enjoy!
Disclaimer: All this good stuff does not belong to me, but is the property of J.K. Rowling, Joss Whedon, and whatever companies have copyrighted their ideas. In other words, not me. The plot's mine, though!
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter One: The Owl
**********
He stood rather awkwardly next to the barrier, not quite sure what to do next. His parents, both muggles, had simply dropped him off at the station with only a good-bye wave and a demand that he "owl" them immediately upon his arrival at the castle. However, it didn't look to him that he would be able to arrive at the castle at all, as the platform that his train was supposed to be at seemed to be nonexistent. He absentmindedly drummed his fingers on his trolley, and glanced at his watch with an air of nervousness. "10:47," he muttered. "I've just got thirteen minutes until that damn train leaves, and I can't even find the platform. Should've known it wouldn't just be there, all nice and cozy between platforms 9 and 10. Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters," he read off his ticket. "That's a dead giveaway, right there. Couldn't be that simple to get to, with a name like that."
The eleven-year-old boy sighed exasperatedly, and glanced around King's Cross looking for someone, anyone, who could help him figure out how to get onto the bloody platform. He didn't need to look far. Coming his way were what appeared to be a rushed looking mother, a slightly frazzled father, and a dignified and rather bossy looking girl about his age who was proudly carrying an eagle owl, which regarded him and then ruffled it's feathers and clicked it's beak. Feeling relieved that he'd found a wizarding family, he abandoned his trolley by the barrier and rushed forward to meet them. "Er--might you be able to tell me how to get to Platform Nine and Three Quarters?" he hesitantly asked the mother. "You see, it's right here on my ticket," he added, brandishing it at her, "but I can't seem to find it."
"Why, of course dear, we were just heading there ourselves," she responded sympathetically, taking note of his uneasiness. "It's you're first year, isn't it?" she asked knowingly. He nodded meekly in reply. "You must be from a muggle family," she continued on, "but don't worry about how you'll get along at Hogwarts. There's plenty of people like that, and they always catch on quick enough. All first years are on about the same level, as it is, I reckon. You'll have loads of fun, don't you worry, and you'll learn plenty, too. Ah, here we are," she said, motioning at the barrier. "Now, it's quite simple getting to the platform; all you have to do is walk through the barrier to the other side." He stared at her, dumbfounded at this piece of advice, but she paid him no heed. "Now, be discrete about it, mind you, and don't forget your trolley." The boy was still gawking at her, not entirely sure he'd heard right. "Well, go on, then," she urged him.
"I'm sorry--I don't think I heard you right. Did you say to walk through the barrier?" he asked, baffled.
"Well, if it's just that hard to believe. . ." She turned on her heal, and marched determinedly toward the barrier, but the next thing you knew, she was gone. The boy turned to her husband, who shrugged.
"Come along, then, you two," he said, and then disappeared after his wife.
The girl then turned to him, and put her hands on her hips. "Oh, get used to it," she told him. "You are a wizard after all, so stop being so disbelieving and hurry up!" She too marched off in the direction of the barrier, but stopped in her tracks and turned back to him. "Otherwise, you'll be late."
The boy took hold of his trolley, gripped it tightly, and yelled after the girl, "Hey, wait for me!" Squeezing his eyes shut, he broke into a run. When he sensed he should have been running into solid brick, he heard only a WOOSH!, and seconds later his ears were met with the sound of a train whistle. He then chanced opening his eyes, and took in the sight of a gleaming scarlet steam engine billowing smoke. The woman who had helped him patted him on the shoulder.
"Well done! I told you it wasn't that hard! By the way, your luggage goes in that compartment there," she said, pointing, "and after you've deposited that it might be best to scurry onto the train, as we're running a bit late." She turned to her daughter. "We'll miss you, dear, and be sure to write whenever you can." The woman glanced at her watch again, which the boy could see from where he was standing read, 'Get a move on!'
"My, it's even later than I thought!" With that, she gave her daughter a quick kiss and told her in words similar to those similar to his parents', "Owl us as soon as you get there, you hear? And don't forget to tell us what house you get in!"
"Bye, Minnie, dear, see you at Christmas!" her father smiled, and waved jovially, and then he, along with his wife, disapparated with a *POP!*
The girl began to walk briskly toward the train, and he followed her, putting his luggage in the appropriate compartment and then boarding the train. "So," he turned to the girl, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. You, of course, are 'Minnie,'" he began, sniggering.
"Minerva," she cut in, correcting him. "Minerva McGonnegal."
"Well then, Minerva McGonnegal, it's a pleasure to meet you." He stuck out his hand and she reluctantly shook it. "I'm Rupert. Rupert Giles."
**********
~~~~~~~~~~
Tap, tap, tap.
Rupert Giles snorted sleepily as he attempted to bury his face in his pillow to drown out the incessant tapping noise that had awoken him.
Tap, tap, tap.
There it was again! Giles grunted and unwillingly sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his bleary eyes. He fumbled for his glasses on his nightstand. Once he found them, he put them on and glanced towards the window, which seemed to be the source of the noise, and gasped. There was an owl at his window.
Giles leapt out of bed and bolted to the window as quickly as his feet would carry him. He pushed it open, and the bird flew in, and perched itself on his bedpost. He hurried over to untie the strip of parchment that had been hastily attached to its leg. Unrolling the parchment, he noted the urgency of the message both by taking in the content and observing that the untidy scrawl belonged to someone whose penmanship was really quite satisfactory. Turning on his bedside lamp, he scanned the note, and read:
Rupert,
I hope this letter finds you well. Unfortunately, things here in England are not well, and a pending crisis is upon the wizarding world. It's been thirteen years, I know, but it's been a long time coming. We need all the help we can get--please recruit anyone you know who could be of service to us. We need the Old Gang back, Rupert, and I think you know why. It's happened. Voldemort has returned to power. Please reply to this owl immediately.
Albus Dumbledore
Giles, though in shock at this news, managed to gather his wits. He rummaged around in a drawer for a moment before pulling out a sheet of parchment, a quill, and some ink. He scribbled back that he would be willing to help in any way possible, and that he had some friends he thought might be helpful to the cause, and promptly attached his reply to the delivery owl's leg and sent it on it's way. He could already feel the trepidation and anxiety setting in, and made a mental note to organize a Scooby meeting for the next day. Voldemort was back. Giles groaned in anxiety, and then whipped off his glasses, and began cleaning them--this time rubbing so hard that he threatened to punch a hole in the lenses.
~~~~~~~~~~
That concludes Chapter One-I hope to update sometime this week, but you never know with my luck.and evil teachers. Anyway, I should probably say that although McGonnegal is probably a lot older than Giles, I don't really care. Timelines are an obscure thing that can be tampered with for my purposes, and that's that. So, in conclusion, be kind, rewind (er, wait-I mean review), and I hope you liked it!