A/N: Hi everyone, I'm so sorry that I've haven't updated recently. My only excuse is my AS Level exams that I have just sat, followed by illness. While I am still sick, I will hopefully manage to overcome the pain to keep writing, as I'm nearing the end of the first story in what will be a series! Thank you so much to everyone who has read the story so far, and added the story to their alerts, and me to their alerts - you have no idea how happy and proud of my work that makes me. The only other thing I can say is PLEASE REVIEW! Oh, and ENJOY!

Disclaimer: Yeah, I still don't own this. As shown by the fact JK Rowling and Joss Whedon are famous and rich, and I'm not.

The Potter sisters sat side-by-side in the luxury limousine. They’d been planning to just take one of the numerous Council owned cars, but at the last minute, Xander had suggested the chauffer-driven limo. Given their desire to make their reappearance as dramatic as possible (and Buffy’s complete refusal to let Dawn drive, despite her younger sister being safer on the roads), they hadn’t been able to resist. Both sisters were impeccably groomed, every miniscule detail of their appearances calculated to give a polished overall effect. Buffy glanced down at her own charcoal grey slacks and soft pink cashmere sweater. After much deliberation, it had been decided that she needed to project an air of maturity, as she would be taking control of one of the Wizarding World’s most notable families. Her chosen outfit was classically stylish, the cap-sleeved high-and-wide scoop necked jumper was elegant but fashionable, and perfectly set off by her darker pink silk day robe. Her golden hair was pulled back into a smooth ponytail, not a hair out of place. She reached a hand up to the charm bracelet resting on her slim wrist. A Christmas present from James in sixth year, it had held both the Potter crest, and the special Marauder’s crest. On her birthday, a miniature stag, dog, werewolf, rat, panther and tiger had been added by the boys. Lily had added a lily flower, not realising she was represented by the tiger. Buffy lifted a finger to touch the newest two charms: a tiny faerie-girl (for Dawn, their Pixie) resting between the stag and panther, and the charm between the stag and lily, a baby stag (for Harry, the “Pronglet”).

The elder woman glanced across at her sister, a slight petulant scowl forming. Dawn had argued – successfully – that she could stick with a version of her normal fashion, with the addition of a robe. Apparently, no one could expect the wilful teenager to dress too maturely, and she wasn’t the one taking over the line, anyway. So the younger Potter wore a dark blue denim skirt (mid-thigh) and a bright turquoise camisole edged with black lace under the lighter turquoise silk day robe. Turquoise wedges completed the outfit. Buffy smiled slightly as she saw the ancient gold chain of the Pendant around Dawn’s neck, the jewel hidden beneath her clothes. It was reassuring to think her younger sister was protected by some of the Powers’ most formidable Champions wherever she went, especially when Buffy could not be eternally by her side. Not that the younger girl seemed to want protecting. The smile grew as she took in the almost waist-length jet black curls falling over Dawn’s slim shoulders. Hermione – bless her – had found the sticking point to the glamour spell. Apparently, the English translation they had been working from was flawed. Once the young witch had translated it back into Latin, realised it didn’t make sense, corrected it and then re-translated it into English, it had taken Willow and Dawn under an hour to crack it and write a counter. Half an hour of magic ritual later, and an even paler, black haired and turquoise eyed Dawn was sitting within the protective circle. There had been other slight changes: her eyes were larger, and rimmed with long, coal black lashes. Her lips were redder, by a shade or two. She seemed more fluid than ever, as though being forced into a form not her own had suppressed her natural grace.

Buffy’s smile turned into a smirk. Out of the three siblings, she was the only one to escape the Potter ‘curse’. James had had the trademark uncontrollably messy black hair, just like their father, which he had passed on to Harry. Dawn had inherited the female version of wild black curls. She, on the other hand, had gotten their mother’s golden hair, with just the slightest wave. Oh yeah, she was the lucky one.

Buffy was broken out of her thoughts by amused turquoise eyes looking back at her. Apparently her scrutiny had not gone unnoticed. Rolling her own eyes, Buffy turned her head towards the now-speaking driver.

“We are here,” he announced, before stepping out of the car to open the door for the two passengers to step out onto the street. A doorman stood to one side of large ornate doors, even now moving to open them. Inside this grand London hotel was the Ministry of Magic’s Important Guests entrance. The doorman winked and muttered something as the Potters passed through. He was, in fact, a wizard employed to forewarn the Ministry of visitors ahead of time.

The sisters crossed the hotel’s decorative reception heading directly for the central lift. On entering, Dawn muttered a quick Latin phrase, closing the lift doors before they could be joined. Buffy then pressed five buttons in quick succession: 6 – 2 – 4 – 4 – 2. The lift began to move, and a cool voice welcomed them to the Ministry a moment before the doors opened on the Atrium. The sisters glanced at each other, sharing a smirk.

Today was not a good day to be Cornelius Fudge. He had already had to deal with yet another missive from Dumbledore about You-Know-Who’s supposed return. At least the world wasn’t believing the utter rubbish the Headmaster was spouting, based purely on the word of the Potter boy. Thankfully, he’d been able to lean on the Prophet, ensuring they built on the rumours Rita Skeeter had been printing, portraying the boy as mentally unstable, and Dumbledore as aging, and losing his grip. All true, of course. Potter had been given far too much privilege over his four years at Hogwarts; no one wanted to hurt the orphaned boy, but it had crossed the line when he’d begun his foolhardy adventures. Too much freedom had brought the boy more fame, and he’d clearly invented this last tale to garner more attention. His farce entry into the Triwizard Tournament had proved his attention seeking. And Dumbledore allowed the boy practically free reign in his years at Hogwarts, and Potter had obviously come to expect the same from the rest of the world.

One of Cornelius Fudge’s more unusual traits was the ability to totally suppress his own memories, if they contradicted with his current agenda. For instance, he was now completely almost completely free of the memory of the polite boy he’d met only two years prior. Not to mention countless memories of pleading for help from the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and the ever-patient and wise replies.

And now, the two elder Potters were making their return to the Wizarding World ever-so public. To be honest, he’d been secretly hoping that they’d be subtle. Somehow, he hadn’t remembered that these were Potter women. The entire family had been troublemakers, and it was clear that these two were no different. Not to mention they’d destroyed his hopes of never having to worry about the might of the Potter name being used against him. Fudge brought himself back into focus, watching the impromptu press conference the Potter sisters were holding in his – HIS – office. The media had quickly gathered after the two had loudly declared their return, and now his office was a media circus. Even the Prophet reporters were present, frantically scribbling down the details. Something told him there was no way this story would reflect badly on Dumbledore or the Potter boy… unless he mentioned that even Dumbledore had failed to find the girls…

Fudge pushed his way to stand between the chairs the sisters were conducting the conference from. Smiling falsely, he waited for the younger to finish her answer:

“…while we’ve been away, we don’t expect him to suddenly accept us. There’s a lot we need to talk about, to get to know each other.”

Fudge suppressed a smirk, seeing his moment:

“And of course, you will give the boy some stability, won’t you, my dears? He has hardly had the most fortunate upbringing, and I fear it has… affected him somewhat. I’m sure your presence will calm him.”

Buffy felt the Slayer’s hackles rise in response to the comments. While the Minister may sound like he was concerned for Harry’s wellbeing, he was clearly denouncing him further, and laying the blame on his absentee family. Glancing at Dawn, she felt the flare of magic from her sister, and saw the anger flashing in her turquoise eyes. Turning her glance into a quick cautionary look, she spoke before her sister could begin yelling at Fudge.

“Obviously, Harry’s happiness is my primary concern. I will do everything in my power to see him happy and safe – as any guardian would.”

The blonde forced done a smirk of her own. Fudge could not push the case further without making his subtext obvious, and she’d slipped in part of her own agenda.

“Elizabeth? Does that mean you wish to claim Mr Potter’s guardianship yourself?”

Buffy located the reporter, a young man who worked for the Wizarding Wireless Network.

“Dawn and I have spoken to Harry about the possibility, all that remains is the paperwork. Harry deserves to be with family who love him.”

The elder girl relaxed, feeling her sister’s power fade into the background. It would not have been good for Dawn to – almost literally – blow up. Now the conference was once again in Potter control, and Buffy continued to outline their basic – and public – plans.

“Obviously, we’ll be visiting Gringott’s later today, and we will spend time going over the estate. I will, also, be teaching my sister and nephew about the workings of the family, as well as ensuring my sister study for her exams to allow her into Hogwarts’ seventh year. We will be claiming our Wizengamot seat, naturally. From there, well, we shall have to see.”

“Any final messages to the community, Miss Potter?”

Buffy nodded to Dawn, allowing her to answer. She trusted the younger girl’s eloquence, and her knowledge of what people wanted to hear. Buffy would have been far more likely to insist Voldemort’s return all over again.

“We would like to thank anyone who has looked after Harry while we couldn’t, and say how glad we are to be back in the Wizarding World. To be home. We’d also like to thank everyone who was part of the search when we went ‘missing’ – we’ve already received apologies for the failure. But I’d like to say that to me, it’s not a failure. You tried, and I know that the forces our brother put in place to protect us were too strong for you to find us. But you tried, and so you didn’t fail. Thank you.”

Buffy rose, the motion copied by her sister. She spoke under her breath to the Minister, and the sisters left the room. No doubt they’d be followed by flashing cameras for a few hours, but they’d expected that.

Buffy suppressed a savage grin, hearing the idiot they called a Minister trying in vain to add his own spin to the rapidly dispersing media. Apparently, it didn’t matter that the Ministry couldn’t find them either, because it was all Dumbledore’s fault. Nincompoop.

The three remaining (non-traitorous) Marauders sat around the kitchen table of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Covering the table were various files on the Potter estate, and notebooks and parchments detailing the plans they were laying. Buffy had chosen her strategizing team both out of habit and logically. So many times they had sat up plotting their next adventure or prank that it didn’t seem as though fourteen years had gone by, and she found her self half-expecting James to appear any second, Peter in tow, laden with food courtesy of the Hogwarts house elves. But that would never happen again – James was long dead, along with Lily, and, unlike her own, their deaths were terribly permanent and final. And Peter had lived up to his rodent Animagus form, ratting her brother and his family out to Voldemort. Those days could never come back, no matter how Buffy wished they would.

Logically, these two were her best allies. As soon as they had some rough ideas of how to proceed, Dawn and Harry would be involved to give their ideas and learn, but to begin with, this trio had work to do. Buffy herself had the training she and James had received from their father, and Sirius had been taught similar by his own parents at a young age. They both knew how the Wizarding world worked, and the ‘proper’ channels. They also knew the subtler ways to resolve matters, through dinners, balls and donations. There were differences between the ways and means they had been instructed in, and so they were able to bounce ideas of each other to find their own way to exploit openings. Remus had the head for numbers, and so was able to make sense of the piles of bank listings, and information on the various shares – both Muggle and Wizarding – the Potters owned. They were halfway through a discussion when the fire blazed green, and an all-too familiar head spoke from the flames.

“Plotting, are we? How very… Slytherin of you.”

“Snivellus.” Buffy replied coolly, one arm restraining Sirius from a louder outburst.

“Potter,” the hook-nosed professor returned.

“Severus, is there a message?” Remus interjected, attempting to diffuse what could become a very difficult situation.

“Yes. Albus says he wishes to speak with all three Potters before they next appear publicly. Apparently, the brat’s safety could become an issue.” Snape’s voice was derisive, and only served to anger the blonde Slayer.

“Do not, ever, refer to Harry as a brat, Snivellus. Or you will personally understand the meaning of the word ‘Slayer’.” Buffy’s voice was low, but steady. So many demons had heard that tone, mere moments before a shining blade had ended their life. It was the tone reserved for anyone threatening those closest to the Slayer, which clearly included her nephew. Eyes flashing, she levelled a glare at the Potions Master. To his credit, the man did not visibly recoil as most would have done, but responded with a sneer. The Slayer grinned, having caught the momentary fear in his eyes. Snape’s head disappeared, the fire turning orange once more.

“Plotting is not bloody Slytherin… Slytherin my arse…” Sirius mumbled as they returned to their plans, causing slight smiles on his two friends’ faces. Yes, it really was almost like old times.