Title: In Search of a Guiding Star

Author: Jedi Buttercup

Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Angel, HP. Wesley, in need of employment after the destruction of Wolfram and Hart, returns to England in search of family. 850 words.

Spoilers: Angel post-"Not Fade Away"; "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows"

Wesley stared at the ordinary-looking door in front of him, then back down at the curling parchment in his hand with an apprehensive frown. It had been so many years since he'd seen any of his wizarding relatives, particularly his mother's mother's side; the Black family were as pure-blooded as they came, and as the son of a daughter's daughter who'd wed a Squib who spent all his time meddling with Muggles and Dark Creatures, Wesley was the sort of connection they were not particularly eager to claim.

Still, what little he had heard of Andromeda Black Tonks had always been favourable; she had married a Muggleborn herself, and her daughter had been an Auror. According to Grandmother Charis, she had even been burnt off the family tapestry by Cousin Walburga, a recommendation in her favour if he'd ever heard one.

She was also raising her grandson alone, after losing daughter, son-in-law, and husband in the final year of the recent wizarding war, and was-- according to the advertisement he'd seen in the Prophet that morning-- therefore in need of a tutor.

That was fortuitous, for Wesley was in need of employment.

He had left the wizarding world at the age of eighteen, three years after the infant Harry Potter derailed the first rise of the wizard known as Lord Voldemort, and had spent the next twenty years attempting to follow in his father's footsteps. Until his mother had sent his wand to him shortly before Angel's attempt to destroy the Circle of the Black Thorn, he had thought it long destroyed, and had attempted to put the seven years he'd spent in Ravenclaw House behind him.

Even after the wand had come back into his possession, he had not dared use it until there had seemed to be no other choice; he had adjusted to life without it, and feared what Wolfram and Hart would do if they knew of his wizarding heritage. As it was, his use of the Death Curse on Vail had nearly been his undoing. The American Aurors had arrived within minutes, preventing him from rejoining his friends, and kept him imprisoned for weeks while they satisfied themselves that he was not a rogue Dark Wizard.

By then, it had been too late. Wolfram and Hart had been destroyed, and his friends overrun by a legion of demonic foot soldiers. There was nothing left for him in Los Angeles, and he had not felt comfortable with the idea of joining the restructured Watcher's Council; he had spent several days mulling over other options, then decided it was time to go home at last. After spending a few days in the city wrapping up his affairs, he had caught an International Portkey to England with the intention of seeking refuge with his mother's family.

Unfortunately, there had been no family left to receive him. His mother had perished not long after his father, his uncle Bartemius had been murdered by his own son, and the direct Black line had been extinguished. He had somehow managed to entirely avoid Voldemort's second war, but he had not managed to escape its effects entirely; he had lost every wizarding relative he'd ever personally known.

And that was how he had come to be hovering on Cousin Andromeda's doorstep, hoping his distant connection to her might persuade her to employ him while he worked on regaining long-atrophied wizarding skills. Small children didn't learn much magic, after all; they were taught from books, and books were one thing that Wesley had always been able to depend on.

He shook his head, determined not to waste any more time worrying about it, and raised his hand to knock. It opened before his knuckles could touch the wood, however, and he found himself abruptly face to face with an attractive middle-aged woman of aristocratic bearing.

The lady of the house was obviously a daughter of the Black family; she looked very much like the photographs the Prophet had published years before of her mad sister Bellatrix at the Dark witch's Death Eater trial. Her eyes were far kinder than Cousin Bella's, however. Her features seemed slightly careworn, showing the faint marks of both grief and joy, but she held her wand with the assurance of someone who knew how to defend herself.

"So you're Auriga's son Polaris," she said thoughtfully, scanning him from head to toe.

"I--" he stuttered, caught off guard. He hadn't directly flaunted his connection to the Blacks in his application letter; he'd intended to bring that up in person. And he certainly hadn't mentioned the middle name his mother had preferred to address him by. "Yes. That is to say--"

"Well, come on in, then," she said briskly, smiling faintly as she stepped back into the hallway. "Welcome back to the family."

Something tightly wound and exhausted inside loosened a little at her acceptance, and he took a deep breath for what seemed the first time in months. He'd been bracing himself for a rejection that had failed to materialise.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, and returned the smile.

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