Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or the concepts for the stories that they were meant for. They were created by the brilliant minds that are Joss Whedon & JK Rowling, I'm only borrowing them. No money is being made & no copyright infringement is intended.

Revised to include some things people thought needed to be changed in the chapter.

Some of the events were moved closer to specific holidays that were never talked about in Angel.

Enjoy!

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He was her mother's sister's son, her first cousin.

She remembers when she used to hate him. He used to be worse than Percy. He was pompous, stiff and always formal. He was Percy’s idol. He never smiled. He was in the Academy. The Academy for what exactly she had never really been told.

Then he moved to the United States, to Sunnydale, California a little over 6 years ago. She had only recently learned the dark secret behind Sunnydale, California. It was a mouth to hell. He had never really told them what he’d done there. He didn’t stay there very long, maybe half a year.

He didn’t come back to England after his stint over the mouth of hell. He stayed in California. He moved to Los Angeles. He got a new job. A different job. This time he told them what he did. He worked at a detective agency called Angel Investigations that helped save the hopeless from the supernatural or something like that.

He had accepted an invitation to Christmas dinner that year. He had been covered in cuts, bruises and burns when he arrived. He never did tell any of them how he got them. He just kept calling them a hazard of the job. She noticed he was less stiff, he smiled at more jokes the twins told, and he seemed more human, more real.

The next year when her mother invited him to the Burrow for Christmas dinner he turned her down. He said he had obligations. He was running Angel Investigations now, he was the boss. He had family there, in Los Angeles and they were celebrating Christmas together. The family he was referring to was in no way related to him. The Weasleys were the only blood relations he kept in touch with since moving to the United States. He and his father had never gotten along, they hadn’t bothered to keep in touch and as for his mother; she was dead.

Another year passed without a visit, but he wrote letters. He wrote the letters weekly, sending them by muggle post. He talked about his friends who had become his family. He talked about a girl named Fred whom he was smitten with. Then gradually the letters stopped coming weekly, they came every two weeks, then slowly they stopped coming altogether. There were no letters for over two months.

He paid them a visit that summer. He had changed; he hardly resembled the man she remembered. His hair was long and curly. He had a scruffy beard. He had more scars than she remembered. He had a jagged cut that ran red across his throat. He didn’t tell them how he’d gotten it. He didn’t tell them how he’d gotten any of them. They were all hazards of the job. He had started his own agency. He no longer worked at Angel Investigations. He no longer talked of the friends that had become his family. He no longer talked of Fred. He had changed and this time it was frightening, he was dark, he was quiet, he drank Fire-whiskey constantly it seemed, and the jokes that had loosened him up little over a year ago had no affect upon him now. He was a changed man. She missed the man in his letters, the man she'd met 2 years ago.

The next year there was only one letter. He was working at Angel Investigations again. He wouldn’t be in touch for a while. Then the letters stopped. The news in the Daily Prophet was dark; it talked of a rain of fire. Los Angeles had become a demon playground. The sun had gone out. The Daily Prophet North American correspondent had died, there was no news. Wesley was right in the thick of things if he hadn’t already died too. He hadn’t.

The letters started coming again. He talked of a wonderful woman named Jasmine who was making Los Angeles a better place. His letters had taken on an odd sense of awe and an almost worshipful tone. The new Daily Prophet North American correspondent talked in the same tone of the same woman. Then the tone stopped, in both Wesley’s letters and in the Daily Prophet. It was almost as if they had both gotten very depressed. Jasmine was dead.

He visited over the summer. His hair was shorter again but the beard and the scars were still there. Angel Investigations had taken over a law firm that dealt in both the muggle world and the wizarding one. He talked of Fred again. He talked of his family again. He kept on talking about how much good he and his friends could do from within the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram & Hart, it sounded as if he was still trying to convince himself. She had a bad feeling about it, he'd once talked briefly about Wolfram & Hart, when he'd first gone to work at Angel Investigations. It never sounded like a good place, it didn't sound like a safe place, it didn't sound like a place he'd agree to work at but he had. Then there had been the article about Sunnydale, California becoming a sinkhole on the front page of the Daily Prophet and he'd looked so relieved that a crowd of muggles in a bus had been the last to leave the town. She asked him if he knew someone on the bus and he smiled and said yes. He did and he was very proud of the girl, he never did tell what the girl's name was.

He started sending letters by owl post once he took up his job as head of the research department at Wolfram & Hart. He finally started dating Fred. She was glad she had been wrong about his new job. Then suddenly a letter came that Fred was dead. That feeling of dread returned and the letters stopped coming again. Then unexpectedly he sent them a letter, his last, they would ever get from him. It was a goodbye letter. They didn’t get it until it was already too late. A week or two later they recieved another letter from a stranger named Faith through the muggle post. Wesley was dead. His funeral would be in Los Angeles. She hoped they would come. They would go. He was family.



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