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And Now For Something Completely Different

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Summary: Ficlet for right now. Several scenes derived from a plot bunny that grabbed my muse’s attention and wouldn’t go away until I wrote them out, and one that I will eventually be returning to and fleshing out in greater detail.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > Multiple Pairings
Harry Potter > Multiple Pairings > Alternate Universe
GreywizardFR1813,0201275,20228 Jun 0728 Jun 07Yes
Disclaimer: Is this really necessary? If anyone really thinks these characters belong to me, then I've got some *great* real estate investments I'd like to discuss with you. All of the Buffy characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc; I believe Sabrina Spellman belongs to ABC Family and Warner Bros. Television; and the Harry Potter characters definitely belong to J. K. Rowling. Only the story is mine, and if anyone waves enough money in front of me, even that is negotiable.

Category: BtVS multi-crossover.

Summary: Ficlet for right now. Several scenes derived from a plot bunny that grabbed my muse’s attention and wouldn’t go away until I wrote them out, and one that I will eventually be returning to and fleshing out in greater detail.

Time frame: Starting at ‘Welcome to the Hellmouth’ for Buffy, but since this is seriously AU from all of the series I’m borrowing from, it doesn’t really matter much, does it?

Character Bashing: None.

Feedback: Of course! It's like food, water and air to a writer.

Archiving: Check with me first, please.

Author's Notes: Thanks to Lori Bush, Tim Joy, Bill Haden and Drake the Archr for beta-ing this story.


Sunnydale, CA
March 10, 1997

The petite beauty exiting the school library, who seemed to perfectly fit the classic movie stereotype of the blonde high school cheerleader, was clearly upset, although whether she was more angry than worried, or more worried than angry was still up for debate from the look on her face, the young man leaning against the lockers a short distance down the corridor decided as she practically stomped into the hallway.

“Hi there. You’re Buffy Summers, right?”

Momentarily distracted from her worries about what the possible implications of the school’s librarian having presented her with a book labeled ‘VAMPYR’ the moment she’d walked in the library might mean for both her immediate and long-term futures, the lovely (and unmistakably quite lethal, if one knew how to observe properly) young lady glanced up at the tall, dark-haired youth who’d spoken to her and gave him a small frown.

“That depends. Do I know you?”

“You did several years ago, by my reckoning,” he smiled warmly at her, his voice betraying the slightest trace of a British accent, although one differing from that of the librarian she’d just left a moment before. “My name is Alexander Potter.

“But my friends call me Xander.”

“Sorry, I don’t remember anybody with that name,” the blonde shook her head even as she tried to surreptitiously check out the potential hottie, a coy smile on her face. “And believe me, I *would* remember you, what with the way you talk, and everything.

“So, why don’t you just leave me alone, okay?” Buffy suggested as she began heading down the hallway.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d join me for a cup of coffee,” Xander replied as he turned and dropped into step with her, moving with an almost unnatural grace and fluidity she reflexively noticed. But she wasn’t picking up any freaky weirdness vibes from him, either, she realized, so she just gave a mental shrug and continued walking. She was about to semi-politely refuse the guy’s offer when she abruptly stopped – both walking and talking – as she heard him continue, “– while we discuss both the up and down sides of vampire slaying.”

“What?” she gasped, taken completely aback by the unexpected statement.

“How do you know about that?” she demanded. “Uh, what I mean is, there’s no such thing as vampires,” she added weakly as she looked the newcomer over with a now much more suspicious and wary eye.

“Relax, Buff. I'm on your side, not the Council’s,” he smiled at her in what she’d normally call a reassuring manner, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d just spoken of something that no normal person would have known about, let alone ever even mention in casual conversation. She was just starting to wonder exactly where and when he’d learned about the Dark side of things when her attention refocused dramatically as he continued speaking.

“What I’m here to talk to you about,” he said as he smiled at her again, “is me and my friends helping you out, so you have a chance to actually have a personal life while still performing those extra duties you’ve had forced on you recently. And us also doing everything we can to ensure your parents can never even try to institutionalize you again.”

“You know, I think I am in the mood for a frappaccino, after all,” Buffy agreed as she looked up, tentatively smiled at her (potentially) new best friend and took his offered arm.

“So, who exactly are you, Xander, and who are these friends of yours you mentioned?”


732 West Elm St.
Apartment G-1

Angel, currently the only known ensouled vampire in the world, was sitting in his apartment and rereading Plato’s ‘Republic’ for the thirty-fifth time this decade when he heard a knock on his door.

Carefully setting the book down on the small table next to his chair, he walked over and opened the door slightly, to find a tall, auburn-haired young man standing in the poorly-lit hallway outside.

“You’re that vampire, Angel, right?” the youth inquired politely as he looked down at the vampire and stared him straight in the eye.

The boy (he couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen, tops, Angel figured) spoke with an English accent and smelled faintly of various herbs and chemicals he normally associated with magic-users, but was quite definitely human without any trace of demonic blood in him, so he nodded acknowledgement of his identification but otherwise remained silent.

“I understand you’re interested in anything having to do with the Slayer who’s just moved into town,” the kid stated, watching with a complete lack of concern. “I’ve got some information you might be interested in that concerns her.”

The boy wasn’t afraid of him in the least, Angel noted curiously; he couldn’t smell the slightest indication of fear coming from the youth, which was actually quite out of the ordinary when it came to people familiar with his vampiric state. Usually, even the humans who dealt with him on a frequent basis had the slightest tinge of fear whenever they knew he was around.

This kid didn’t seem to be the least bit concerned about the potential danger he was exposing himself to.

In any event, the boy was correct in that he did, indeed, have an interest in the Slayer who had just arrived in town with her mother. Ever since first seeing her, back in Los Angeles those few months ago with Whistler, he’d felt a connection with the petite blonde who’d been Chosen by whatever powers oversaw the forces of Good this plane.

Somehow, she was important to him. That he was quite certain of. The tiny beauty held some currently unknown, but significant tie to his existence, and he was bound and determined to figure out what it was and how she fit into his unlife.

And if the kid knew something important that related to her, then he needed to find out what it was.

“Come in,” he invited the boy inside as he moved back to allow him admittance, then checked the outer hallway before closing and locking the door after him. He didn’t have any neighbors on this floor to eavesdrop, but there was no point in letting anyone who might be wandering by hear whatever it was the boy had to say.

As he turned back to face the youth, he saw him gesturing towards him with some kind of stick and saying something that sounded liked, “Incendio!”

And then he felt a sudden, overpowering rush of heat and everything went black.


Ron Potter (once also known as Ronald Bilius Weasley) looked around the apartment with the faintest degree of interest after a quick inspection of the small pile of ash that had once been an Irish vampire, to make sure that things were as they should be.

{ Might as well check to see if there’s anything out of the ordinary while I’m here, } he thought to himself as he examined the apartment’s furnishings with a jaundiced eye. { The girls’ll be sure to ask if there was anything interesting here, and if I tell them I didn’t even bother looking, I’ll never hear the end of it. Especially from Hermione. }

Two minutes inspection and a quick spell to check for any concealed or secret compartments had revealed nothing worthwhile except for a decent short sword and a few relatively old books that were probably first editions, to judge by the publication notices on the first few pages.

{ Guess I’ll take all of these and hand them over to Harry, } he thought to himself as he gestured and all the contents of the bookshelves shrank and levitated themselves into a compartment in the equally shrunken trunk he’d produced fro his pocket. The sword he just slung over his shoulder in its plain leather scabbard. { Maybe he can use them as gifts for Hermione's birthday or some other occasion. Merlin knows, she’d go spare over them if she found them in some store. }

With a final series of gestures, he banished the ashes on the floor and restored the dust and cobwebs that would have normally covered the walls in the absence of any occupant before casually teleporting out of the now deserted apartment.


Willow Rosenberg was sitting alone in the school's computer lab, huddled over one of the terminals, when two very fashionably dressed young women, a beautiful blonde and an equally gorgeous brunette, quietly entered the room.

“Hi there. You’re Willow Rosenberg, correct?” the brunette smiled at her, catching the redhead’s attention.

“Why? I – I mean, hi! Uh, did you want me to move?” Willow replied nervously as she looked up and noticed the two girls standing a few feet away and smiling at her in a friendly and entirely not-malicious-at-all manner, the way Cordelia and her little band of sycophants usually did.

“No, not at all,” the brunette shook her head. “I hope we’re not disturbing anything important,” she politely added, her words delivered with an unmistakable British accent.

“You see, we’ve been told by a very good friend of ours that you’re the person we need to talk to when it comes to anything having to do with computers,” the blonde informed her. Unlike the brunette, she spoke with a definite New England accent, Willow absently noted.

“You were?” the hacker semi-squeaked, beginning to look more than slightly freaked out at that particular revelation. “Who told you that?”

“Oh my goodness, where are my manners?” the brunette apologized, shaking her head apologetically.

“Please, allow me to introduce myself – my name is Hermione Granger, and this is my best friend, Sabrina Spellman,” she said, indicating the blonde standing next to her. “And that friend of ours I mentioned is Xander Potter."

“You’re the people Xand asked me to talk to?” Willow asked, wide-eyed with surprise. “He told me to expect a geek friend of his to stop by to talk to me, not someone like you.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with you stopping by to see me, because there isn’t, really, but I was expecting to see someone more like me and not someone like you because you‘re not like me, what with you being all beautiful and well-dressed and everything,” Willow began babbling, completely unnerved by the idea that someone who appeared to be more akin to Cordelia Chase than herself was actually interested in seeking her out and talking to her.

“Xand said you might react like this,” the blonde – Sabrina, Willow thought she remembered her being introduced as – half-laughed as the hacker began to dissolve into a flustered panic.

“Come on, why don’t we all go somewhere a bit more private and we can talk about things, okay?” she suggested as she reached down and carefully pulled the semi-gibbering girl up onto her feet.

“Herms, why don’t you tell Willow what it is we’d like her help with?” Sabrina suggested as she began leading the redhead out into the hallway.

“How many times do I have to ask you not to call me that ridiculous name, Bree?” the brunette huffed good-naturedly as she casually linked arms with Willow as Sabrina had already done.

“Like Xand says, I guess at least once more, huh?” the blonde grinned as they made their way down the hall.

Willow figured she must have dozed off and was dreaming everything that was happening to her as the three of them walked along, side-by-side like old friends, and she was quickly drawn into a discussion with Hermione of the advantages and disadvantages of AMD’s newest offering as compared to Intel’s latest microprocessor, with the obligatory insult thrown Cyrix’s way.

The likelihood of it all being a dream seemed to approach unity, she decided, when they were verbally accosted in the hall by Percy West and his ever-present coterie of hangers-on and brownnosers.

“What’s the problem here, ladies? Did the geek finally completely lose it and attack you or something? Is that why you’re actually touching the nerd?” Willow heard Percy’s grating nasal tones interrupt her response to Hermione’s defense of AMD’s apparent blessing to clone processor manufacturers to go forth and multiply (and add, subtract and divide, too, to use a *very* old hacker’s joke).

“I beg your pardon, but were you speaking to *us*?” The frost evident in Hermione’s very proper British voice as she replied to the egotistical and self-important jock’s comment could have frozen Sunnydale’s harbor solid.

“Uhm, yeah?” Percy’s hesitant response to the brunette’s question served only to make him appear even more deficient (to use Cordelia’s favorite snark term, Willow thought to herself with a bit of glee) to all of the students now milling around and watching to see exactly whose blood it was that would be spilled in the metaphorical waters now surrounding them.

“Since it is glaringly obvious that your parents, whoever they might be, have never instructed you in even the most rudimentary forms of common courtesy, it clearly now falls upon me to inform you that in polite society, it is considered exceedingly rude to interrupt another’s conversation without satisfactory cause,” Hermione informed the blankly staring jock, who was gazing at her with a rapidly growing combination of dismay and regret at his impulsive action.

The brunette’ tone, followed by a dismissive sniff, was both disdainful and patronizing enough to resemble those used by a queen speaking to one of her serfs, and it was clear from Percy’s now brilliantly-red face that he was not at all pleased to be spoken to such a manner.

“Now then, Willow, you were saying…”

Hermione’s attempt to return to their prior conversation was yet again interrupted when Percy made the mistake of believing that since he had been unable to respond in an appropriate manner verbally, he would be more successful when utilizing a more physical approach.

“Hold up a minute, b–“

Sunnydale’s first-string quarterback’s rather irate command, begun at the same moment he reached out to grab the English girl’s arm to prevent her departure, was cut short as he was abruptly slammed backwards against the corridor wall at the same instant that he felt frighteningly powerful fingers curling around his Adam’s apple.

“If you *ever* try to touch me or any other woman like that again, I will rip out your throat,” he heard a voice whispering in his ear in a tone that made it clear that the words were not a threat, but a solemn vow, a moment before he was unexpectedly released to stagger back, awkwardly and off-balance, while the brunette who had so effortlessly manhandled him nonchalantly rejoined her companions walking down the hallway.

“And as far as memory is concerned, it now appears that the majority of motherboard manufacturers…”

The brunette’s opinion could be heard clearly the length of the corridor as all of the students present remained motionless, no one willing to move and possibly draw her attention to themselves, until the casually chatting trio had finally exited the main doors.


Mayor’s office
Sunnydale Municipal Building

His Honor, Mayor Richard Wilkins the Third (and the Second, and the First) was sitting at his desk, reading through the various reams of paperwork that routine municipal affairs seemed to generate when he suddenly looked up and demanded, “Who’s there? I know someone just came in.”

In response to his question, a medium-tall, dark-haired adolescent with some sort of lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead suddenly appeared, holding what appeared to be a silvery-grey cloak in one hand.

“Interrupting official business is not only uncouth, young man, but also quite disruptive in terms of the overall operational efficiency of my schedule,” Wilkins declared with a frown. “Care to tell me what it is you’re trying to accomplish by this rudeness?”

“I’m here to ensure that certain minor political problems won’t develop into major ones in the future,” the youth replied as he suddenly produced some sort of stick about a foot long, pointed it at him and said, “Sectumsempra!”

The scarlet flash produced in response to the youth’s command was easily intercepted by the lightly glowing hemisphere that suddenly appeared around the desk, and Wilkins smirked at the boy who simply stood there looking at him, apparently not having anticipated that the man he’d attempted to assassinate might possess any magical defenses.

“I’ve been dealing with upstarts trying to take over this town and the Hellmouth for over a hundred years, young fellow,” Wilkins declared somewhat pompously as he sat comfortably behind his desk, “so I’m quite well prepared when it comes to defending myself against any would-be usurpers.”

“Yeah, I figured you probably would be,” the youth nodded his acknowledgement of the Mayor’s words a moment before a massive silver pistol appeared in his hand. “At least as far as magic goes.”

An instant later, just as Wilkins was opening his mouth to protest, the pistol’s muzzle flashed, although no sound was heard, and the Mayor’s head seemed to explode, splattering grey matter across the walls and rug behind him.

“Hmm, looks like Xand was right; aside from the magic, he really wasn’t any more resilient than a normal human being at this point in time,” the youth murmured to himself as he cast various cleaning charms to remove all trace of the Mayor’s brains and cerebral fluids from the carpet and walls surrounding the desk, while leaving the body sprawled in the chair as it was.

Draping the sliver-grey cloak over himself again, he disappeared from sight.

A moment later, the door to the outer hallway opened, apparently of its own accord, and the whistled strains of ‘Weasley Is Our King’ could be heard echoing down the hall.


The End

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