Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss Whedon owns Buffy/Angel, J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and the idea is from Tanydwr.
Harry Potter winced as he came to consciousness. His head felt about three times bigger than he was used to. To make matters worse, a woman, with a vocal volume that would rival Molly Weasley, decided to address the room at large. “Okay. What the hell is going on here?”
Harry stood slowly. “What’s your name?”
She gave him a contemptuous look. “I’m Cordelia Chase, dumbass. And if this is some sort of sophomore hazing prank where I get doped up and left with a bunch of proto-losers, then my parents are gonna be suing the entire population of Sunnydale. Comprendez?”
Another man, black, bald, and muscular spoke up. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Cordelia’s tone became, if at all possible, more condescending. “It’s called kidnapping a minor, hair club for men. And if you think for a second I’m gonna be putting up with this, well, you don’t know Cordelia…” she trailed off as another man walked into the room. “Cordelia... Hello, salty goodness.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “All right. Hang on. You’re Cordelia Chase, you’re a high school student, and you live in Sunnydale?”
Cordelia nodded. “Right.”
Harry nodded, and turned to the black man. “So who are you?”
“I’m the guy that’s gonna be kicking a whole mess of ass if somebody don’t tell me what’s going on.”
Harry scoffed. “Oh, just shut up.”
The other man paused. “… What’d you just say to me?”
“I told you to shut up. If you’re not going to say anything useful, don’t say anything at all.” Harry shook his head. “Just like Ron…”
“And who’s Ron?” the man demanded.
Harry stopped dead, fighting the constriction he felt across his chest. “No one. No one important right now.” He forced himself to look at the other man in the room. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to tell us your name?”
He received a dirty look. “Don’t talk to me, you English pig. We never wanted you in Ireland. We don’t want you now.”
Harry blinked in surprise. “You’re… Irish?”
“Of course I am!”
“Then why do you sound like an American?”
“I do not! I sound…” he rubbed his throat. “What happened to my voice?”
Harry pinched his nose. This was going to be a long night…
“Um, I’m Fred.”
Everyone turned to see a slip of a girl smiling brightly. “That’s short for Winifred. Burkle. It’s nice to meet y’all.”
Harry nodded. “Pleasure. Harry Potter.”
The black man sighed. “Gunn.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah. You got a problem with it?”
“No, not at all.” Harry chuckled. “That’s actually one of the better names I’ve heard in my life. And if you heard some of the other examples, you’d understand just what that means.”
Harry turned back to the supposed Irishman. “What?”
“My name. It’s Liam.”
“Thank you.” Harry stroked his chin thoughtfully. His hand stopped as it brushed on the stubble. “Hold on… Does anyone have a mirror?”
Everyone searched their pockets, coming up with nothing.
“Damn. I need a bathroom, then.”
Cordelia cleared her throat. “You know, this looks like a hotel lobby. Maybe the rooms upstairs have bathrooms?”
Harry nodded once, and darted upstairs. Everyone watched for a few seconds, until they heard, “BLOODY HELL!”
Everyone ran up the stairs, rushing into the room Harry had entered.
“What is it?” Fred asked.
Harry was examining his appearance closely. “This isn’t my face.”
No one knew what to say to that.
“Well, I mean, it is, but it’s different. I have green eyes, not blue. And my scar is missing.”
Gunn blinked. “Just one?”
“One in particular.” Harry said. “It’s shaped like a bolt of lightning, and should be just above my right eye.” he rubbed the spot, feeling cake-like powder on his hand. “Hold on…” He turned the sink on, rubbing water on his forehead. The make-up that was there washed away.
Harry frowned. “Muggle concealer? Why on Earth would someone put Muggle concealer over my scar?”
“What about your eyes?” Cordelia asked.
Harry didn’t answer right away. A thought had occurred to him. If his scar had been hidden the Muggle way… Quickly, he wiped his eyes, pulling out a pair of contact lenses. He turned back to the others, holding them up. “Oddly enough, this isn’t
the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
No one felt like asking what was at the top of the list.
“Well, that proves it.” Fred spoke up. “We’ve been kidnapped by the government. This has ‘conspiracy’ written all over it.”
Everyone but Harry snorted. He just looked at her thoughtfully.
“Well,” Cordelia broke the silence. “Fun as this is, maybe we should head downstairs?”
“Right…” Harry nodded absently. “Let’s go.”
As the group made it’s way downstairs, they heard someone groaning.
“Ohhhhhhh… Did someone get the name of that Fyarl demon?”
Harry’s eyes flew to the source. It was… a green man. With horns. And red eyes. Harry let out a hiss. “Demon.”
Before anyone could move, Harry had pinned the demon to the floor, holding it’s neck in a vice-like grip.
“Who are you?!” he thundered. “Is Voldemort behind this?! Tell me!”
The demon tried to speak, but he wasn’t getting much air. “ I… Wha… Ca…”
Glaring, Harry loosened his grip, slightly.
The demon took a breath. He eyed Harry cautiously. “I don’t know who Voldemort is, sugar-cake. He might have messed with the spell, but…”
One thing Harry knew, was when people were lying to him. He would have wound up dead a long time ago, otherwise. This being was telling the truth. “Spell? What spell?”
“The one to give Cordelia her memory back.”
Harry whipped around, looking at Cordelia intently. After a moment, he frowned.
“Someone’s blocked off my magic.”
“Your… what?” Cordelia asked, while Liam started scrambling away.
“You’re a witch!”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Do I look like a bloody woman to you? I’m a Wizard,
“Wait… Magic is real, too?” Gunn asked.
“What do you mean, ‘too’?” Harry responded.
“I’m cleanin’ vamps outta my neighborhood like it’s goin’ outta style. There’s no end to the things.”
Harry nodded. “Right. I haven’t been to America, but there are plenty of stories about massive nests.” He looked around, spotting a large, circular seat, and pulled it into the middle of the room.
“Um… What are you doing?” Fred asked.
“I need a place to sit.” Harry said, climbing on top of the seat, and sitting in the lotus position. “The block on my magic doesn’t feel very strong. I should be able to break it with minimal fuss.” Getting comfortable, Harry bowed his head, and closed his eyes.
Cordelia let out a sigh. “Great. The crazy people think they can do magic. What next?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, buttercup.” Lorne said. “If he is, what I think he is, magic should come second nature to him.” The green demon frowned. “I just never expected…”
“What?” Fred asked.
Lorne shook his head. “Eh… Never mind. You’ll understand in a few minutes, I think.”
And a few minutes later, he was proven right.
Everyone felt a gust of wind pass over them, and Harry’s head snapped up. He grinned. “Here we are!” Hopping down from his seat, he walked up to Gunn. “Alright. I’m going to restore your memory first. You seem like the trustworthy type. Look me in the eye.”
Not entirely sure what was going on, Gunn did as he was asked. He felt a tendril of magic wrap around his mind. He would have run, if he hadn’t been afraid of getting brain damage.
After a moment, Harry broke the eye contact. “Alright. How do you feel?”
Gunn blinked. “Uh… Fine.” he gave Harry an odd look. “That’s some powerful mojo you’ve got goin’ on.”
“Well, I should hope so.” Harry said. “Though it won’t do me much good. I can’t perform memory spells on myself. I’ll need something, maybe a potion…”
“I can do that, sweetums.” Lorne volunteered, though his voice lacked most of it’s usual cheer. “Just give me a minute.” He headed into the other room.
Harry looked at Gunn. “He’s trustworthy, right?”
“Oh, yeah.” Gunn nodded. “He’s good people.”
“Okay.” Harry looked at the room’s other three occupants. “Who’s next?”
After a few minutes, Fred and a very reluctant Liam had gone through the memory restoration. When Harry moved on to Cordelia, however, they didn’t break contact for nearly an hour.
Gunn let out a sigh. “How long they gonna be like that?”
“I don’t know, Charles.” Fred sighed as well. “Maybe we should poke ‘em with a stick?”
“I wouldn’t.” Lorne said, holding the potion for Harry. “This kind of magic is sensitive. You’ve got to give him time. If he’s taking this long, there’s a good reason.”
Liam, now Angel, grimaced. “I hate to admit it, but he’s right. Where did he learn to do this, anyway?”
“Oh, there’s a whole community of magic users like him, Angel cakes.” Lorne said. “They go to school to learn this stuff when they’re eleven, and graduate when they’re seventeen. Now, granted, the study of the mind arts isn’t as common as all that, but it’s not incredibly rare, either.”
Angel just nodded.
After what seemed like an eternity, Harry broke eye contact. He and Cordy both fell over.
The blonde was the first to recover. “Okay… What the hell
Angel ran to her side, helping her up. “Did he hurt you?”
“What? No! There was something in my head!
I wasn’t in control! He…” she looked down at Harry, who was holding his head. “He got it out. I don’t know how, but he did.”
“Not all that hard.” Harry muttered, though everyone could hear him. “When you’ve been forced to remove a shard of a madman’s soul from your own head, doing it with someone else is child’s play.” He stood, and turned to Lorne. “You got that potion ready?”
Lorne nodded, and handed him a small bowl. “Just a little dab on your tongue should do it.”
Shrugging, Harry put it on his tongue, making a disgusted face as he did so. “Sweet Merlin. And I thought Snivvie’s potions were bad…” He blinked rapidly as his memories reasserted themselves. Instantly, his face changed, going from sour, to expressionless in less than a second. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was, once again, in control.
“Wes?” Angel asked.
“As much as I ever was…” Wesley said.
“So, you were never really Wesley?” Cordelia, who’d known him since Sunnydale, asked.
“I’m the only Wesley Wyndam-Pryce that’s ever existed, so far as I know.” he said. “It’s just not the name I was born with.”
Gunn just glared at him. “Great. One more thing you lied about.”
Wesley stiffened, then relaxed. “Yes. Quite.” He turned to Cordelia. “Ms. Chase. I would like to offer my apologies. I never should have attempted to remove a malignant spirit without a team of trained mind healers on hand. I learned that the hard way…” Suddenly, he fell to his knees, clutching his sides, and gasping in pain.
Cordelia moved to help him, but he waved her away. “Stay back. If you get too close…” he was cut off by a fresh wave of pain. When it passed, he looked up at Angel. “I’m very sorry about this.” Turning away from them, he extended his hand, and discharged a brilliant display of lightning, scorching the staircase, and a good length of the wall. When it was over, he stood, holding onto the counter to keep himself upright.
Angel looked at the damage. He didn’t seem to be angry, just impressed. “What was that?”
“Excess magic.” Wesley said softly. “I’ve been suppressing that for…” he counted it up quickly. “A little over five years. I imagine it was quite eager to get out.” Sighing, he turned to leave.
“Wait.” Fred stopped him at the door. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
He turned to look at her, smiling slightly. “Your curiosity is getting the better of you.” He stared at her for almost a minute, before coming to a decision. Reaching up, he caressed her cheek, and pressed a kiss to her lips. The kiss almost didn’t exist, it was so light, but it still made her blush when he pulled away. She saw tears falling from his eyes as he said, “Good-bye, ‘Mione,” and almost ran out the door.
For a long time, no one moved. It shocked everyone out of their reverie when Angel grabbed his coat, and headed for the sewer exit.
“Where are you going?” Cordelia called.
“I’m gonna see what I can find.”