Author’s Note: This is short because I needed to cut somewhere, don’t judge the rest of the story on its length! So this is set the summer after season two of Buffy and the summer after the seventh book for Harry Potter. (Because Buffy is a year younger than the trio- HP trio, not BTVS trio)
A not-so-vague Disclaimer: I am not Joss Whedon or JK Rowling, or a weird Adam-style melding of the two with a bionic arm added in for good measure. Though now I’ve written that, I’d really like to be. What I’m saying is, I don’t own any of the characters but please don’t sue :)
“You want coffee while you choose?” Buffy asked, half asleep as she held up the coffee pot. The boy looked at her and narrowed his eyes. He looked at her for a moment with a frown on his face before turning back to the menu.
“Yes.” Great, he wasn’t a talker. Even though the talkers gave the best tips, she really wasn’t in the mood to have a conversation.
“I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.” She said after she poured the coffee. She walked over to her spot near the kitchen and looked around at the nearly deserted diner. It had an American theme, with split red vinyl seats and a menu that made Buffy’s stomach turn just thinking about. To top it all off, she got to wear an ‘authentic’ fifties waitress uniform, which included a poodle skirt. But hey, what other place in London would accept a seventeen-year-old California native with no experience and no qualifications? Okay, what other reputable place? The blonde boy was staring at her from his booth by the window and she looked away, knowing better than to start a fight. She looked back after a moment and he was still staring at her, but now muttering something under his breath. She rolled her eyes; it was nice to know that even out of Sunnydale she attracted the crazies.
“When do you get off?” The boy asked when she returned to his table to take his order.
“Not ‘till late,” She didn’t want to be impolite, but didn’t want the conversation to continue.
“I need to talk to you,” He persisted. “Can you talk to me at the end of your shift?”
“I’m sorry, but I really need to get straight home. Now, have you decided your order?”
“I’m not ‘asking you out’, if that’s what you’re getting all het up about.” The boy smirked, obviously finding the idea amusing. “I’m just doing my job.”
“If you’re council, you can go and tell Travers that I’m not going back.” The boy raised his eyebrows.
“You’re the slayer?”
“If you didn’t know that then you’re a really crap PI.”
“PI?” The boy repeated, confused.
“Are you going to order anything?”
“Just coffee. I’ll wait for you to get off. What time’s that going to be?” He asked, mock-polite.
“We close at one.”
“Then we’ll talk at one.” He smiled and pulled out a tattered book from his jacket pocket.
When she got back to her station at the counter, the diner owner smiled at her knowingly.
“It doesn’t look like we’re going to be busy, if you want to leave now.” The older woman said. Buffy thought about staying, but knew that the boy would be even more annoying in a few hours.
“Thanks.” She retrieved her coat and purse and walked over to the boy’s table.
“I got off early.” The boy paid and they left.
“So, why did you need to talk to me?” They were sat on a park bench in front of a duck pond. “’Cause you’ve got to know already that trying to kill me isn’t a good idea.”
“I work for an organisation that recruits powerful witches and wizards to the right side, or that’s what we do now. Your occlumency and later, legilimency were so strong that our seers were able to feel them though they weren’t trying to or even thinking about you. “
“My what? And I’m not a witch.” The boy looked confused.
“Yes you are, I can feel it on you… I can even see it if I focus hard enough.”
“Well then you need your third-eye checked. I’m not the girl you’re looking for.”
“What was your mother’s maiden name?”
“Your mother’s maiden name, what was it?” The boy looked like he was trying hard to be patient with her.
“Rookwood, why?” Unless he was planning on opening a bank account in her name, she couldn’t see why this information would be relevant.
“When she was a teenager, did she go to a boarding school?”
“Yes, but,” she started to argue but he cut her off.
“A boarding school that, given that you seem to have no knowledge of magic, she doesn’t talk about?”
“Your mother’s a witch, and you’re a witch. A powerful one at that.”
“No, she can’t be… If she was she would have never… I need to use a phone.” Buffy said, in shock. She walked away from the boy and went to a phone box near the park gates. Her hands shook as she fed it money and dialed home. Her mother picked up after one ring.
“Buffy?” God, she sounded terrible.
“Mom, are you a witch?” Buffy’s voice shook.
“What? Buffy, where are you?”
“Are you a witch?” She repeated, her voice steadier.
Her mother didn’t respond.
“You can’t be a witch, can you? Because then you’d have understood about the slayer stuff.”
“Buffy, honey, come home and we can talk about this.”
“You wouldn’t have put me in a mental hospital if you were a witch, because you’d have known what a slayer was. You wouldn’t have kicked me out of the house, because you would have understood.”
“I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t want you to have that life” even though Buffy had been sure when her mother hadn’t answered, the admission sucked the air out of her. She put the phone down and breathed heavily in the phone box. When she opened the door and walked out she could see the boy waiting for her.
“Hell of a way to find out.”
“Just leave, you’re not going to ‘recruit’ me.”
With that, Buffy walked out of the park.