Disclaimer: All of the rights to the Harry Potter and Buffy franchises belong to their respective owners. I do not claim to own anything from either series. I also own no rights to any other works mentioned incidentally in the story.
'Hmph,' Cordelia huffed as she stormed away from her superior's 'office'. Being a higher being was far, far
more work than it should be.
Hard work was something to be alternately ridiculed and capitalized upon when one found it in others more plebeian than oneself. Manipulating others into doing any and all unsavory tasks for you was a privilege of being wealthy and beautiful, and the Queen C of yore had most certainly had a gift for it. But she would admit, now (grudgingly, and only to herself), that her time since the abrupt disappearance of the Chase family fortune had taught her the value of doing things for yourself. And Buffy Summers and Angel and all the others, damn them, had made her actually start caring about helping others.
Being a 'real person' sucked. And now, after ascending to a higher plane of existence, she was still finding herself roped into this whole 'helping' thing.
Some days it wasn't so bad. And some days, she got sent off to some disgusting, unsanitary reality to play messenger girl for the Powers That Be. Like today, for instance. She had to go deliver a prophecy to the Great and Powerful Bumblebee or something ridiculous like that. Fine. Boring. Nothing too out of the ordinary.
But to do this, apparently, she had to go to some place called "Hog's Head Pub". She couldn't even think
of that name without suffering flashbacks to wading through the knee-deep filth of Ankh-Morpork a few missions back.
'Ewwww. I still don't even want to know what that stain was on my dress. And it was a Versace! Yeah, I can manifest whatever clothes I want, but still. Versace! And did I mention -ewwwwwwww-?'
Shaking her head to clear the unfortunate memories away, she watched as the run-down dive faded into view. Seated in the corner was a very old-looking man wearing the most garish clothing she had seen this side of Xander Harris.
'Professor Numbnuts, check. And he's not alone.'
Cordelia watched the woman seated across from the old man as she completely bombed what appeared to be a job interview of some sort. She'd have made some scathing remark about how the woman looked like her grandmother had dressed her this morning, but really, the poor thing appeared to be proving herself insecure and incompetent just fine on her own. It looked like Old Man Dumbo was reaching the same conclusions, and as Cordelia noticed him preparing to leave, she remembered her assignment and quickly cleared her throat.
Sybill Trelawney suddenly froze, her eyes becoming unfocused. No one else seemed to react at all to the shout, though the old man did react to the sudden change in the woman across from him.
"So I have to get this prophecy to the guy you're talking to, and you look kind of pathetic, so I figured I'd let you do the talking this time. You're applying to teach fortune-telling or something anyways, right? So this should be right up your alley."
Cordelia took a deep breath. "Here goes. You're facing a big bad, Lord Moldygoat or whatever, and someone has to go Slay him."
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches
," Trelawney said in a distant, reverberating voice.
"Nice embellishing. So far, so good. Anyways, the Longbottoms are gonna to have a kid..."
"Born to those who have thrice defied him
"Wait," Cordelia interrupted, "making it sound cool is one thing, but even I know that's way too vague. Try it again. 'The Longbottoms are going to have a baby.'"
"Born as the seventh month dies
"...Okay, a little better, I guess between the two they should be able to figure it out. Moving on... this kid, Neville, is going to grow up to have to fight this Dark Poser, and-"
"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal
Cordelia really wished she was corporeal, so she could smack the woman. Hard.
"That's not what I was saying, he-"
"But he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not
"What the hell are you doing? Are you just making this stuff up? This is a true prophecy! What you're saying is actually going to happen now, you know."
"And either must die at the hand of the other
"Lucky guess, but you need to shut up and listen. This is the really important part. Neville just has to go up and stab him with that fancy sword. That's it. No crazy spells, nothing, just 'stick pointy end in ugly guy', and he's dead, and everyone can go party."
"For neither can live while the other survives
"You missed the entire point!" Cordelia yelled. "Sword! Stab! How hard is that to say?"
Suddenly, Cordelia noticed the edges of the room beginning to fade to white. 'Crap, almost out of time.'
Summoning enough energy for one last message, she yelled, "Just tell him. Say it with me, now. 'Neville Longbottom will kick Voldemort's ass with the Sword of Gryffindor.' Say it!"
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies
These last two words echoed around the white void she now found herself in, as the Hog's Head finished fading from view. 'Great,' she thought while marching off to give her superiors an earful about useless Seers and how incredibly stupid it was to keep throwing out prophecies that never turn out right. 'This is going to turn into a mess, and I just know I'm going to get stuck cleaning it up. So help me, if I break a heel running to save the day this time...'
As she trailed off to ponder what revenge she could get on those imbeciles she called 'bosses', Cordelia could only really come to one conclusion: this job was way
too much work.
A/N: I fear this sounded much funnier in my head than it does on paper. If someone thinks they can do a better job with the premise, they're welcome to it, just drop me a line first.