Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING HERE!
J K Rowlings created and owns Harry Potter
and all associated settings, characters, and materials. Joss Whedon and his group own Buffy The Vampire Slayer
and everything associated with it. If you recognize anything in this story, or if it looks familiar, fair warning--NOT MINE!
Having a case of Writer's Block when it comes to my multi-chapter stories, I've taken the advice of someone and decided to write these one-shot drabbles and stories to see if that helps with my problem.
The story I've written is a cliché. Nothing difficult, or heading for the sort of twisted end that I'm so fond of. I did leave it open for a possible second chapter, if I ever stir up enough interest to continue the story. S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S
Another Buffy raises Baby Harry story. S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S
Tales Of The Chosen Ones
Walking away from the wreaked Range Rover with yellow and green glowing goo smeared and splattered liberally on the front and sides, Buffy prepared several speeches: "Giles! It was so totally not my fault! The demony things just jumped out of nowhere, trying to skewer the car!"
Buffy paused for a moment, and rolled her eyes. Yeah, like Giles was going to believe that after wrecking her fourth car. Never mind that it was what happened; one minute she was driving along a quiet London residential street, and suddenly there was a freaky white fog surrounding the car. The thick, white fog made her slow down a bit--And that's when about a dozen or so demons popped into existence, right in front of her car waving spears!
They had dark green, greasy hair; smashed up monkey faces with protruding yellowish-green fangs shot through with black (Like ewww! Toothbrush, anyone?), clawed, long fingered webbed hands, and a mixture of fur and scales covering their bodies. No eyes; although they did have these large floppy ears that almost resembled dog ears--Not like Clem's though, Buffy thought they twitched and flapped them more like elephant ears, rather then dog ears.
Unlike Clem, they had no sense of self-preservation--Rushing at the car, taking screaming stabs at it, all the while Buffy grimly ran them down. Eventually, squishing the last one against a large mature oak--Also, effectively killing the car. Yep, Buffy had deep, intimate, knowledge of that sort of thing--Molding the front end of a car around a tree trunk, tended to kill almost any car.
That left Buffy walking in an unnatural fog, in an unfamiliar neighborhood, in London, England, while her Spidey senses screamed and wailed at her. At least she was well armed, Buffy consoled herself, griping the hilt of the short sword she held a little tighter. Ignoring the compressing leather under her fingers and palm: With a small wince, Buffy briefly recalled the last leather wrappings she had reduced to sticky goo with too much Slayer strength pressure and sweaty palms.
Abruptly, literally with between one step and another, the fog disappeared--But not her howling Spidey senses.
Taking a cautious look around her, Buffy noted the differences in the street from the one she had been driving through--The houses were still middle-class quality, on large, well-maintained lots, with trees and lawns. The fog aside, the sky was clear and cold, and the trees bare of leaves. What cars had been parked at the curb, they where all facing the right direction--for an English road. The cars were small, compact models--That were as old or older then she was!
Buffy could only sigh; she had either crossed into another dimension, or gone back in time. Or, Buffy considered, giving it a moment's thought, she could have done both! Oddly enough, instead of panicking, Buffy felt nostalgic for the time when she would have been silently screaming for Giles, and alternatively, her mother. A few years, and a couple of Hellmouths later, Buffy could honestly say all she felt was . . .Annoyance.
Picking a direction her Spidey senses were complaining loudest about, Buffy melted into the shadows, moving towards it with the stealth and speed of a hunting Slayer. Twenty minutes later:
That was what Buffy thought as she looked down in outraged disbelief at the baby, in a basket, set down like a newspaper delivery on someone's doorstep.
"Good luck, Harry? Good luck, Harry? Good luck?! That Merlin wannabe! That freakin' lunatic!" Buffy sputtered. "What the hell! Leaving a baby out in the cold, like this? And those idiots with him! They know it's a bad idea--But do they stop him? Noooooo! It's okay, 'cause he wrote a letter!"
Mind made up, Buffy swooped down and collected the sleeping baby. She hesitated only for a moment, before breaking the seal on the letter and reading it. Buffy's face turned pure red in rage. Taking a few calming breaths, Buffy looked up at the door in front of her, looked down at the letter, then switched to look down at the baby, 'Harry' . . .
Minutes earlier, hiding silently in the shadows, Buffy had watched and listened as a cat turned into a woman, and an old bearded man, in a robe Andrew
would have burned turned off the street lights with the gizmo in his hand. The brief conversation they had was interesting. Then the hairy giant on the flying motorcycle came with the baby.
Within the space of a couple of minutes, a bearded troublemaker, apparently with a fantasy of leaving kids on doorsteps on freezing nights, dropped a poor orphan on the laps of people the cat lady referred to as the "Worse sort of muggles!"--What the hell were muggles? Buffy searched her memory for any British slang Giles, or Spike had dropped. After struggling for a few moments, Buffy gave up--It was probable local . . .Probably meant normal people. Although, Buffy gave the house in front of her a sharp look, 'normal' could be a subjective thing . . .
Her mind returning what that woman had been complaining about, Buffy considered her options. A small whimper from the bundle in her arms, and the still sleeping baby snuggled closer into her. She froze, then gently . . .hesitantly . . .Buffy wrapped the blanket securely around the baby, and turned around. With Harry James Potter in her arms, Buffy Summers walked away from Number 4 Privet Drive, leaving an empty basket for Petunia Dursley to find in the morning. S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S&S
Now that, as they say, is a wrap!
Ordinarily, I'd be tossing a coin to decide which Universe to continue it in. Buffyverse heads, tails Harryverse. Or, for that matter, if the Buffyverse had any knowledge of the HP world via the books and movies.
Hopefully, you don't mind too much that I left the story in the state that I did. Or, maybe you're breathing out a relieved "Thank you!" that another bad story won't breed extra chapters. Either way, thank you for reading this, good-bye!