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Summary: After jumping off the tower, Buffy is reborn into a new and dangerous life.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Buffy-CenteredReallyBoredFR1838,0191419,07920 Mar 1223 Sep 12No

Tea And Scones With The Minotaur

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING HERE! Joss Whedon and his group own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, as well as all characters, settings, and other associated materials related to it. J. K. Rowlings and her bunch own Harry Potter, and everything and everyone belonging to it. I OWN NOTHING HERE!

 

Second chapter is up. This time Harry takes up center stage, with some filler material on top.

Originally, I thought I could finish the story and post it in a reasonable period of time. But instead of just letting it stand as it was, I started making small changes--And found I couldn't stop myself from doing even more changes. So sorry about not posting it when I said I would in the reviews.

Harry, in this fic, is not a nice boy. He's vindictive and dangerous. A soul who's not at all sympathetic with a group of people who are powerful and lethal, but refuse to fight for themselves, and instead, insist a young boy, a child, should take on the responsibility of protecting them.

This Harry, while Dark, won't be completely indifferent to Human suffering--But he's not going to be rushing into dangerous, idiotic adventures either.

I hope you like the story. Thank you for reading it.

On with the story.

 

 

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After jumping off the Tower, Buffy is reborn into a new and dangerous life.

 

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Tea And Scones With The Minotaur

 

 

 

Number 4 Privet Drive, 1986

 

He tried resisting it. Oh, God did he try! The strain of holding it in, of keeping it under control nearly shredded his sanity. He knew, he KNEW, no good would come out of allowing it out. Of allowing it out to hunt, to fight . . .To breath in the raw terror of it's enemies, and revel in the excitement of combat, and feel the wild energies flooding through in an almost orgasmic rush. The Slayer, the Slayer, the dark power fused to his soul, pushing behind his eyes . . .While he was awake he was strong and kept it under control . . .But when he slept?

Six years old Harry Potter awoke with a sudden start. He shifted his body up to a sitting position, and took deep breaths, attempting to get his racing heart under control. Harry had awoken from one of those dreams--The herald of what Buffy Anne Summers had become--Slayer dreams. He tried going back to sleep. He did try, he honestly did. However, the dreams lingered, and the restless feelings grew until it seemed to Harry that electricity crawled and danced under and on his skin.

"I'm not Buffy Summers. I'm not Buffy Summers. I'm not Buffy Summers." He whispered fervently into the dark and cramp space of the cupboard under the stairs. "I'm not Buffy Summ--." Harry shot a pained grimace into the dark.

With a partial whimper and a groan, Harry kicked away the Star Wars blanket from his legs and rolled off the bed. Harry hastily dressed in the oversized rags he used for yard work; he reached up and with the bottom edge of his palms, pushed and slid open one of the stair treads. With care, Harry slid down one of the back slats. He gracefully climbed out of the cupboard interior, carefully and quietly, sliding the slat and tread back to their original positions.

Regardless of the effects of the Valium laced meal he had served to the Dursleys Harry moved silently and quickly. The drugs were salvaged from the trash of the neighbors to the back of Number 4--They were, sadly, the only reason the lady of that house was able to function at all! Although, and not surprisingly, she seemed to have company, if the glazed eyes and stumbling steps of some of the neighborhood ladies were anything to go by. Harry was, however, a little apprehensive about the drugs viability, since their expiration dates had since come and gone.

Quickly, Harry slipped out of the house through the front door, confident the neighbors were all asleep in their beds, or otherwise preoccupied, and unlikely to be peering out their windows as they would have been during the day, or in the early evening hours. Regardless of his tiny size, Harry was stealthy and inhumanly fast, running at speeds that left him a blur in passing. Several miles later, he reached the motorway; looking around for a moment, Harry bent down and picked up a fisted sized rock and threw it at an overhanging street light illuminating the ramp connecting the city street with the motorway. With a tinkling crash, the ramp was plunged into darkness.

The lorry driver, hauling construction materials, never knew he had picked up a tiny stowaway, when he slowed down at the darkened ramp. Nor did he notice the small boy hurl himself off the lorry upon reaching London.

Dusting himself off, and melding back into the shadows, Harry stood still for a moment, allowing his slaydar to unfurl and spread out; there was a familiar tingle almost immediately, and Harry allowed his instincts to pull him in a specific direction.

"Sir? C-can you help me? I'm-I'm lost, and I can't find my mommy and daddy." A little plaintive voice called out to a tall man, with a purple Mohawk, piercings and leather.

The man hesitated in mid-step. Doubt causing him to stop. Did he hear what he thought he heard? He turned around and looked down at a small boy with dark messy hair, large frightened green eyes, clutching nervously at the bunched up front portion of his over sized shirt. His eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected presence, and his mouth watered--A cruel smile curved his lips.

"Sure kid," he said, stepping closer to the tiny, trembling child.

He never saw the sharpened piece of wood slam into his chest.

"Eww . . .Well, this is a surprise." Harry muttered, staring down with wide green eyes at the puddle of dissolving goo that had been the Mohawked vampire. Harry blinked and shrugged his thin shoulders--Different Universe, different rules. Although, Harry considered thoughtfully, looking down at the rapidly disappearing bubbling ooze--Which almost resembled someone's misguided attempt at cooking guacamole--he preferred the type that went 'Poof!'-- Yep, cleaner that way.

The Second night started out similar to the first--Except, Harry's decision to leave the house was partially encouraged by the rapid, staccato sounds coming from two gaseous slumbering forms within their separate bedrooms. Harry briefly wondered how a fastidious woman like Petunia could stand sleeping in the same bed with that activity going on within touching distance of her?

Second night was like the first; instinct pulled Harry to London. However, there was a slight problem . . .The vampire had a stick . . .

Harry tried the little lost boy trick, and it was just like his outrageous form of luck, that the vamp had to have an annoying paranoid streak in him--How else could he explain what happened next?

Harry had barely finished speaking when the vampire suddenly pulled out a stick--aimed it RIGHT at Harry--and tried to blast him with a red beam!

Harry's slaydar was frantically screaming long before the vamp completely pulled the stick out of his sleeve, and was diving out of the way, towards the vampire before the red beam hit the spot where he had been. He landed on his hands and quickly flipped over three times, each time avoiding being hit by a hairsbreadth. Harry landed on his feet, came up in a partial crouch in front of the vampire, hit him in the crotch with his tiny left fist, and as the taller male automatically jerked down in pain, punched through the creature's chest with the stake in his right fist.

Before the liquefying remains could splash down on him, the small boy launched himself away with his left leg in a twisting side motion that moved him away from the fast descending bubbling goo.

"Size matters not!" Harry crowed, victoriously channeling his inner Yoda as he came to a crouching stop.

Harry straightened up and grimaced at the puddle of bubbling slime--He eyed the slime, genuinely missing the poofing sort of vampire. His eyes abruptly noticed the stick the vamp had attacked him with, lying innocently on the ground, not too far from the puddle--The vamp had dropped it at some point. Harry walked over to it, stared curiously down at it, and nudged it with the toe of his worn trainers. Memories poked at Harry--The shadowy memories of his life before the Dursleys, teased at him. Harry gulped deeply of the fetid alley air. Harry found it ironic that his pre-Buffy year and a half of life had been harder to access then his previous life's memories. Then again, the Buffy memories were of an adult and essential to his survival; but the memories of a baby, unfocused and hazy . . .? Harry did have a few clear memories of his babyhood, one of them was deciding if a large beetle, spotted on a windowsill, was tasty or not, was, well . . .Bleagh! Beetle! Bad memory! Bad, bad memory! The dark haired little boy shook his head to clear it--The look of distress and disgust took longer to clear.

That memory was almost as bad as his first Slayer dream, in his new body and life. In that dream, he was back in the First Slayer desert. Sineya was crouching by an open fire, tending to something on a spit. It looked like a pale snake, with a human face. What the First Slayer was cooking for dinner was the least disturbing part of the dream. Catching sight of him, the dreadlock, whiteface painted woman suddenly exploded into laughter! Snarls and a deadly assault Harry was expecting . . .But laughter? Harry was truly terrified.

The boy quickly returned his attentions to the stick on the ground.

The stick . . .There was a nagging familiarity to it. Harry quickly looked around, satisfied he was truly alone; Harry cleared his mind the way Giles had taught Buffy (And Obi-Wan and Yoda had taught Luke) . . .

"Ah, the hell with it!"

Harry picked up the wand, narrowed his eyes at it, and gave it an experimental swish--Harry was completely unprepared for the thick stream of hot flames that hit and engulfed an entire row of overflowing dustbins, one dumpster, and from the screaming squeaks, several rats as well!

He blinked in wide-eyed wonder (And smoke irritation.), a slow, wicked grin forming on his face and he breathed--"Cool."

Four nights later, Harry cautiously followed a vampire into a dead-end alley. He watched as the creature slipped a wand out of his sleeve and tapped the bricks of the wall, at the end of the alley.

The brick wall melted back and reformed into an archway. Beyond it, Harry caught a glimpse of a narrow street, haunted by robed and cloaked figures. The vampire walked through the arch, and a minute later the arch disappeared, and a grungy brick wall took its place.

Harry waited, making certain no others were heading to the alley before dropping down from the rooftop he had been on. Peering closely at the bricks, in the general area he had seen the vamp tap the wall with his wand, Harry noted the pitted and grooved condition of one brick. With a grin, he pulled out the wand he had acquired, and tapped the brick as he had seen the vamp do.

The wall twitched and reformed into an arch.

With a large, triumphant, maniacal grin, Harry, excited green eyes stretched wide open, shot through the archway, and into the Wizarding world--Harry James Potter--Welcome to Knockturn Alley!

 

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"Remember!" The boy screeched in a high pitched, falsetto voice, and succeeded in sounding like Petunia. "Remember, Boy, to cut the cucumbers transparent thin. Otherwise, the Ladies delicate jaws, studded with those really sharp, iron core fangs, might fall off if they have to chew too hard!"

Chortling with glee, Harry Potter bit down on the over-sized club sandwich he had prepared for himself. Mayonnaise squirted out from the sides and on to his hands, and splattered with a dull wet noise on the waxed wrapper he had spread out on his lap and lower belly. He ignored it, and only grabbed a couple of paper napkins, and attended to the mess after he had swallowed several large bites, and decimated the stacked sandwich down to half its formidable size.

Unconcerned about the considerable mess he was making, or the satisfied burp he released, Harry lounged back on the comfortable bulk of the shabby recliner he had discovered abandoned in the garage of a house up for sale. The chair's original ivory color had long been compromised and altered to a light brown, with a few darker stains and rings on its arms and body. Not that esthetics matter that much to the dark haired boy--Aside from the stains, it was whole and sound, and still functioned as a cozy and comfortable chair. For Harry, it was well worth the considerable trouble he had in moving it from it's last location, and down into the secret chamber, Harry had hidden, under the Dursley's garden shed. Oh, Petunia and Vernon would have been just so thrilled to learn of Harry's improvements to their property!

He would have gladly given them a guided tour if only to see that shade of red Vernon could sometimes hit.

Speaking of Vernon . . .The Walrus was going to be late getting home--again. Harry smirked past his mouthful, and glanced at the two stacks of tires taking up space in his little hidey-hole. One stack was three tires tall, and seemed relatively new. The other stack was where the tired, worn specimens resided. Good thing for Harry that dearest Vernon never looked too closely at his tires--Exchanging the new ones with cleaned up used tires assured Vernon a flat at some point in his commute to or from his job at Grunnings. Not that Harry's sabotage stopped at Vernon's tires--There were car batteries and several containers of petrol near the tires. He certainly had to learn a lot about cars to play around with Vernon's 'company' cars. Switching the batteries was a relatively easy and quick operation, but messing with the petrol gauge was a whole different story.

Still, it was worth the effort to learn how to do it, just to have Vernon stranded by the side of the road, yelling at a gauge that had suddenly, without warning, dropped down to 'Empty', when he knew he had filled up the tank just the day before.

Ah, what good clean fun he had been having at the Dursley's! Harry reminded himself, staring out towards an imagined distance, that all things come to an end. The car parts he salvaged from Vernon's cars, Harry mostly sold . . .Although, Harry did hold back a small amount of petrol. It was part of his escape plan. When the time came, Number 4 Privet Drive was, yes, indeedy, going to burn, burn, burn--Down to the ground, baby! Oh, hot damn! What a joyous, bright day that was going to be for one Harry James Potter!

Too bad for the Dursleys . . .That big, fat insurance check they were going to be expecting? Good news, it was not going to become lost in the mail. Bad news, it was never going to be in the mail in the first place! Harry had canceled their insurance policies, and had been intercepting the outgoing checks, and the incoming warning letters from the Dursley's former insurance carrier.

Jeez, what the hell else could they have expected, making him drop off their mail at the post office, and then fetch the incoming mail when it arrived? Harry had an overflowing cardboard box of the Dursley's undelivered mail--Some of it actually important.

Harry's mouth curled up into an evil smirk, a dab of mayonnaise on his left cheek. His dancing, green eyes landing upon an odd terrarium, with tiny, green, healthy marijuana plants thriving under a single sunlamp. The set up was magical of course. Peel off the glued on runes, on their container, and the whole lot grew to normal size practically within an eye blink. There were enough plants to fill up about half the Dursley's backyard, Harry calculated. When those firefighters responded to the call at Number 4, not only where they going to get a nose full from the burning dry weed, Harry had hidden here and there in the house, but they were also going to get an eye full. Since Petunia was known to be the only acknowledged gardener in the household . . .Well . . .Heh, heh. To make matters even better, Dudley's secret stash of male porn was bound to be discovered, out in the open, spread out all over his room. One of the few rooms in the house, Harry had placed protective runes on. Oh, and the Inland Revenue Service might decide to have a few words with Vernon about the financial records they anonymously received in the mail.

The dark haired boy's eyes narrowed . . .He had similar plans for Dudley's gang of 'little' friends. The thought of setting their feet firmly on the road to years and years of therapy gave Harry a warm, fuzzy feeling. Harry paused, and . . .No, actually, what he was feeling was heartburn; but Harry was nevertheless certain he was going to enjoy handing out to them their well-deserved, and too long overdue, comeuppance. Regardless of the appearance of any suspected internal fuzzies.

Given how poorly the neighbors had treated him, thanks in part to Petunia's vicious lies, Harry decided that backed up sewers, inconvenient power outages, and foul, unidentifiable smells were nice, appropriate, going away prezzies for them. If the wizards, he had discovered living on hidden lots in the neighborhood, interfered, well, he had set up something nice for them too. God! How he loved runes!

Finishing his sandwich, Harry wiped his mouth, face, and hands clean, with paper napkins, before bundling up all the use materials and shoving them into a paper bag. Time to leave--The mayhem and anarchy he had scheduled for the day, was not going to be brought about by wistful thinking! Pushing the recliner lever back up to a seated position, Harry reached over next to him, and picked up the small, leather drawstring sack on the side table, and tucked it inside his pocket. In his past life, the thought that vampire fangs could have monetary value, was never something that crossed the then blond vampire slayer's mind. In his current life and world, they were worth twenty-one hundred galleons a pair--If you could get them at all. As Harry walked up the stone spiral staircase, he considered the rest of his plans--And not just for the rest of the day, but for the rest of the year at least.

After collecting enough money from his creature body parts sales, Harry had enough cash to hire a wizarding detective agency. Harry wanted to know if his 'family' was about in any form. The detailed report, he had received, caused Harry's emotions to spike and drop somewhat--His family did exist, but living somewhat different lives. Buffy's mother, Joyce, never met or married Hank Summers. Hence, no little Buffy Anne Summers. Hank was currently in the hospital, recovering from an assault by his lover's husband--His fifth wife had filed for a divorce, after stripping the house of anything of value and draining dry their joint bank accounts. She had hopped over to Spain, while Hank was having his broken bones set. Joyce was a well thought of, but, unmarried, childless archeologist and historian--Way to go, mom! Harry cheered with pride, he had always known Joyce could have done better then an art degree. Although, Harry was unhappy about Joyce's unmarried and childless state, there simply was nothing he could do about that.

Tragically, Rubert Giles, wizard, never survived his rebellious, wild child years. He and his gang OD'd on a batch of bad heroin.

His brother and sister in everything but blood, Xander and Willow, still had crappy parents, still lived in California. Willow's parents were still traveling psychologists, the only two improvements being they had dumped Willow in Bel Air, and had the wisdom to hire a nanny for her. Xander's parents were divorced--The judge declared them both unfit parents. Custody went to Xander's uncle Rory. They lived in Santa Barbara--Strangely enough, the same location where Sunnydale should have been.

Harry had the agency look for Jesse, either as male or female, but nothing was ever found . . .

The plans Harry had made, regarding his future, took into account resuming a relationship with them--Still, there were important questions floating around. Could they sincerely want him in their lives? Did they need him? Were they happy as they were? Most important of all, were they like his 'original' family? Harry nervously considered Joyce . . .She was childless. Could she possibly want to adopt?

Harry reached the top of the stairs. He pushed opened the closed wood and metal straps bound door just enough to emerge and stepped up upon the concrete slap floor of the garden shed. Once he was through, Harry allowed the heavy wood door to drop back down, closed. He dropped the paper bag he was carrying to the side. Harry turned back around to face the door on the floor, crouched down, spread his arms, and slid his fingers under the surprisingly thin door. Harry lifted the ends up and folded the laminated cardboard door with a painted brass pull ring on it, into three pieces. He slid the rectangular cardboard construct into the space between the shed wall and a shelf.

Right, Harry stood with his fists on his hips, frowning in concentration. What was first on the List? His lips curled into a happy smile. Dudley's baby pictures . . .Petunia did take the most embarrassing naked baby pictures he could remember ever seeing. Making certain every single student and faculty member at school had their own copies, was going to be somewhat time consuming. Still, Harry thought, as he happily skipped out of the shed, like anything worthwhile in life, it was one of those things that was going to be well worth the effort.

 

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Okay, the little guy's a monster. But, honestly, what can you expect from someone in his circumstances?

Before anyone comments: Looking over the detective agency's report, Harry is beginning to suspect that Fate and Destiny are not going to be thwarted by a little thing like their Chosen One not being born. Nature hates a vacuum; and by that sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry thinks he knows who is going to full up that void.

Anyway, Harry is aware of the Wizarding world, and Dumbledore's schemes. He wants no part of any of it, and is actively making preparations to escape his evil, twisted relatives, Dumbledore, and Hogwarts before his letter arrives.

Harry's schemes don't all revolve around escape or vengeance plans. He is going to try and reconstitute his Sunnydale family. Harry misses Joyce, and sees her childless state as an opportunity. That maybe, he could get her to adopt him?

If somehow you missed the paragraph in the flashback, the one with the First Slayer, yes, the snake thing she's cooking is Tommy's horucrux.

Yep. Like, Eww.

As for wizards living on or nearby Privet Drive, consider the owls in the opening chapter. They were flying so close to the ground, they were practically smashing into the Dursley's first floor windows. They wouldn't have done that, unless they were coming in for a landing nearby. Then there were the wizards and witches Harry was frequently running into around the neighborhood, before getting his Hogwarts' letter.

How would Petunia have reacted to having 'freaks' for neighbors? Or knowing her beloved Privet Drive wasn't as 'normal' as she thought it was? I can imagine it's like a neo-Nazi waking up one morning, and discovering that there's a black, Jewish, family living next door to him.

Up next? Maybe Vernon, or Dudley.

Star Wars was mentioned, so just in case: George Lucas owns Star Wars, not me. There, satisfied?

Thanks, and bye!
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