Regardless of any current rumors floating around, the truth is: I OWN NOTHING HERE! Buffy the Vampire Slayer
and all materials, characters, settings belong to Joss Whedon and his associates. J. K. Rowlings invented and wrote Harry Potter
and all his weird and wonderful little friends. If you recognize anything, remember, IT'S NOT MINE!
Sorry to say I'm not planning on taking RECYCLE, PLEASE! up to a fifth chapter. After I finish chapter four, and put a complete on it, I'll consider what Reincarnated Buffy/Harry will do next.
However, while I was thinking about that story and its direction, a nasty little drabble started forming in my head. Deciding not to allow it to fade away, I wrote it down, cleaned it up a bit, and served it to you--My readers. :)
What Reincarnated Buffy/Harry did at the Sorting Ceremony.
The Buffy And The Hat
"Albus! Quickly! Do something!" Minerva McGonagall shouted frantically. Her hands clamped over her ears.
"I am trying, Minerva! I am trying
!" Headmaster Albus Dumbdore roared back, desperately waving his wand over the shrieking Sorting Hat. The sound doing the impossible by cutting through every silencing spell used on it. Dumbledore was beginning to suspect the sound was mostly mental instead of completely aural in nature.
It was the boy (That Boy! Albus growled to himself
), Harry Potter, who earlier in the evening had done what a thousand years worth of students had been unable to achieve--Break the Sorting Hat! Earlier, in the Great Hall . . .
The exclamations and whispers began immediately. Albus watched with twinkling eyes as a small boy, with green eyes hidden behind rectangular lenses (Albus inwardly frowned--Whatever had happened to those round-rimmed glasses he had given Petunia to give to Harry? The ones that had been James Potter's?), and a thatch of wild dark hair hesitantly stepped forward.
No matter, Albus decided, relaxing. A trivial thing--The boy still resembled his father enough to cause James Potter's enemies to remember mistreatment at James' hands; enough to pour ill will down on his son's head.
As for the rest . . .Albus was pleased to see a tiny, black swathed figure timidly approaching the Hat, his head slightly down, his hands hidden in the bunched up folds of his robe's sleeves. The Headmaster smiled gently, certain he was seeing a humble, fearful child. A child who would need guidance, and--
In front of his disbelieving eyes, a shocked Albus Dumbledore witnessed little Harry James Potter drop the concealing sleeves and reveal a tall can of muggle hair spray in one hand, and in the other hand, a cigarette lighter similar in design to his own deluminator. With a savage grin on his face, and happy mad cackle, Harry James Potter turned the can of hair spray into a homemade flame-thrower!
Fortunately, the Sorting Hat was well protected and bespelled against flames.
So, why the devil was it doing still screaming?! Dumbledore silently cursed, waving an ineffectual Elder wand at it.
"I was wrong, Minnie!" Shouted Severus Snape. His own hands tight against his ears.
"In what way, Sev?" McGonagall yelled back.
"The Boy! That boy is going to be a far worse menace then his father had ever been!" The morose Potions master spate out.
Minerva McGonagall silently sighed--For once, she glumly agreed, for just once, Serverus Snape just had to be right about a Potter!
Okay, I sense pitchforks and torches being picked up . . .For those of you confused about the title--Buffy can mean Bunny, like in rabbit. Like in rabbit out of the hat . . .And, oh, boy, I can feel that mob getting bigger!
Anyway, I was thinking what a big chunk of coincidence it happened to be that Harry ended wearing the same style of glasses his father used to wear.
As for why the Sorting Hat was 'stuck'? Harry got some hair spray into the Hat's 'eye' first, causing it to yell in surprise (Pain? Nah, I doubt the Hat can feel pain.). Then the sticky hair spray set, getting the hat stuck on that yell. After Harry lit the hair spray, the Hat's own protection spells kicked in, protecting even the sticky foreign crap on it.
Yeah . . .Okay, it's about to hit 5 in the morning, and I want to get some sleep. Hours from now I'll reread this--And wonder what the hell was I think? But that's for later; for now--Nighty-night, and thanks a bunch!