A simple wish
Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon; All things Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm writing this for my own amusement, and really because I have nothing better to do :)
This is my first crossover/buffy fic; please be kind ;).
This is set before the end of season 6 in the Buffy world and after OOTP in Harry's world. Pairings TBD.
Harry Potter sat inside his room at Number 4, Privet Drive wishing hard that his life wasn’t so very messed up. The combined loss of Sirius and his new knowledge of the prophecy was weighing heavily upon his conscience. It was far too much for a 15 year old boy – 16 tommorow – to handle. Since returning to the Dursley’s home for the summer, he had been pretty much detached and spent most of his time in his room, alone but for his faithful owl, Hedwig. This had suited the Dursley’s fine – apparently his Uncle Vernon’s way of handling the threats made against him at the train station was to ignore Harry completely. He was even ignored at meal times, when the Dursley’s went to great lengths to avoid eye contact with him. Once, a couple of weeks ago, Dudley had asked him to ‘pass the salt’, and Uncle Vernon had turned beet red and sent Dudley to his room. That was the first time that Harry could recall Dudley ever being sent away from the supper table.
Of course, they still left all their dishes at the table for Harry to clean. Some things would never change. Still, he was not as affected by their refusal to acknowledge him as they would have liked him to be. He had too many things going through his mind as it was, and in Harry’s opinion the silence was a shade or two better than the cruel remarks that he was used to.
So, Harry had pretty much no one to talk to about the events of the past year. Ron and Hermione had sent a couple of owls, and their letters were pretty superficial – it seems that even his best friends were at a loss of words with him. Again, he didn’t mind or didn’t care. So he read the letters from Ron, which spoke mostly of the twins and their new business venture, and he read the letters from Hermione about her holiday in the States with her parents, but he did not reply to them. All he wanted to talk about was Sirius, and it was overly apparent to him that his friends were going to great lengths to avoid that topic.
He sat on his bed, alone with his thoughts, regrets, and fears and thought about how it was bloody unfair that the fate of the wizarding world seemed to rest on his shoulders. For a long time, he allowed himself to wallow in guilt and self-pity without giving any thought to exactly how he could improve upon his own situation. It rathar took him by surprise to notice how much time had passed when he finally decided to give up the ghost and try for some sleep. A glance at the clock on his nightstand told him it was exactly 12:01.
“Happy sodding birthday, Harry,” he said out loud to himself as he went to pull his threadbare blanket over him, his room having suddenly become quite chilly. His owl, Hedwig, hooted softly and turned her head to look at him with an expression that he recognized as concern. Sighing, he got up and walked over to her cage and scratched her head just under her beak. This seemed to pacify her, and she turned her head to present a better target for him.
“Hedwig, sometimes I just wish that I could just be the happy go lucky sidekick, and not the central figure here. Let someone else be the wizarding world’s savior – I’m done with it,” he said. He received another soft ‘hoot’ in response, and she looked at him with big, intelligent eyes full of understanding. Feeling a little bit better, he went back to his bed, taking his glasses off of his eyes and placing them carefully on his nightstand before crawling back under the covers. He was just too self absorbed to notice the figure hovering outside his window, and it wasn’t long before he had fallen into a deep and restful sleep.
His pain had been so strong she was able to feel it from thousands of miles away. Even though it was a type of pain that she normally did not deal with, she felt compelled to handle this case. The boy was thirsting for vengeance, that was apparant, but yet he seemed in a way to be almost defeated. She wasn't good at this kind of thing -- broken hearts were her gig, mostly; Halfrak was the one who usually handled 'loss of loved ones'. Nevertheless, it was her who was called to this location and not her sister-in-arms.
Hoping to gain more of an insight on the boy, she magicked the window open a bit, and watched as the boy got up and spoke to a large white bird. A smile came across her demonic face, as she listened to the boy’s words. A wish, so vaguely phrased. With a smirk, she thought of how she could use this opportunity to both improve the boy's situation and get a little payback of her own. She watched him settle himself back down in bed and waited until she could hear him softly snoring.
“Done,” the demoness Anyanka said, before disappearing with a soft *pop*.
He had left her at the altar. She was everything that was good in his life, and he left her standing there. Now, all he could feel was this enormous empty place inside – a warm and fuzzy place where she used to be.
He missed her dearly, and knew that he had screwed up massively. That’s what brought him here – to the Bronze – slinging back whisky sours like they were water to a fish. Xander Harris, the boy who fixed things, did not even know how to begin to fix this. All he could do was drink and mope and wonder where exactly things went wrong.
It was a drunk Xander Harris who eventually made his way back to his apartment. In the back of his mind he knew he was going to wake up with one hell of a hangover, but at the moment he really didn’t care. Looking around, he was reminded of her absence once more by the state of disaster the place was in. He headed over to the bed – their bed – as he undressed, letting the clothes lay wherever they fell, and dropped into it like a brick. Within moments, he was out like a light.
The next morning, he was surprised to wake up headache free, considering his overindulgence the night before. Sleepily, he blinked his eyes a couple of times, and rolled over towards her side of the bed, hoping to take some comfort in her scent that still remained on her pillow. It came as quite of a shock to him when instead of encountering a nice, soft pillow, he fell right off of the bed, landing on the floor with a large thump. Huh. He must have been further on the right side of the bed than he thought he was.
Sleepily, he rubbed his eyes, trying to get them to focus, but for some reason they wouldn’t. ‘Great,’ he thought to himself. ‘On top of everything else I’m going blind.’ Reaching out, he grabbed at the side of the bed and pulled himself up to a standing position. It was then that he noticed what appeared to be a set of eyeglasses sitting on his nightstand. He wouldn’t have noticed them at all, except for their kinda nerdy ‘Where’s Waldo’ quality and incongruity with the rest of his stuff. Confused, he grabbed them, and placed them on his face. It was only then that he was able to examine his surroundings with clarity.
That was definitely not his bed. It had been a very, very long time since he slept in a twin, and it’s a wonder his back wasn’t killing him what with the condition of that mattress. Neither was that his – owl? Huh?
Okay, so he definitely was not in his own apartment. The question was, where the hell did he end up last night? He knew he was drunk, but he didn’t think he was THAT drunk. Shaking his head, he stumbled around the room, examining it’s contents – was the hell kind of broom was that?? – before feeling the urge to relieve himself.
Walking towards the door, he realized he didn’t know where the bathroom was. He was someplace he didn’t recognize and God knows who or what lived here. This was Sunnydale, after all. Cautiously he opened the door and looked out into the hallway. There were three more doors, only one of which was open, down the hall and to the right. He went for it, chancing that it would be the bathroom.
Still in somewhat of a sleepy haze, he didn’t bother to look at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he passed it, instead focusing on the ‘alchohol-recycling receptacle’.
It was after he pulled off his pajama bottoms – which weren’t his, and he didn’t remember putting on, by the way – that he knew that things were definately and undeniably wrong.
That certainly wasn’t his little solder, unless his soldier regained his helmet overnight.
Thoughts of Giles experience of having been turned into a demon went through his head frantically until he backed up and looked at his reflection in the mirror, all thoughts of relieving himself gone.
Well, at least he was human -- could be worse, considering he had woken up somewhere in the Twilight Zone.
He was presented with the reflection of a boy, no older than 16 or 17, with dark messy hair, green eyes, the ‘Where’s Waldo’ glasses a little too big for his face and a funny little scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightening bolt.
“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” he said out loud to himself, for a moment too stunned to do anything but stare at his reflection.
Things definately could be worse, he supposed -- but not much.