Disclaimer: I don’t own them.
Spoilers: Not really any specific spoilers, but it does happen after OotP and season seven of Buffy.
Summary: It’s never a good idea to let your guard down, by now Harry Potter should have learnt that.
Harry was sitting at the Three Broomsticks enjoying a butterbeer. It was the first time in weeks that he’d had time to relax. Sometimes he thought he’d made a bad career choice when he’d decided to become an Auror, even with Voldemort gone there was still a lot of his supporters out there stirring up trouble. When the remaining Death Eaters would have been taken care of something else would turn up, it always did.
A redheaded woman suddenly sat down at his table. “Are you really him?” She asked excitedly.
Harry sighed; he wasn’t in the mood for this. “I’m Harry Potter.”
“Could I... I mean could you...?” The woman said a bit breathlessly.
Even though she didn’t manage to articulate her question Harry knew what she wanted. He’d been in this same situation too many times before. He brushed away some of his hair and exposed the scar on his forehead.
The redhead looked at his forehead with aw. After all this time Harry still had trouble understanding what was so fascinating about it, it was after all just a scar.
“Is it really true what they say, that you killed You-Know-Who with his own wand?”
The way she said it, it sounded like such an admirable and brave thing, but in all honesty the seventeen year old Harry had been scared to death, kidnapped by Voldemort, stripped of his wand... It had been pure luck that he’d gotten hold of Voldemort’s wand when the Order had come to his rescue. It had been pure reflex to make the roof collapse, the fact that it had ended up killing Voldemort had not been planned and he wasn’t the only one who had ended up dead, Tonks had died there as well.
“Yes,” Harry answered her tiredly. He knew by now it would be no use trying to explain what had really happened.
“Do you really still have You-Know-Who’s wand?” That was another question Harry had grown used to, where that rumour had got started he didn’t know.
“No, the Ministry has it,” Harry told her. “It’s been three years, why don’t you use his real name?” He didn’t know why he bothered to try; it had become obvious to him that even after Voldemort was finally dead people were still afraid to use his real name.
Instead of looking as shocked at the thought as Harry had expected the redhead was grinning at him. Except that her head wasn’t red anymore, it was black and so were her eyes. As Harry reached for his wand she waved at him and suddenly he was somewhere else... and he couldn’t move!
Helplessly Harry fell to the ground. He realized that someone must have used a body binding spell on him as soon as he’d materialized. He had no idea however about how he’d been transported to where ever he was and who was behind it. He’d never seen the redhead before.
It couldn’t be more than a few minutes later that he heard her voice. “You going to have him lie there for long?”
“Just waiting for you,” a voice Harry definitely recognized answered. He’d spent years hating the owner of that voice, he’d know it anywhere.
As soon as the body binding spell was released Harry fumbled for his wand, almost certain that it would be in vain.
“Looking for this Potter,” the familiar voice sneered.
Harry pushed himself into a sitting position and looked at Malfoy who was holding Harry’s wand.
“Malfoy,” Harry spit out. “I thought you were on our side.”
“No, Potter I just wasn’t on Voldemort’s side.”
It was the first time Harry had ever heard Malfoy use Voldemort’s name.
“But you never did learn to see things in anything but black and white.”
“Draco knows to look at all the shades of gray,” the redhead standing next to Malfoy said. “That’s how he found me.”
“Who are you?” Harry asked her.
“I’m Willow,” the redhead answered. “Happy birthday Draco,” she then turned to say to Malfoy. “I still don’t get why you wanted him as a gift.”
The redhead looked a bit wonderingly at Harry. “He’s just a man.” Then she shrugged and walked away.