: Making With the RambleAuthor
: PG-13 for potty languageDisclaimer
: Dawn and co. belong to Joss, Harry and co. belong to JK Rowling. I don’t own anything, no copyright infringement was intended, this is non-profitable.Notes
: A few Brit slang that you don’t read in HP fics. Here are the down and dirty teenage speak from the land of Brits. Keywords
-Ming: Ugly, unattractive
-Fit: good looking, attractive
-Well fit/well ming: very good looking/very ugly
-ginger minger: people with ginger hair that are unattractive. They’re stereotypes, mostly tend to be Welsh.
-Chav: ah hell. This one is slightly harder to explain. Basically people with greasy, slicked back hair, two bits of hair pulled out to frame the face (usually this bit is gelled), wears massive hoop earrings, high ponytail, thick lipgloss, tracksuit bottoms that are rolled up to three quarter length and trainers.
-townie: a person who lives in a town, loves to shop, talks designer, has no idea where the food on her/his plate comes from etc. A chav is usually a townie, but not all townies are chavs.
-ginger: soft “g”. Geen’er.
-minger: meeng-erStory starts here
The air rippled with the heat, waves of it hitting her like surf hitting the beach, continuously. Tirelessly. Over and over again, drawing sweat out of her pores, sticking cotton t-shirt to her back like a second skin. It was un-bearable. Really, really unbearable. It was far too much, far far too much; but she had a job to do. And… the job didn’t require her to run like a girl into the nearest store that had air-conditioning. Or at least a fan. Geez, she’d been made aware that English weather was just generally crap, what with rain all year ‘round and all that. No one mentioned heat waves, oh no. Fuck.
Dawn lifted a hand and pushed back strands of hair that had become damp and sticky with sweat and let out a breath of impatience. Whatever they were doing, they were taking a hell of a long time doing so. Damn, damn, damn. She spied a Haagen Daaz shop near by, but knew that while it would have been heaven itself… she’d kick herself if something happened when she’d been gone. Stupid, stupid mission. Stupidly hot day, as well. Damn Watcher’s Council and their stingy-ness. Damn the fact that they’d had to travel all the way here to find that stupid book on that one prophecy. Damn. She huffed a breath again, and checked her watch for the umpteenth time. 3 O’clock, exactly two minutes after she last checked it. Damn. And she really seemed to be saying “damn” a lot. Damn. She really needed to stop it.
“Excuse me, miss. Do you need any help?”
Dawn blinked at the smooth, British accented voice and fought the dip of her stomach. Despite being in the land of Brit accents, they still caught her off-guard and gave her the occasional butterflies. And this guy? He had a sweet voice to start off with. He had the kind of voice Faith… or someone… would describe as a “bedroom voice”. And she really needed to stop reading Mills & Boons-type books. Really. And stop saying really, as well. Cause that was just getting kinda on the annoying side. Kinda. She turned, finally, and blinked when she met with a pair of bright green eyes that kinda stood out more because of the round, steel rimmed glasses that he wore. Whoa. He was kinda on the hot side. What Cordy would call “salty goodness”. And now she was annoyingly saying “kinda” all the time. And oh god. She was rambling. In her head. Willow would be proud. What she didn’t realise as the little monologue was running in her head that an awkward silence had fallen until she heard the guy clear his throat. She flushed.
“Oh,” she ducked her head, her face hot. “Sorry. Must’ve spaced. A huge problem with me. Spacing, that is. I kinda tend to do that a lot. Buffy says that I get that from her. The spacing. My teachers that have had her would agree. Totally… And I’m rambling, aren’t I?” Green-eyed dude was looking faintly amused as she’d steadily gone redder after each word.
“S’kay,” he shrugged. “It’s nice to actually having someone talking for once. People’ve been too quiet recently… unless they’re pestering me about something.”
“Oh,” she grinned in relief. “That’s good. Not that they’re “pestering” you, but that you don’t mind. With the rambling. That’s always a good thing. People say I talk too much, I don’t really see that. I mean, I’m not as bad as, say, Willow. She’s the queen of ramble, really. And she talks loads more than I do. Really. And I’m starting to say really, again. I’m saying that too much. Or thinking that too much. That, and kinda. And damn. I really have to stop saying that… and I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” She looked sheepish as the young man threw back his head and laughed. She couldn’t help thinking that while the sound seemed slightly rusty, it still had a nice peal to it. She had to keep on doing that… and when had she started thinking of this random guy in more than a “hi-bye-nice-to-talk-to-a-random-stranger” way? Weird. “I’m Dawn. Dawn Summers.”
“Harry Potter,” he offered his hand to hers for a shake, a smile playing at his lips when Dawn’s eyes widened. She stared at the young man in front of her, taking in the tousled black hair, the green eyes and, now that she was looking for it, the scar peeking under all that hair.
“Wow,” she breathed. “You’re
Harry Potter. My sister would, like, freak. Totally. And Willow. They’re so for you, by the way. The fact that you defeated that Moldywart guy? Major kudos to you.” He had immediately stiffened as she had let it out that she knew his identity. Those eyes of his clouded over with wariness, and his posture seemed to be stiffer, like he was closing in on himself. Dawn noticed this and stared in dismay. “Oh hell. I’m sorry. Really. I know you must be pretty damn sick of people going all “omigod, it’s the guy that saved the world” on you. Sorry. I don’t think before I speak. Buff says I get that from Faith. Except, you know, less vulgar. Well, around her, at least. Except I think that Buffy’s kinda the “speak before thinking” kinda person, so it’s really a case of the kettle calling the pot black. Or the pot calling the kettle black. Or… Damn. I’m rambling again, aren’t I? Geez, it’s the third time since talking to you. Dude, you’ve got a really bad effect on me, I haven’t rambled this much since, you know, having that crush on Spike when I was fourteen and walking in on him having a shower. That was bad. With the rambling. Not the view. Because Spike all nekki? Not a bad thing. Nuh-uh. And fuck. I’d wanted to stop rambling but I’m just going on with this, aren’t I? Damn.” He was laughing again by the end of her long spiel and she smiled sheepishly at him. She let out a breath and held out her hand. “Hi. Dawn Summers. Sister of Buffy Summers and incredibly embarrassed person.”
“Harry Potter,” he said, mock-gravely. “You apparently know who I am, but…” he scratched his head. “I can’t seem to find a reason for you to.” Dawn laughed.
“You’re joking, right? Like, anyone with any ties to the supernatural world hasn’t heard of the boy-who-lived-and-defeated-the-big-bad. Everyone owes you major thanks. That Moldywart guy was getting on everyone’s nerves. So, you know, two thumbs up and all that.”
“Voldemort,” Harry corrected absently, but the glint in his eyes showed him to be fascinated (or at least intrigued) by the American teenager in front of him. At least, she looked like a teenager. Her face had that kind of youthful pixie-ish look to it, her cheeks were slightly rounded and pink and the eyes that dominated her face were blue and clear… he’d almost call them innocent if he didn’t see the bone weary sadness in them, like she’d seen too much in her life. His own eyes echoed hers. She was also cute. And tall. For a girl, not that that said much. She was nearly his height, and she was wearing trainers that looked scuffed and well worn. She was slim as a reed and wearing snug jeans and a long sleeved purple v-necked jumper that showed a lot of collar bone. Actually… (here he almost blushed) she was well fit. In a way. In a young way. But you know, she was still fit. After spending some time with Hermione’s cousins who, while nice and smart and all, were still on the ming side. Hell, they were bloody stereotypical ginger mingers, and he hung out with Weasleys. Those blokes (and girl) were quite a good looking bunch, despite the ginger hair. One thing, though… “How old are you?” he blurted out. She looked surprised, then bemused.
“21. I know I don’t look it, too many people tell me that.”
“Oh,” Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Right. That’s… that’s good then.”
“Oh?” she raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow and suddenly Harry wondered why he didn’t realise that she was older than she looked. He’d felt like a right perv when he noticed her prettiness. It wasn’t the kind of detached notice that he’d usually give to a kid, either. His only defence was that he was a man, but he’d usually had quite a good reign on his hormones. Well… he had a better hold on his hormones than, say, Ron did. Or Charlie. Or Bill. Or even Kingsley Shacklebolt, and that was saying something. That man could give the best imitation of being bloody celibate. Of course, everyone in the auror department would then have to follow his example. The fecking arsehole. And he was doing the rambling thing she had mentioned.
“Yes. I’d, um, wondered. If you’d have a drink with me. You don’t have to, of course,” he put in hurriedly when she opened her mouth. “I mean, it would be perfectly alright to me. If you refused. Not that I wouldn’t mind. Well, I won’t. But I will. But…” he caught her chuckle and let out a breath. “Right. I don’t think this rambling business is restricted to yourself. Well then, miss Summers. Would you like to join me in a drink? And would it be forward of me to say that I’d rather hear your answer as a yes?”
She was grinning when she answered him
“You’re quite good at the rambling thing, you know. I wonder if it’s contagious, cause if it is, that might be kinda dangerous. As we’ve seen. And I know I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” He grinned, then he suddenly reached forward and tucked a strand of her hair back. When he pulled back, he flushed slightly at the surprised look on her face.
“Don’t want you to look like a chav, do we?”
“I guess not.” She smiled at him. “I never did give you my answer on the drink thing, did I?”
“No,” he agreed. “You were too busy rambling.” She laughed and tucked her hand into the crook of his, directing him into the building which her sister and her
sister slayer were engaged in business.
“I’ll need permission from big sis, a.k.a. the Slave Driver. But it’s a yes. I’ll go anyway, you know. Even if she said no. I’d just like to tell her I’ve gone. So that she doesn’t worry. She worries far too much, really. She always worries about me, which I know is a good thing because I get into way
too much trouble. See, going out with a guy I’ve just met. Even though he’s the protector of the wizarding world. Still, you know?” She steered him through the main hall of Gringotts and down into a private room where she knew Faith and Buffy would be. She knocked three times on the door, pushed it open and with a little wave to the goblin that had shown them the way, she stepped inside, pulling Harry with her.
“Hey, Buff. Lookit what I found!”
The blonde slayer raised an eyebrow at the flushing young man her sister had brought in. She took in his appearance and had to give Dawn some credit, the guy was a major hottie. The tousled hair look was good, and those eyes were amazing. She wasn’t sure about the glasses, though. Then she saw the scar.
“Whoa. Dawn, is that who I think it is?” Dawn’s wide grin answered her question, and she waved her sister’s answer away. “Nevermind, I know from your face. Dawnie, how’d you manage to find him?”
“Out in the street. You know, where you’ve left me for the past fifteen minutes. In the blazing hot sun.”
“I didn’t expect you to actually stay there,” Buffy rolled her eyes. “What happened to rebelling teenager?”
“Teen turned twenty one, hello?”
“Whatever. But oooh. Like Queen C would say, hello salty goodness! I’m Buffy, by the way. Dawn’s siter.”
“Harry Potter,” he said politely, holding out his hand for a shake. He managed to stifle the grunt of pain that he felt at her crushing grip, though he couldn’t stop himself from widening his eyes in surprise at the strength in that hand. “Bloody everlasting hell.”
“Sorry,” Buffy looked sheepish. “Slayer strength. I forget.”
“Yeah right,” Faith snorted. “Forget, my ass. Why don’t you give him the big ol’ warning, B? You obviously want to.”
“There’s this thing called subtlety. You should learn to use it.” This time, the snort came from two directions: Faith and
“Yeah, this comes from the girl whose motto is hit first, talk later,” Dawn said, sarcastically. “Cause you’re SO great at the subtleness.” Buffy looked offended.
“I am too
subtle.” Dawn only raised an eyebrow. “I could be if I wanted to.”
“Try that sometime. You might actually be able to halfway convince me, then.”
“Anyone ever told you you were a bitch?”
“You’re my sister. I learn from the best.” The Summers sisters glared at each other for several tense seconds… before Buffy broke into a smile.
“And don’t you forget it.”
“As if I could,” Dawn shot her sister a grin. “Alright, going now. I’ll meet you two back at the Watcher’s Council… late-ish. Don’t wait up!” With a lascivious wink at Faith, she dragged a bemused looking Harry Potter away from the two Slayers, him still slightly on the shocked side that a girl he’d met on the street happened to be the sister of the most famous Slayer of all time. At least she’d make for interesting company. Dawn chose that moment to turn around and offer him a dazzling smile and he couldn’t help but think, somewhat distantly, that she’d make for interesting… whatever else as well. He gulped.