A BtVs / Angel / Harry Potter / Sopranos / Highlander crossover. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel, after Harry Potter graduates, and nowhere in particular in Sopranos / Highlander continuity.
All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis.
Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites.
I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it.
Reposted to correct two spelling errors - No, that was not a continuity error at the end of the prologue, all will be explained in due course!
Bring Me The Head Of Harry Potter
by Marcus L. Rowland
"What do you mean, you won't sell me a beer?" asked Harry.
"This passport says you're under age," said the barman, "come back next year."
"I could buy a drink in Britain."
"Tough. The management has two big rules here, no violence and no selling alcohol or smokes without proof of age."
"I can't believe that a demon bar won't sell me a drink!"
"Demon kareoke bar," said a laughing voice behind him, "and no, this is neutral ground for our clients, not some sort of evil hell-hole. We obey the law. I'm Lorne, by the way, I own this place."
Harry turned to see a tall green demon in a smart green suit, who looked at him, smiled, and said "Here for the wizarding conference at UCLA?"
"How did you know about that? I thought it was being kept quiet."
"You may have noticed, the clientele here aren't exactly muggles. Looking around I can see two vampires, a werewolf, eleven assorted demons, two wizards and a witch from Industrial Light and Magic, one immortal, a reanimated evil lawyer, and four or five guys I don't recognise. And the 'Boy Who Lived', of course."
Harry self-consciously brushed his hair to cover the green scar on his forehead, blinked, and said "I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread that around. I'm old enough to vote, damn it, how long are they going to keep calling me 'boy'?"
"No problemo. Don't worry, most people on this side of the Atlantic won't recognise you, especially now you wear contacts instead of glasses. I use a clippings service, like to keep up with Rita Skeeter's show business column. If you'd like a magical disguise I can sell you one. If you'd like a coke or something it's on the house, Voldemort killed relatives of some of my friends."
"A pint of butterbeer?"
"Okay, that's legal. Gaston, pint of butterbeer for the gentleman, on the house. And another sea-breeze for moi."
"Thanks, that's great." Harry sipped the butterbeer a little warily, then more enthusiastically. "That's really good. Old Warlock brewery? Didn't think it travelled well."
"That's right. I had a few barrels shipped over a couple of weeks ago, so that they'd be nicely settled before the conference. Tell your friends. So... what are you doing now that the Big Bad is out of the picture?"
"University, then maybe a teaching job." He turned to watch a beautiful girl about his age, who was singing something he didn't recognise.
...I know I'm not perfect but I can smile
And I hope that you see this heart behind my tired eyes
If you tell me that I can't, I will, I will, I'll try all night
And If I say I'm coming home, I'll probably be out all night...
"Lovely voice," said Lorne, "but she always sings such sad songs. Usually Dido for some reason. There's history there, of course, I try hard not to see it."
"I'm psychic, get an idea of people's lives and futures if I hear them sing."
"You don't like psychics?"
"When you've spent your teens being stalked by the most powerful evil wizard in the world, predictions that you'll be in mortal danger get a little tiring."
"I get that. So, I'd heard you were thinking of becoming a Quidditch pro, what happened?"
"Quidditch is fun, but I don't think it's what I want to do with the rest of my life, though I'll try out for the Uni team next term. I was thinking more in terms of teaching Defence against the Dark Arts. Pass on some of the things I learned fighting Voldemort. Maybe coach Quidditch too."
"Can't think of anyone more qualified."
The girl finished her song, chatted briefly to someone at one of the tables, and came over towards the bar and the exit, saying "Goodnight, Lorne" as she went out. As she passed Harry felt an odd prickling, a sensation he sometimes felt near powerful magic.
"That kid packs one heck of an aura..." began Lorne, then stiffened and said "...and she's about to get herself killed. Damn, that'll teach me to pay more attention when someone sings. Harry..."
Harry was already half-way out of the door.
"Crap," said Lorne, and picked up the phone. "Come on, Angel, answer..."
* * * * *
The girl was nearly a block away when Harry caught up with her. "Excuse me, miss, just a second."
She turned. "Yeah? Do I know you?"
"No, but the demon at the bar said you're in danger."
"Must be Tuesday."
"Old joke. What sort of danger?"
"He said you were about to get yourself killed." This close he could see that she was even more attractive than he'd originally thought. A little taller than him, athletic, and gorgeous, in tight jeans and a t-shirt that didn't leave much to the imagination, a black leather jacket rolled up under her arm. "He didn't go into details."
"Not very helpful, but..." a dark car raced around the corner, one of the windows on the passenger side down. As it passed the girl shouted "Gun!" and pushed Harry to the ground. She was still upright when the machine-gun fired.
Half stunned, Harry picked himslf up to see her lying there, motionless and bleeding from at least three wounds.He found his wand and cast "Accio potion," summoning a flask from the stock in his suitcase. "Here, drink this." She didn't respond.
Harry raised her from the ground, and tried to make her drink from the flask. He felt numb as he realised that it was probably already too late. "What the...?" As he tried to make her drink tiny flashes of light moved across her chest, the wounds stopped bleeding, and seemed to close and heal by themselves. She coughed, gasped, and blinked.
"Damn it, I liked that shirt!"
"Well duh. Yeah, I'm alive."
"What are you?" He let go as she sat up and backed away, holding the wand defensively.
She stood, looked at the shirt, and swore, frowning as she noticed the nimbus of power around Harry's wand. Somehow she pulled a short sword from the jacket, and he vaguely wondered how it could have been hidden there as she assumed a defensive position and said "I am Dawn Summers, daughter of Joyce and sister of the Slayer. I am immortal and I cannot die."