For a Short Time.
A Harry Potter / Buffy the Vampire Slayer by Rose Williams.
Owned by JK Rowling.
Rated PG for alcohol consumption.
Author's Notes: This was inspired by the story behind the song For a Short Time, by Mick Thomas and the Sure Thing. It will be at least a week before the next chapter, sorry.
* * *
Sometimes you can say more, in a drunken hour or so
Than some people get across, in a life of lying low.
And sometimes you can feel more, for someone you've barley kissed,
but you don't see it at the time, and the moment that you've missed.
* * *
At twenty-one Wesley was the quintessential public school Oxford graduate: he was more comfortable in slacks than jeans and had never worn a windcheater in his life. His woollen jumper was dark green tonight, and suited him well. The four of them were all dressed like that, celebrating their first day of freedom from study with a drinking session at pub closest to Matthew's parents' house.
The publican had seemed surprised to see the group arrive. But he was willing to sell them as many pints of ale as they could afford. Wesley looked around the dark bar and dirty floor and thought that green was probably a good colour to have worn. The Rusty Nail attracted a usual crowd of blunt faced farmers and the occasional boat crew.
There was a battered old pool table in one corner. The light above it flickered occasionally, and there was only one cue, but Wesley stood up and to find the chalk.
"Rudy, a game?" he called.
Matthew had to punch Rudy lightly on the shoulder before the heavier man responded, which he did only by blinking stupidly.
"I'll play," a voice said.
Wesley almost dropped the chalk in shock. She was beautiful. In this dingy bar in the English Midlands there was a beautiful woman, who was his age. Her green eyes and red hair were noticeable, even in the weak light. The hotel boats had gone through the day before, so she wasn't a local tourist. In fact, she looked remarkably comfortable standing in the bar in an old looking long skirt and blouse.
The rest of the bar weren't staring at her the way they had at the Oxford boys, so she was probably a local. This meant the other drinkers would defend her against him. Wesley decided to play it safe, and smiled, he hoped.
"I would be honoured," he managed, and bowed.
His gallantry always went down better when he'd had a few. The woman smiled and held out her hand.
"I'm Lily," she said.
"Wesley," he replied, shaking her hand.
"Do you want to break?" she asked.
Wesley accepted as nonchalantly as possible. Lily collected the balls and set them on the table before standing back to let Wesley start.
He broke, and they played in silence to the third pot. Then Lily, who had obviously been checking out Wesley's clothes and his friends in the corner, asked:
"What did you study?"
"History," Wesley said.
Lily nodded neutrally and Wesley felt a great desire to prove himself.
"And, ah, mythology, classics, comparative religion."
"I know a bit of mythology," Lily said. "What myths."
"Vampires," Wesley said. He took the cue back off her and tried to set up his shot. "Mostly, anyway. And demons, prophecy, how fate works."
"Fate?" Lily echoed.
"You're sceptical," Wesley said, "A lot of people are."
"Not exactly," Lily said. "I just mean, is there like a book where everything that's going to happen to us is written down?"
"That's not fate," Wesley said, sounding more certain for the alcohol. "Fate is that there are a certain number of things that have to happen, and some of what we have now is here so that that can happen. But the rest is just everyday stuff, the choices people make."
Lily lined up her shot for the three-ball carefully to give herself some time.
"Choices can also generate fate, though," she said. "Or chance."
"Yeah," Wesley agreed heartily.
He grinned as she missed the pocket by half an inch, and took the cue.
"There's no book that was written at the beginning. And there are all sorts of prophecies that cancel each other out. Or get fulfilled by accident when no one's looking."
"They all get fulfilled, though, don't they?" Lily said.
Wesley barely registered the depression in her voice.
"It depends on the interpretation," he said. "That's the thing with translating them. You have to be careful you don't get carried away with what you think is going to happen."
"What about modern prophecies, clairvoyants?"
Wesley blinked as Lily potted two balls in succession and lined up the shot for a third. She wouldn't make, so he forced himself to answer her question.
"Don't know of any," he said. "Most of the Slayer prophecies are hundreds of years old. We're getting towards the end of them, too. Some people reckon we might only have fifty years left."
"You said Slayer. The girl-warrior? It's your shot," she added, handing back the cue and taking another sip of her drink.
"She's in South America at the moment," Wesley said.
He took care to line up his shot. There were now only a few balls on the table, and he wanted to win, or at least loose respectfully.
"You're all going to be Watchers?" Lily asked.
If Wesley had had any less to drink he might have questioned how such a girl in such a place would have heard about the Slayer. If he were sober he would have remembered the strange people lived in the Midlands, but as it was he grinned at the sense of awe in her voice.
"Oh, yes," he said. "We're celebrating the start of our freedom. You know, before we have to start as graduates in autumn."
"Must be nice," Lily sighed.
Wesley noticed her tone, even through the alcohol and raised an eyebrow. Lily shrugged.
"Just, prophecies," she said. "They can be a bit… constraining."
Lily won by two shots, mostly because she had had less to drink than Wesley. She joined his friends at their table and they bought her another drink to celebrate her win.
"To freedom," they toasted.
Lily raised her glass with a wistful sigh.
"She knows about the Slayer," Wesley said.
Matthew, Rudy and Thomas seemed to think this was a brilliant discovery and preceded to tell Lily everything they could remember after seven years of schooling and a large quantity of alcohol.
Lily had never cared for ale, and so was drinking cider. But the sweetness belied the fact that it was much more alcoholic than Butterbeer, which was all she had ever drunk before.
She soon found herself telling these nice, young, Muggle men much more than she would have under any other circumstances. But then, they were probably talking too much too.
They discussed prophecy, fate, determinism and Margaret Thatcher. Lily didn't join in the talk of current politics, but they did learn that she was married, with a son.
"A boy, very good," Rudy had declared. "A toast to the boy."
They all drank again, Lily giggling into her cider.
"Why isn't your husband here, then?" Matthew asked. "He's confident enough to let as pretty a wife as you out on your own."
"Oh, I'm well able to look after myself," Lily said. "Or at least, I always thought so. Seems I can't do that anymore, or at least, we can't protect Harry ourselves."
And that Lily considered this day her last day of freedom. Wesley had a visceral reaction to her sentiments. She noticed the stricken look on his face and patted his hand clumsily.
"We'll be secrets," she said. "Not prisoners. And we have good friends."
Wesley had nodded, reassured more by her tone of voice than the words. The evening slowly faded into a blur of football talk, the history of the Royal house of Windsor and a sense of joy Wesley hadn't felt before. He was sure that most of it had to do with the three of them finding Lily and getting her to laugh.
Sometime soon before they left. Lily stood up so suddenly Thomas had fallen over. Most of the locals had cleared out, so there was no one to complain. Lily took a camera out of her bag and held it up like a prize.
"What are you doing with that?" Matthew asked.
"I'm going to take a photo," Lily said. "I've only got one or two shots left. I thought I'd print them tomorrow."
Rudy dragged Thomas back up off the floor and propped himself up on his elbows. Matthew dragged Wesley into the middle of the group. Lily smiled cheekily as she lined up the focus, so Wesley pocked his tongue out at her. The shutter clicked and she laughed.
"You ruined it," she told him.
"Take the next one," Matthew demanded.
Lily carefully put the camera back into her bag and sat back down.
"It was the last shot," she said.
Matthew pouted. Lily smacked him lightly, but it didn't help.
"I have to go now, anyway," she said. "I have things to do tomorrow, you know?"
The three Watchers-to-be nodded sagely. They stood as she did to escort her out the door.
"Do you want to be walked home?" Wesley asked, not forgetting her comments about able to look after herself.
"No, thank you," Lily said. "And thanks for a wonderful night."
In a fit of free spirits she kissed each of them warmly and walked backwards down the street waving at them. They all waved back, more than a little dazed, and she laughed, before turning her back on them and walking back into Godric's Hollow.
Wesley watched her go with a warm smile. For one evening, in the presence of the strange woman, he had felt like a normal person, freed from the constraints of his father and his calling. He promised himself that if he remembered nothing else about the evening he would remember that and the power of prophecies, which could wreck such havoc on the people they concerned, just by their very existence.