Title: Harry Potters and the Ultimate Scooby Gang, Part 1
Author: Nopporn Wongrassamee aka the Evil Author
E-Mail Address: EvilAuthor@aol.com
Archive: Anywhere and everywhere. Just tell me if you do.
Spoilers: Anything goes
Summary: The Gang goes shopping.
Disclaimer: Characters and concepts belong to their owners who I'm too lazy to list.
***
The Watcher was writing up a summary of the little adventure he had just been dragged into. It wasn't everyday that the Time Lord witnessed the death of a god first hand. Some of the energy readings were fascinating, definitely needing further study. This was the purpose of his existence. The Watcher watched and recorded and studied unusual events in the multiverse. Typically, these happened among the dimensions more primitive than his highly advanced people's own. This was mostly because such worlds made up the overwhelming majority of the multiverse.
A thunk from the table told him he was not alone. He looked up.
"Where the heck does a girl get a new wardrobe around here?" Buffy Summers asked. She was seated across from him, leaning back in her chair with her feet propped on the tabletop. Her weapon, the Scythe, was lying across her lap. In regards to her question, the Watcher noticed that she was still wearing the torn and ripped leather outfit she had entered his TARDIS with. Fortunately, she had bathed and cleaned herself earlier even if she still wore primitive animal skins.
It annoyed the Watcher that he had uninvited guests. They had forced themselves on him not long ago subjectively speaking. Due to some great cosmic joke, the Time Lord's current form resembled someone his passengers knew. As near as the Watcher could tell, that was the sole reason he had been conscripted as their mode of interdimensional transportation.
On the positive side, his passengers were uniquely fascinating. Buffy Summers, or this version of her at least, was actually older than he was. A victim of one of the longest time loops on record, she had been sent some twenty thousand years back in time. There the last true demon leaving the Earth planes had turned her into a kind of proto-vampire. Then some primitive human shamans had cut out her heart and used it to empower a line of mystical warriors called Slayers. Her soul had traveled with her heart, and jumped from Slayer to Slayer until the opportunity arose to retake possession of her original body.
"There are any number of clothing fabricators in the guest rooms," the Watcher told her. "Perhaps you are too primitive to recognize and use them..."
"Oh, I found them fine," Buffy interrupted. "And I figured out how to use them. But they only make stuff in tweed."
"It is not tweed," Giles said stiffly. "The fabric is a nanotech based material capable of..."
"It looks like tweed. It feels like tweed," Buffy insisted. "It's
tweed."
"And this material does not meet your approval?"
"No, it does not," Buffy replied shortly. Then a look of slight embarrassment crept into her face. "Well, except that I made a strap for the Scythe so that I could wear it on my back instead of carrying it everywhere." She held up the strap in question. It was attached to the weapon just above where the axe blade was mounted on the shaft and where the wooden stake was mounted. "But believe you me, I'll replace it with a trendier material as soon as possible," she added quickly.
"Yes, I'm sure you will," the Watcher replied dryly.
"Hey, what's going on?" said another of the Watcher's uninvited passengers from the door that lead to the private quarters. He entered the main hall and sat himself in a chair next to Buffy. He was carrying a tall paper cup with a lid and a straw; he had obviously figured out how to use the food synthesizers. He also was wearing the clothes he had arrived with. His had not been quite as abused as Buffy's had been. Now, his clothing looked almost undamaged.
"Trying to convince Mr. Watcher here to take us on a shopping trip, Xander. I need a new wardrobe that ISN'T tweed," Buffy told him. She looked Xander over. "Hey, how come your clothes aren't all ripped like they were before?"
"Sewing kit," Xander answered, pulling said kit from the depths of his long coat. "You wouldn't believe the number of times I've had to patch my clothes together after a fight."
Xander Harris was fascinating in his own right. He carried the fragment of a god, which rendered him nearly unkillable. Although not possessing much in the way of powers that he could consciously use, Xander was capable of surviving and healing injuries that would have killed his friends. By no means unique, the only way to truly end his existence was for another of his kind - they called themselves "Immortals" - to do the deed. Even then, his fragment and the very essence of himself would be absorbed and live on in the victor. The Immortals would battle each other until they had collected all the fragments in their dimension and became a literal god very much like the one they had just killed.
"Hey, could I borrow that, Xander?" Buffy asked, pointing at the sewing kit. "Maybe I can patch up my own clothes."
"Sure, but I only have black thread," Xander said, handing her the kit. He wore all black. Coat, pants, shirt, boots, body armor, it was all black. Buffy had referred to it as the "Neo" look whatever that meant. It sounded vaguely cultural to the Watcher. "Although I think you'd look great as a sort of negative Cat-woman."
"Hmm, no thanks then," Buffy said, handing the kit back to Xander.
"I prefer the Sheena Queen of the Jungle look any way," Xander replied, grinning.
In response, Buffy swatted Xander on the shoulder hard enough to send him sprawling to the floor.
"Ow! Geez, Buffy," Xander gasped as he got up, arm loosely hanging at his side. "I think you broke my arm."
"It'll heal, won't it?" Buffy asked casually as if she were talking about the weather.
"That's not the point," Xander said, experimentally flexing his arm. Apparently, it was no longer broken. An Immortal's healing rate was phenomenal to those unfamiliar with it. "You gotta be careful with that super strength of yours. What if I hadn't been Immortal?"
"Then I wouldn't have hit you so hard," Buffy said, unconcerned.
"Hey guys. What's happening?" asked the third and final passenger as she walked in from the guest quarters. She sat in a free chair on the opposite side of Buffy from Xander.
"Trying to arrange a shopping spree, Willow," Buffy answered.
"Trying to convince Buffy not to use me as a punching bag," Xander said at the same time.
Willow's eyebrows rose in surprise, but didn't ask for details.
Willow Rosenberg was a self-described witch. She had the ability to draw energy from her environment and shape it into forms dictated by her mind. Willow called the process "magic", a term the Watcher abhorred in private. While Willow's ability wasn't unusual, the amount of power she could channel was immense for a mere human being with only a minor side effect. The side effect was that her hair had changed color to a half white, half black pattern. The white extended from roots and changed to black about two thirds of the way, as if the last third had been dipped in ink. It was a most unnatural though attractive look.
Though physically the frailest of the trio, Willow was in her own manner the most powerful. Buffy was the first to notice the latest example of this power.
"Hey, Wills, where'd you get the new clothes?" she asked.
"Oh, I rearranged the molecules of my clothes with a spell," Willow replied. She was currently wearing a red and green turtleneck sweater and jeans. She looked apologetically at the Watcher. "Tweed didn't agree with me."
"It's not tweed!" the Watcher protested.
"Cool," Buffy said, ignoring the Watcher. "Can you do mine too?"
"Sorry," Willow replied regretfully. "Not a whole lot of energy to draw on in here. After what happened when I changed my clothes, I don't think I ought to do it again."
Ah, that explained the odd power dropouts and alarms earlier, the Watcher thought.
"So what are you up to?" Willow asked the Watcher.
"I was attempting to get some work done," the Time Lord replied irritably. "Although that seems to be a lost cause."
"Huh, I guess that brings us back around to shopping," Buffy said.
***
Atop a tower in the land of Mordor, the Eye of Sauron blazed, a circle of fire divided by an infinitely black slit pupil. The eye gazed across the land, taking in everything. A battle raged just outside Mordor, a battle that was quickly becoming irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.
The pupil widened and a small feminine form stepped out of it. Willowmorte turned back to the Eye and seemed to inhale. The Eye lost form and flowed over and into the Dark Lady as she absorbed and assimilated the essence of Sauron into her being. When she turned her attention back to the world, the Eye of Sauron burned on her right breast like a badge.
She tasted the aether. Yes, with the magical resources of this world, ultimate power would be hers. Worlds would tremble before her. Only one component remained. The part of her that had been Sauron had bound his power to a physical object. A silly idea in retrospect, but it seemed clever at the time. All that remained was for her servants to bring it to her and.
Wait.
Something was missing. The object holding Sauron's share of power, the One Ring, was no longer singing its song of temptation into the aether. It wasn't destroyed because the only way to do so would have destroyed Mordor. As Mordor was still here.
Willowmorte's mental voice echoed across Middle Earth, bringing her servants and foes alike to their knees.
"WHERE'S MY RING?!"
***
The place was an anomaly in this dimension. It was flat, empty, and fenced in. It wasn't very big, a square some twenty feet on each side. A single gate led beyond the lot, guarded by a hulking brute in mirror finished armor toting a ridiculously large sword in one hand. The only clue to the nature of the armor's occupant was a red light that bounced back and forth in the helmet's visor. Passersby gave the guard a wide berth.
A TARDIS materialized in the lot and assumed the form of a wooden outhouse. Moments later, the door swung open. The Watcher emerged followed by his three passengers.
"Welcome to the Bazaar of Deva," the Watcher said. "Home dimension of the Deveels. Beyond that gate is the biggest den of con artists, merchants, and so-called business demons you'll find anywhere. They claim that if you can't find it here, it doesn't exist. I'm sure this place will be adequate for your shopping needs. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He vanished back into the TARDIS.
"What are Deveels?" Xander asked as they headed out.
"The con-artists, merchants, and so-called business demons our friendly neighborhood Giles impersonator mentioned," Buffy replied. "They're easy to recognize. Red skin. Horns."
"Wait a sec," Xander said as a new thought occurred to him. "How do we know that Watcher guy won't just leave us stranded here?"
"I'm sure he won't Xander," Willow said confidently. She pulled a strange, misshapen piece of metal from her pocket. "One of the things about helping to fix the TARDIS is that I also learned how to sabotage it."
They emerged into a crowded thoroughfare. Demons marched back and forth on foot. or slithered on tail, or scuttled, or whatever depending on their physiology. Open-air stalls in front or inside of tents lined the road.
A pedestrian bumped into Xander. It had no hair, four pupiless eyes, and a mass of tentacles where a mouth on a human would be. It wore what looked like a circus clown suit.
"Watch where you're going, Klahd," the critter said, barely stopping to speak.
"Hey, who's a clod?" Xander objected to the demon's back.
"Excuse me," Buffy said, halting a Deveel in a business suit passing by with a grip on his arm that made him wince.
"Ow, lady! Don't squeeze so hard." Willow and Xander looked in surprise. The Deveel's accent sounded a lot like a New Yorker's. Buffy didn't bat an eye. She just shrugged and let go. The Deveel rubbed the spot where she had grabbed him.
"I just want to ask a few questions," Buffy said innocently.
"Yeah yeah, make it quick," the Deveel told her. "Time is money and all that jazz."
"Is it all like this?" Buffy asked.
"Like what?"
"Like this open air market thingy," Buffy clarified, waving her hand vaguely. "The whole Bazaar?"
"Yeah, it is," the Deveel confirmed. He looked at them closely. "That's a funny question. You new here?"
"Yes." Willow began.
The Deveel looked over their shoulders at the hulking guard. "And you guys came out of the Time Lords' lot?"
"What of it?" Xander said defensively.
A look of pure greed flashed over the Deveel's face for a second before changing to what might loosely be described as helpful concern. Loosely. "Well, I just might be able to clear some time on my schedule to help you out. For a small fee of course."
"Of course," Buffy said dubiously.
"A fee?" Willow asked, frowning.
"Yeah, a fee." Seeing a blank stare coming from them, the Deveel tried again. "Y'know, I provide services and you provide cash in exchange. C'mon, we're talking Economics 101 here."
"Cash? As in money?" Xander asked.
"Yes! Cash. Money. As in gold," the Deveel said slowly, as if to a small, not too bright child.
"Guys, I don't supposed either of you picked up any spending money from our friendly neighborhood Time Lord did you?" Xander asked the girls. Willow shook her head. Buffy just shrugged.
"You don't have any money?" the Deveel asked, getting agitated.
"I don't suppose you guys take credit, do you?" Buffy asked.
"Credit? No one in the Bazaar takes credit!" the Deveel practically shouted. "You ought to know at least that much. What kind of Time Lords are you guys?"
"Er, we're not Time Lords," Willow answered, taken aback by the Deveel's tirade.
"We just ride around with one," Buffy added.
"Oh, you're one of THOSE," the Deveel sneered. "Klahds!" He turned away and stormed off into the crowd.
***
"Where is he?" Spike growled.
"He'll be here," Dawn replied between bites on her cheeseburger. "Now drink your blood shake like a good vampire."
Dawn and Spike lounged at a table in an outdoor café. Although it was daylight, Deva was one of those dimensions whose sun didn't toast Spike's variety of vampire. The café itself was a place the two visited frequently. Even in Deva, there weren't many places that could serve human and vampire food at the same time.
And like just about any place in Deva, the café was a place where people came to do business. The business was usually of the private, confidential, or illicit variety. Dawn's business currently fell into the last. The locals tended to frown on transactions involving things that could kill them and their customers en masse.
"So where is he, Niblet?" Spike asked again after taking a sip.
"He'll be here, Spike," Dawn said. She grinned at the vampire. "Relax. I won't let the big bad wizard hurt you."
Spike scowled back. "It's not me I'm worried about," he said. "And I don't trust a bloke who takes to wearing ladies' footwear, especially when he can sling some hefty fireballs."
"Then it is perhaps a good thing that I do business with Miss Summers, is it not?" said an elderly man who was suddenly sitting with them at their table. He hadn't walked up and sat down. One instant he wasn't there, the next he was sitting with them. What was even more impressive was that his appearance hadn't disturbed the air or let off any pretty light effects. "And I'll have you know that being magical, the Ruby Slippers change to fit the wearer. They don't look like ladies' footwear anymore."
"Hey, Professor," Dawn greeted the newcomer. She wasn't fazed by his sudden appearance. He had done this before. The wizard was dressed in purple robes and had a beard so long that it reached the floor even when he was standing up. "How's the school?"
"Quite well, quite well," the wizard replied. "Although Fudge has temporarily evicted me from my job as Headmaster. Why, he believes I am using the students to forge my own private army."
"Oh, so the fat bloke's finally catching on, Dumby?" Spike asked.
"Indeed he has, and don't call me 'Dumby'," the wizard said, pointing a wand at Spike. "Avada Kedavra." There was a flash of green light. Spike slumped forward, his face plopping into his blood shake.
"Professor Dumbledore," Dawn said in exasperation. "We're in public."
"Sorry my dear. Must keep up the practice you know," Albus Dumbledore replied. "Even though I do have a plan to regain the Ministry's good graces, I won't be playing the kindly old wizard forever."
Spike woke up and jerked his face out of the remains of his shake. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed as he grabbed a napkin to wipe his face off.
"To business then," Dumbledore said, ignoring Spike. "You have the Ring?"
"Yep," Dawn said, nodding. A brilliant green pinpoint appeared, hovering above the tabletop. It opened briefly into a small portal through which the One Ring could be seen before closing again. "Got my money?"
"Of course, I new you could do it," Dumbledore replied, smiling at the brief whiff of power that had streamed through the portal. He waved his wand and a leather briefcase materialized on the table. The lid flipped up of its own accord revealing neatly racked rows of gold coins.
"Spike, count the cash," Dawn said, not taking her eyes off the wizard. "No offense, Professor."
"None taken."
***
"Y'know, I've heard alot about the Bazaar of Deva over the centuries," Buffy said as they strolled along, "but I've never actually been here before. It's kinda disappointing actually."
"Why's that?" Willow asked, gawking at the sights.
"I heard that this was a fabulous place where you could buy anything,"
Buffy told her.
"And isn't it?"
"Wills, it's a flea market," Buffy said, her distaste betraying her California valley girl roots. "One big, dimension-wide flea market!"
"But what a flea market!" Willow enthused. "Take these tents for instance. I'm pretty sure that each and everyone of them has a dimensional portal built into them."
"So what? Call me spoiled, but for my shopping pleasure, I want malls and department stores," Buffy groused. "Do you have any idea how long I had to wait for humanity to invent those things?"
"I didn't know many Slayers went shopping," Willow said quietly.
Buffy paused in the middle of traffic. She suddenly realized that the memory lanes that she was talking about were that of her "bad" side, the demon that had run around in her body for the better part of twenty thousand years. The creepiness of that was disconcerting.
"Not to be a total downer or anything, but you guys do realize that we're in the interdimensional capital of commerce, right?" Xander asked. "And since we don't have any of the local currency, we are effectively flat broke?"
"I suppose we could resort to armed robbery," Buffy mused aloud, shaking off her melancholy.
"I think the locals might object," Willow pointed out.
"It's not like they could stop us," Buffy said.
"Hey, we're supposed to be the good guys," Willow objected, unable to tell if Buffy was serious or not. "We're not supposed to go around hurting innocent demons and taking their stuff."
A passing troll ran into Xander and barreled on by. "Outta my way, Klahd!"
"I dunno," Xander muttered. "But if one more of these guys calls me a 'clod', armed robbery is gonna be the least of their worries."
"Xander's got a point, Buffy," Willow said as they started back down the street. "What are we going to do for money?"
"Hey, maybe we could get a job," Xander suggested.
"A job?" Buffy echoed, frowning. When was the last time she had a paying job in any incarnation? She couldn't remember.
"But what could we do?" Willow asked.
"Well, duh, we took down a god," Xander answered. "That's gotta qualify us for something."
Buffy froze again. Willow and Xander bumped into her back.
"Buffy, what's wrong?" Willow asked.
"There's a vampire nearby," Buffy answered, unslinging the Scythe from her back. She turned and stalked down another lane.
***
Willowmorte stood at the lip of the volcano over the three corpses. Her eyes were closed and magical senses extending to caress virtually every atom nearby in an attempt to divine what had happened here.
Reading the dead brains was useless. The two hobbits knew nothing. They had been dead, killed by the wretch Gollum. Gollum himself had been attacked from behind and not seen his assailant. It was outrageous that her minions had let these three get this far with her Ring, but that was one of the reasons why Willowmorte had given up on ruling anything.
There, a trace resonance of something that wasn't left by the corpses. No, there were two such resonances. One belonged to a vampire, which was surprising. There were no vampires in Middle Earth. The other had the resonance of the Key, which kind of explained how a vampire got here. It only took a few more minutes to confirm the exact identities of the thieves and to trace their trail to the next dimension.
Being miserly about expending her own internal store of power, Willowmorte drew power from the volcano below to open a portal. The Eye of Sauron flowed along her arm to her fingertip and then expanded into the air. As she stepped through, she promised herself to really hurt Spike and Dawn when she caught up to them.
***
"Ah, the One Ring," Dumbledore breathed, opening the little box that held the powerful artifact. "Thank you, Miss Summers."
"Hey, no problem," Dawn said as Spike hauled the box through a portal she had opened. The portal led to a private vault of hers that was accessible only by the power of the Key. "If you want us to steal any more super magical objects, just let us know. You know where to contact us."
"Of course." Dumbledore frowned as Dawn's portal closed up and vanished. "Are you expecting company, Miss Summers?"
"No," Dawn answered, puzzled at the question. "Why do you ask?"
Later, Dawn would marvel how fast things happened.
A familiar blonde appeared out of the crowded street, waving a wicked looking axe. But it couldn't be her, Dawn thought in shock. She's dead!
"Spike? Dawn?" the blonde said, running right up to them. "What are you doing here?"
"Buffy? You're alive?" Dawn gasped out.
"Slayer?" Spike said at the same time.
"Ah, perhaps I should leave." Dumbledore began, standing up.
A small explosion interrupted him as a column of fire erupted from a nearby empty patch of ground. From it stepped what looked like Willow. But this Willow wore a black, skin tight cat suit, had black hair and glowing red eyes. As Dawn watched, some kind of burning badge appeared on Willow's left breast. Those glowing red eyes locked on Dawn. Willow looked cranky.
"Dawn! You stole my." Scary Willow paused, her blazing red eyes swiveling to the box in Dumbledore's hand then up to the wizard face. "Dumbledore?"
"Tom?" Dumbledore replied, startled. Dawn had never seen the old guy this surprised before.
Before anyone could do anything, the next surprise arrived. Xander and yet another Willow - this one dressed normally and having odd black and white hair - appeared out of the crowd behind Buffy.
"Buffy, what's go." the second Willow began. Then she spotted her double.
The two Willows studied each other for what seemed like forever. Then they spoke as one.
"Oh, poop."
Author: Nopporn Wongrassamee aka the Evil Author
E-Mail Address: EvilAuthor@aol.com
Archive: Anywhere and everywhere. Just tell me if you do.
Spoilers: Anything goes
Summary: The Gang goes shopping.
Disclaimer: Characters and concepts belong to their owners who I'm too lazy to list.
***
The Watcher was writing up a summary of the little adventure he had just been dragged into. It wasn't everyday that the Time Lord witnessed the death of a god first hand. Some of the energy readings were fascinating, definitely needing further study. This was the purpose of his existence. The Watcher watched and recorded and studied unusual events in the multiverse. Typically, these happened among the dimensions more primitive than his highly advanced people's own. This was mostly because such worlds made up the overwhelming majority of the multiverse.
A thunk from the table told him he was not alone. He looked up.
"Where the heck does a girl get a new wardrobe around here?" Buffy Summers asked. She was seated across from him, leaning back in her chair with her feet propped on the tabletop. Her weapon, the Scythe, was lying across her lap. In regards to her question, the Watcher noticed that she was still wearing the torn and ripped leather outfit she had entered his TARDIS with. Fortunately, she had bathed and cleaned herself earlier even if she still wore primitive animal skins.
It annoyed the Watcher that he had uninvited guests. They had forced themselves on him not long ago subjectively speaking. Due to some great cosmic joke, the Time Lord's current form resembled someone his passengers knew. As near as the Watcher could tell, that was the sole reason he had been conscripted as their mode of interdimensional transportation.
On the positive side, his passengers were uniquely fascinating. Buffy Summers, or this version of her at least, was actually older than he was. A victim of one of the longest time loops on record, she had been sent some twenty thousand years back in time. There the last true demon leaving the Earth planes had turned her into a kind of proto-vampire. Then some primitive human shamans had cut out her heart and used it to empower a line of mystical warriors called Slayers. Her soul had traveled with her heart, and jumped from Slayer to Slayer until the opportunity arose to retake possession of her original body.
"There are any number of clothing fabricators in the guest rooms," the Watcher told her. "Perhaps you are too primitive to recognize and use them..."
"Oh, I found them fine," Buffy interrupted. "And I figured out how to use them. But they only make stuff in tweed."
"It is not tweed," Giles said stiffly. "The fabric is a nanotech based material capable of..."
"It looks like tweed. It feels like tweed," Buffy insisted. "It's
tweed."
"And this material does not meet your approval?"
"No, it does not," Buffy replied shortly. Then a look of slight embarrassment crept into her face. "Well, except that I made a strap for the Scythe so that I could wear it on my back instead of carrying it everywhere." She held up the strap in question. It was attached to the weapon just above where the axe blade was mounted on the shaft and where the wooden stake was mounted. "But believe you me, I'll replace it with a trendier material as soon as possible," she added quickly.
"Yes, I'm sure you will," the Watcher replied dryly.
"Hey, what's going on?" said another of the Watcher's uninvited passengers from the door that lead to the private quarters. He entered the main hall and sat himself in a chair next to Buffy. He was carrying a tall paper cup with a lid and a straw; he had obviously figured out how to use the food synthesizers. He also was wearing the clothes he had arrived with. His had not been quite as abused as Buffy's had been. Now, his clothing looked almost undamaged.
"Trying to convince Mr. Watcher here to take us on a shopping trip, Xander. I need a new wardrobe that ISN'T tweed," Buffy told him. She looked Xander over. "Hey, how come your clothes aren't all ripped like they were before?"
"Sewing kit," Xander answered, pulling said kit from the depths of his long coat. "You wouldn't believe the number of times I've had to patch my clothes together after a fight."
Xander Harris was fascinating in his own right. He carried the fragment of a god, which rendered him nearly unkillable. Although not possessing much in the way of powers that he could consciously use, Xander was capable of surviving and healing injuries that would have killed his friends. By no means unique, the only way to truly end his existence was for another of his kind - they called themselves "Immortals" - to do the deed. Even then, his fragment and the very essence of himself would be absorbed and live on in the victor. The Immortals would battle each other until they had collected all the fragments in their dimension and became a literal god very much like the one they had just killed.
"Hey, could I borrow that, Xander?" Buffy asked, pointing at the sewing kit. "Maybe I can patch up my own clothes."
"Sure, but I only have black thread," Xander said, handing her the kit. He wore all black. Coat, pants, shirt, boots, body armor, it was all black. Buffy had referred to it as the "Neo" look whatever that meant. It sounded vaguely cultural to the Watcher. "Although I think you'd look great as a sort of negative Cat-woman."
"Hmm, no thanks then," Buffy said, handing the kit back to Xander.
"I prefer the Sheena Queen of the Jungle look any way," Xander replied, grinning.
In response, Buffy swatted Xander on the shoulder hard enough to send him sprawling to the floor.
"Ow! Geez, Buffy," Xander gasped as he got up, arm loosely hanging at his side. "I think you broke my arm."
"It'll heal, won't it?" Buffy asked casually as if she were talking about the weather.
"That's not the point," Xander said, experimentally flexing his arm. Apparently, it was no longer broken. An Immortal's healing rate was phenomenal to those unfamiliar with it. "You gotta be careful with that super strength of yours. What if I hadn't been Immortal?"
"Then I wouldn't have hit you so hard," Buffy said, unconcerned.
"Hey guys. What's happening?" asked the third and final passenger as she walked in from the guest quarters. She sat in a free chair on the opposite side of Buffy from Xander.
"Trying to arrange a shopping spree, Willow," Buffy answered.
"Trying to convince Buffy not to use me as a punching bag," Xander said at the same time.
Willow's eyebrows rose in surprise, but didn't ask for details.
Willow Rosenberg was a self-described witch. She had the ability to draw energy from her environment and shape it into forms dictated by her mind. Willow called the process "magic", a term the Watcher abhorred in private. While Willow's ability wasn't unusual, the amount of power she could channel was immense for a mere human being with only a minor side effect. The side effect was that her hair had changed color to a half white, half black pattern. The white extended from roots and changed to black about two thirds of the way, as if the last third had been dipped in ink. It was a most unnatural though attractive look.
Though physically the frailest of the trio, Willow was in her own manner the most powerful. Buffy was the first to notice the latest example of this power.
"Hey, Wills, where'd you get the new clothes?" she asked.
"Oh, I rearranged the molecules of my clothes with a spell," Willow replied. She was currently wearing a red and green turtleneck sweater and jeans. She looked apologetically at the Watcher. "Tweed didn't agree with me."
"It's not tweed!" the Watcher protested.
"Cool," Buffy said, ignoring the Watcher. "Can you do mine too?"
"Sorry," Willow replied regretfully. "Not a whole lot of energy to draw on in here. After what happened when I changed my clothes, I don't think I ought to do it again."
Ah, that explained the odd power dropouts and alarms earlier, the Watcher thought.
"So what are you up to?" Willow asked the Watcher.
"I was attempting to get some work done," the Time Lord replied irritably. "Although that seems to be a lost cause."
"Huh, I guess that brings us back around to shopping," Buffy said.
***
Atop a tower in the land of Mordor, the Eye of Sauron blazed, a circle of fire divided by an infinitely black slit pupil. The eye gazed across the land, taking in everything. A battle raged just outside Mordor, a battle that was quickly becoming irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.
The pupil widened and a small feminine form stepped out of it. Willowmorte turned back to the Eye and seemed to inhale. The Eye lost form and flowed over and into the Dark Lady as she absorbed and assimilated the essence of Sauron into her being. When she turned her attention back to the world, the Eye of Sauron burned on her right breast like a badge.
She tasted the aether. Yes, with the magical resources of this world, ultimate power would be hers. Worlds would tremble before her. Only one component remained. The part of her that had been Sauron had bound his power to a physical object. A silly idea in retrospect, but it seemed clever at the time. All that remained was for her servants to bring it to her and.
Wait.
Something was missing. The object holding Sauron's share of power, the One Ring, was no longer singing its song of temptation into the aether. It wasn't destroyed because the only way to do so would have destroyed Mordor. As Mordor was still here.
Willowmorte's mental voice echoed across Middle Earth, bringing her servants and foes alike to their knees.
"WHERE'S MY RING?!"
***
The place was an anomaly in this dimension. It was flat, empty, and fenced in. It wasn't very big, a square some twenty feet on each side. A single gate led beyond the lot, guarded by a hulking brute in mirror finished armor toting a ridiculously large sword in one hand. The only clue to the nature of the armor's occupant was a red light that bounced back and forth in the helmet's visor. Passersby gave the guard a wide berth.
A TARDIS materialized in the lot and assumed the form of a wooden outhouse. Moments later, the door swung open. The Watcher emerged followed by his three passengers.
"Welcome to the Bazaar of Deva," the Watcher said. "Home dimension of the Deveels. Beyond that gate is the biggest den of con artists, merchants, and so-called business demons you'll find anywhere. They claim that if you can't find it here, it doesn't exist. I'm sure this place will be adequate for your shopping needs. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He vanished back into the TARDIS.
"What are Deveels?" Xander asked as they headed out.
"The con-artists, merchants, and so-called business demons our friendly neighborhood Giles impersonator mentioned," Buffy replied. "They're easy to recognize. Red skin. Horns."
"Wait a sec," Xander said as a new thought occurred to him. "How do we know that Watcher guy won't just leave us stranded here?"
"I'm sure he won't Xander," Willow said confidently. She pulled a strange, misshapen piece of metal from her pocket. "One of the things about helping to fix the TARDIS is that I also learned how to sabotage it."
They emerged into a crowded thoroughfare. Demons marched back and forth on foot. or slithered on tail, or scuttled, or whatever depending on their physiology. Open-air stalls in front or inside of tents lined the road.
A pedestrian bumped into Xander. It had no hair, four pupiless eyes, and a mass of tentacles where a mouth on a human would be. It wore what looked like a circus clown suit.
"Watch where you're going, Klahd," the critter said, barely stopping to speak.
"Hey, who's a clod?" Xander objected to the demon's back.
"Excuse me," Buffy said, halting a Deveel in a business suit passing by with a grip on his arm that made him wince.
"Ow, lady! Don't squeeze so hard." Willow and Xander looked in surprise. The Deveel's accent sounded a lot like a New Yorker's. Buffy didn't bat an eye. She just shrugged and let go. The Deveel rubbed the spot where she had grabbed him.
"I just want to ask a few questions," Buffy said innocently.
"Yeah yeah, make it quick," the Deveel told her. "Time is money and all that jazz."
"Is it all like this?" Buffy asked.
"Like what?"
"Like this open air market thingy," Buffy clarified, waving her hand vaguely. "The whole Bazaar?"
"Yeah, it is," the Deveel confirmed. He looked at them closely. "That's a funny question. You new here?"
"Yes." Willow began.
The Deveel looked over their shoulders at the hulking guard. "And you guys came out of the Time Lords' lot?"
"What of it?" Xander said defensively.
A look of pure greed flashed over the Deveel's face for a second before changing to what might loosely be described as helpful concern. Loosely. "Well, I just might be able to clear some time on my schedule to help you out. For a small fee of course."
"Of course," Buffy said dubiously.
"A fee?" Willow asked, frowning.
"Yeah, a fee." Seeing a blank stare coming from them, the Deveel tried again. "Y'know, I provide services and you provide cash in exchange. C'mon, we're talking Economics 101 here."
"Cash? As in money?" Xander asked.
"Yes! Cash. Money. As in gold," the Deveel said slowly, as if to a small, not too bright child.
"Guys, I don't supposed either of you picked up any spending money from our friendly neighborhood Time Lord did you?" Xander asked the girls. Willow shook her head. Buffy just shrugged.
"You don't have any money?" the Deveel asked, getting agitated.
"I don't suppose you guys take credit, do you?" Buffy asked.
"Credit? No one in the Bazaar takes credit!" the Deveel practically shouted. "You ought to know at least that much. What kind of Time Lords are you guys?"
"Er, we're not Time Lords," Willow answered, taken aback by the Deveel's tirade.
"We just ride around with one," Buffy added.
"Oh, you're one of THOSE," the Deveel sneered. "Klahds!" He turned away and stormed off into the crowd.
***
"Where is he?" Spike growled.
"He'll be here," Dawn replied between bites on her cheeseburger. "Now drink your blood shake like a good vampire."
Dawn and Spike lounged at a table in an outdoor café. Although it was daylight, Deva was one of those dimensions whose sun didn't toast Spike's variety of vampire. The café itself was a place the two visited frequently. Even in Deva, there weren't many places that could serve human and vampire food at the same time.
And like just about any place in Deva, the café was a place where people came to do business. The business was usually of the private, confidential, or illicit variety. Dawn's business currently fell into the last. The locals tended to frown on transactions involving things that could kill them and their customers en masse.
"So where is he, Niblet?" Spike asked again after taking a sip.
"He'll be here, Spike," Dawn said. She grinned at the vampire. "Relax. I won't let the big bad wizard hurt you."
Spike scowled back. "It's not me I'm worried about," he said. "And I don't trust a bloke who takes to wearing ladies' footwear, especially when he can sling some hefty fireballs."
"Then it is perhaps a good thing that I do business with Miss Summers, is it not?" said an elderly man who was suddenly sitting with them at their table. He hadn't walked up and sat down. One instant he wasn't there, the next he was sitting with them. What was even more impressive was that his appearance hadn't disturbed the air or let off any pretty light effects. "And I'll have you know that being magical, the Ruby Slippers change to fit the wearer. They don't look like ladies' footwear anymore."
"Hey, Professor," Dawn greeted the newcomer. She wasn't fazed by his sudden appearance. He had done this before. The wizard was dressed in purple robes and had a beard so long that it reached the floor even when he was standing up. "How's the school?"
"Quite well, quite well," the wizard replied. "Although Fudge has temporarily evicted me from my job as Headmaster. Why, he believes I am using the students to forge my own private army."
"Oh, so the fat bloke's finally catching on, Dumby?" Spike asked.
"Indeed he has, and don't call me 'Dumby'," the wizard said, pointing a wand at Spike. "Avada Kedavra." There was a flash of green light. Spike slumped forward, his face plopping into his blood shake.
"Professor Dumbledore," Dawn said in exasperation. "We're in public."
"Sorry my dear. Must keep up the practice you know," Albus Dumbledore replied. "Even though I do have a plan to regain the Ministry's good graces, I won't be playing the kindly old wizard forever."
Spike woke up and jerked his face out of the remains of his shake. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed as he grabbed a napkin to wipe his face off.
"To business then," Dumbledore said, ignoring Spike. "You have the Ring?"
"Yep," Dawn said, nodding. A brilliant green pinpoint appeared, hovering above the tabletop. It opened briefly into a small portal through which the One Ring could be seen before closing again. "Got my money?"
"Of course, I new you could do it," Dumbledore replied, smiling at the brief whiff of power that had streamed through the portal. He waved his wand and a leather briefcase materialized on the table. The lid flipped up of its own accord revealing neatly racked rows of gold coins.
"Spike, count the cash," Dawn said, not taking her eyes off the wizard. "No offense, Professor."
"None taken."
***
"Y'know, I've heard alot about the Bazaar of Deva over the centuries," Buffy said as they strolled along, "but I've never actually been here before. It's kinda disappointing actually."
"Why's that?" Willow asked, gawking at the sights.
"I heard that this was a fabulous place where you could buy anything,"
Buffy told her.
"And isn't it?"
"Wills, it's a flea market," Buffy said, her distaste betraying her California valley girl roots. "One big, dimension-wide flea market!"
"But what a flea market!" Willow enthused. "Take these tents for instance. I'm pretty sure that each and everyone of them has a dimensional portal built into them."
"So what? Call me spoiled, but for my shopping pleasure, I want malls and department stores," Buffy groused. "Do you have any idea how long I had to wait for humanity to invent those things?"
"I didn't know many Slayers went shopping," Willow said quietly.
Buffy paused in the middle of traffic. She suddenly realized that the memory lanes that she was talking about were that of her "bad" side, the demon that had run around in her body for the better part of twenty thousand years. The creepiness of that was disconcerting.
"Not to be a total downer or anything, but you guys do realize that we're in the interdimensional capital of commerce, right?" Xander asked. "And since we don't have any of the local currency, we are effectively flat broke?"
"I suppose we could resort to armed robbery," Buffy mused aloud, shaking off her melancholy.
"I think the locals might object," Willow pointed out.
"It's not like they could stop us," Buffy said.
"Hey, we're supposed to be the good guys," Willow objected, unable to tell if Buffy was serious or not. "We're not supposed to go around hurting innocent demons and taking their stuff."
A passing troll ran into Xander and barreled on by. "Outta my way, Klahd!"
"I dunno," Xander muttered. "But if one more of these guys calls me a 'clod', armed robbery is gonna be the least of their worries."
"Xander's got a point, Buffy," Willow said as they started back down the street. "What are we going to do for money?"
"Hey, maybe we could get a job," Xander suggested.
"A job?" Buffy echoed, frowning. When was the last time she had a paying job in any incarnation? She couldn't remember.
"But what could we do?" Willow asked.
"Well, duh, we took down a god," Xander answered. "That's gotta qualify us for something."
Buffy froze again. Willow and Xander bumped into her back.
"Buffy, what's wrong?" Willow asked.
"There's a vampire nearby," Buffy answered, unslinging the Scythe from her back. She turned and stalked down another lane.
***
Willowmorte stood at the lip of the volcano over the three corpses. Her eyes were closed and magical senses extending to caress virtually every atom nearby in an attempt to divine what had happened here.
Reading the dead brains was useless. The two hobbits knew nothing. They had been dead, killed by the wretch Gollum. Gollum himself had been attacked from behind and not seen his assailant. It was outrageous that her minions had let these three get this far with her Ring, but that was one of the reasons why Willowmorte had given up on ruling anything.
There, a trace resonance of something that wasn't left by the corpses. No, there were two such resonances. One belonged to a vampire, which was surprising. There were no vampires in Middle Earth. The other had the resonance of the Key, which kind of explained how a vampire got here. It only took a few more minutes to confirm the exact identities of the thieves and to trace their trail to the next dimension.
Being miserly about expending her own internal store of power, Willowmorte drew power from the volcano below to open a portal. The Eye of Sauron flowed along her arm to her fingertip and then expanded into the air. As she stepped through, she promised herself to really hurt Spike and Dawn when she caught up to them.
***
"Ah, the One Ring," Dumbledore breathed, opening the little box that held the powerful artifact. "Thank you, Miss Summers."
"Hey, no problem," Dawn said as Spike hauled the box through a portal she had opened. The portal led to a private vault of hers that was accessible only by the power of the Key. "If you want us to steal any more super magical objects, just let us know. You know where to contact us."
"Of course." Dumbledore frowned as Dawn's portal closed up and vanished. "Are you expecting company, Miss Summers?"
"No," Dawn answered, puzzled at the question. "Why do you ask?"
Later, Dawn would marvel how fast things happened.
A familiar blonde appeared out of the crowded street, waving a wicked looking axe. But it couldn't be her, Dawn thought in shock. She's dead!
"Spike? Dawn?" the blonde said, running right up to them. "What are you doing here?"
"Buffy? You're alive?" Dawn gasped out.
"Slayer?" Spike said at the same time.
"Ah, perhaps I should leave." Dumbledore began, standing up.
A small explosion interrupted him as a column of fire erupted from a nearby empty patch of ground. From it stepped what looked like Willow. But this Willow wore a black, skin tight cat suit, had black hair and glowing red eyes. As Dawn watched, some kind of burning badge appeared on Willow's left breast. Those glowing red eyes locked on Dawn. Willow looked cranky.
"Dawn! You stole my." Scary Willow paused, her blazing red eyes swiveling to the box in Dumbledore's hand then up to the wizard face. "Dumbledore?"
"Tom?" Dumbledore replied, startled. Dawn had never seen the old guy this surprised before.
Before anyone could do anything, the next surprise arrived. Xander and yet another Willow - this one dressed normally and having odd black and white hair - appeared out of the crowd behind Buffy.
"Buffy, what's go." the second Willow began. Then she spotted her double.
The two Willows studied each other for what seemed like forever. Then they spoke as one.
"Oh, poop."
