So...blurb time. Anyone seen any good movies lately? Right, story...
Angel stood, dumbfounded. He hadn't seen Whistler in...sweet Jesus, eight years...
"Whistler...!" Angel said.
"You know, I come half way across the world to see you," the Whistler admonished. "and you don't even say 'hello' to me? I thought I taught you manners."
"Hello," Angel said, and reasserted his composure. "What are you doing here?"
"Cleaning up your mess," the Whistler said.
"My...what?" Angel asked, composure leaving and confusion making a comeback.
"You screwed things up big, buddy," the Whistler said. "Screwed 'em up in ways that you can't comprehend."
"I don't understand," Angel said.
The Whistler looked up as he replied, as though speaking to some unseen deity. "They never understand! Four thousand years in this freakin' dimension, and not one of 'em has ever understood! Why not give me a smart one next time?"
Angel stood mute. Should I fell insulted...?
"Well, I suppose that you're even more confused now, huh?" the Whistler said, now addressing Angel again.
Angel nodded.
"Phew...where do I begin? Oh, fine, lets get the basics in place, huh?
"Seven years ago, you met that new Slayer, Buffy. You went to Sunnydale for the specific purpose of helping her.
"What you didn't know was that she was marked for death. She was supposed to die in that church, after the Master bit her. You were supposed to be there, too. But she wasn't supposed to live. Or live again. Or however you're supposed to say that.
"When she came back, things got kinda screwy. Still, things could have still gone the way they should have, but then you two made with the smoochies, and that, you dolt, is why everything is all messy now.
"You see, you were supposed to seal Acathla. Stop Spike and Drusilla. But even that wasn't the great purpose. You stop them. Spike runs back home."
"Home?" Angel asked.
"London," the Whistler replied. "You were supposed to chase him. And kill him. And then...then, near the end of that summer, you were going to meet a boy...a very special boy. You two were marked from the beginning. You were gonna be best pals. You were gonna fight evil together.
"And now, you don't even know who Harry Potter is."
Buffy had long since concluded that flying was not her favorite method of travel. If it had been possible, she would have taken a bus to England.
It wasn't airsickness...that was Giles' bit. It wasn't the in flight movie...that was Dawn's bit. It wasn't the...
Her thoughts trailed off. Something about planes. She just couldn't stand them. They were too - mechanical.
Woe, she thought. Too mechanical? What is that all about?
As these thoughts passed through her brain, the pilot's voice came on the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be landing shortly. Please make sure that all tray's are locked in the upright position. Please make sure that all safety harnesses are firmly in place. We hope you'll choose TWA again soon," and the voice clicked off.
Hopefully not, Buffy thought.
As soon as the plane landed the Slayers piled off. Buffy was surprised to notice just how eager her fellow Slayers were to disembark. She was more surprised to find that she, too, wanted off the plane.
She explained the feeling to Giles as they entered the terminal. "Any thoughts?" she asked, hopefully. What she didn't need was some unexplainable disease or something.
Giles grimaced, not quite over his airsickness. "Slayer instincts, Buffy," he explained. "The primitive is getting to you again."
Buffy was alarmed. "As in literally?" she asked.
Giles smiled horribly. "No," he explained. "Just her thoughts and feelings passed down through the generations. I expect that spending so much time with these other Slayers has...awoken...some of that in you."
"Oh, great," Buffy said. "I was so looking forward to never having to deal with the primitive again."
"Oh, I don't think it will be a problem," Giles said. "No...problem..." and he bolted for the bathroom, looking sick again.
"What's his deal?" Faith asked. "He seemed a bit green around the gills."
"Airsickness," Buffy replied. "He's always been like that. We'd better wait for him."
"Yeah, sure thing, B," Faith replied. "Hey, everyone! Everyone! We're gonna wait here for a while. Go get some food or something. If you're not back in ten minutes, I'll kick your ass."
The group broke up slowly, mixing as people went in various directions. Buffy looked sideways at Faith. "Really getting into the whole leadership thing, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yeah," Faith replied. "Better than sitting on my ass, right? If I'm gonna skip jail, I might as well do everything I can, right?"
Buffy smiled. "Yeah."
Ten minutes later, the group had reformed and everyone, including Giles, had excited the airport in search of the magical Diagon Alley.
As they walked up the busy, dark streets of London, Faith ran to catch up with Buffy. "Hey, B! Mind if I had a word?" she asked.
"If you're really nice, I'll give you two," Buffy replied. Faith didn't get it. "I guess humor was never big in prison, huh?"
"Or in hell," Faith agreed. "I just wanted to know...what are we lookin' for, here?"
Buffy pulled a little piece of paper out of her pocket. "The place is called 'the Leaky Cauldron'," she answered. "We go through there, and then do some stuff with bricks, and there it is. But we can room at the Leaky Cauldron, 'if we so choose'."
Faith gave Buffy an odd look. "It's Wesley's writing," Buffy said, defensively. "He hasn't lost that British touch."
Faith laughed. Then she stopped. "The Leaky Cauldron, right?" she asked.
"Yeah," Buffy asked.
"Well...there it is."
A few weeks passed without incident at the Burrow. Then, as though the only constant thing in Harry's life was pain, something else bad went and happened.
The badness really began the night before. Harry had been dreaming about Voldemort. Though these dreams came almost as often as the sunrise, they still had an effect on Harry.
These days, Harry no longer roomed with Ron. Harry had been given Percy's old room... which was just as well. It was right across the hall from Ginny's room.
When Harry awoke, she was there.
"Harry, wake up! Wake up!" she said, prodding his arm.
Though the dream had been frightening, Harry had no trouble adjusting to the situation. He decided to have a little fun.
Pretending to still be asleep, Harry turned over, and, softly, he muttered, "Ginny..."
Ginny stopped attempting to wake him up. She listened, intently.
Doing his best to keep from laughing, Harry continued. "Oh, Ginny..."
She was staring at him. So, he did the natural thing.
"BOO!!!"
Ginny jumped. "Oh...! Harry! You're terrible! I try to help you, and you frighten me half to death..." she trailed off as he sat up and drew her down into what could best be described as a 'sitting snuggle'.
Ginny forgot her anger. Which is why, when Harry thanked her, she asked back, "for what?"
Laughing, Harry took her hand and lead her from his room, down to breakfast. He enjoyed waking up to Ginny, but he was quite positive that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't approve if she found her only daughter in his bedroom so early in the morning.
The rest of the morning passed without much comment. It was early August; all the students wanted to get started on their homework, and there was no better place to do that then out it the garden.
As Ron was asking Hermione a question about Veritaserum, Harry felt a sudden, sharp pain in his scar.
Clutching it, he let out a small gasp. Ginny, noticing this, put a hand on the back of his head. "Harry, are you okay? Harry...?"
Harry looked up. The look in his eyes was frightening. "Run," he said, softly.
"What?" Ginny asked.
"Run!" Harry yelled. "We need to get out of here!" Raising his wand into the air, he yelled, "Accio brooms!"
As their brooms came zooming up, Hermione, disturbed, looked at Harry. "Harry, what is happening?" she asked, urgently.
"I'm not sure," he said. "But its not good. Hermione...he's here."
The three gasped. Harry's eyes still contained that frightening glimmer. "Get out of here! As fast as possible!" he yelled.
"What about mum?" Ginny asked.
"I'll get her, now go!" Harry practically screamed, and he broke for the house. As he did, it blew up.
"Mum!" Ginny yelled, tears coming from nowhere and appearing on her cheeks.
"Ginny, go!" Harry yelled, again. None of them had taken off.
"We have to make sure she's all right!" Ron yelled, and started towards the house.
A voice from the flames stopped him in his tracks. "Oh, what's left of her is doing very well. Actually, at this temperature, I'm sure she's only at medium right now. Perhaps even medium rare."
Hermione screamed as Voldemort, flanked by two Death-Eaters, immerged from the glow. Ron looked dead, himself.
Only Ginny and Harry seemed to have retained their composure. Seemed.
"Tom," she whispered. "I should have known that you would kill someone I loved."
Voldemort looked down at her. His approach never slowed. "Do I know you, little girl?" he asked. Clearly, the usage of his true name had surprised him.
"No," Ginny said. "I used to own something of yours...a certain diary," she said. Her voice was cold as a glacier.
She came to stand by Harry, so that they were shoulder to shoulder, facing Voldemort.
"Ah...yes, my diary," Voldemort said. "I had wondered what had become of that...I left in the care of Lucius, and he cared so little for my possessions that I feared he'd sold it...but I'm glad to hear that you, at least, benefited from it." He sneered at her.
Ginny said nothing.
Harry, instead, yelled back. "Never, never, say another word to her!" he screamed. He was losing it.
Voldemort, grinning, sniffed at the air. "What is that I smell? Rage? Anger? Hatred? From the good, noble, Harry Potter? Come now, Harry - you don't really want to hurt me, do you?"
Harry replied in a soft, dangerous voice. "Why don't you find out?"
Voldemort's smile deepened. "I don't think so, Harry," he replied. "Not today, at any rate. I just came to check in, you know. Drop by, say hello, murder your best friends mother...what kind of mortal enemy would I be if I didn't do at least that?"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was gone.
Ginny stood, resolute, for about a second. Then, she collapsed against Harry. He held her as she sobbed into his shoulder.
Two hours later, Tonks and Lupin found them, sitting in that exact same pose.
Harry could not remember a single event that happened after the destruction of the Burrow. He could remember concepts, though. He could remember the concept of holding Ginny. He could remember the concept of being pulled by a hook behind his navel. He could remember the taste of a dreamless sleep potion.
That was it.
The next day, Harry awoke to find himself at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
Perhaps it was the subconscious part of Harry's brain that blocked out the events of the previous day; then again, maybe his conscious brain had been responsible, and then it just forgot afterward. Either way, Harry was not thinking of the Burrow as he got up.
Twelve Grimauld Place had never been a particularly cheery place. Now, though, Harry had the distinct feeling that the old house was dead.
Dead, Harry thought. So many people dead...Sirius...Mrs. Weasley...Cedric...Mom and Dad...why aren't I?
Harry was staring blankly at the wall. His deep thoughts prevented him from noticing Dumbledore's arrival.
"Good morning, Harry," he said.
Harry turned. "How is it possible that this is, in any way, a good morning?" he asked.
Dumbledore did not humor him. "Harry...I have nothing to say about what happened at the Burrow. We thought you were safe there...we thought we'd hidden it effectively enough...but we didn't. Our mistake caused Molly's death. Another body with which I shall have to live for the rest of my life," Dumbledore heaved an enormous sigh.
He paused then. He looked tired. "Harry, I don't think that even this house is safe for you. There is only one place on Earth that is even remotely safe for you...Hogwarts."
Harry didn't say anything. He was staring off blankly again.
This time, Harry caused the pause. When it became apparent to Dumbledore that Harry was not going to say anything, he took the initiative out of Harry's hands.
"We leave for Hogwarts in three hours...be ready," Dumbledore said, wearily. He left.
Harry sat, staring blankly.
To Hobbes288...good point! Sorry about that little mistake. My knowledge of Buffy becomes slightly fragmented after Season 4. Zaeria...that's a pretty funny idea...mind if I utilize it in a future chapter? Gyver...thank you. I watched Becoming again, and it still didn't seem very clear. To all of my reviewers...thanks a bunch. You guys do wonders for my poor, defenseless little ego. If you want to keep guessing about plot points in the near future, think about Craig...hee, hee. I have another question - am I spelling 'Grimauld' right? My copy of OOTP is on loan right now, so if you guys could holler out and tell me about that, I'd owe you some bunker shorts. What are bunker shorts, you say? When you know that, you'll know everything. Station!
Angel stood, dumbfounded. He hadn't seen Whistler in...sweet Jesus, eight years...
"Whistler...!" Angel said.
"You know, I come half way across the world to see you," the Whistler admonished. "and you don't even say 'hello' to me? I thought I taught you manners."
"Hello," Angel said, and reasserted his composure. "What are you doing here?"
"Cleaning up your mess," the Whistler said.
"My...what?" Angel asked, composure leaving and confusion making a comeback.
"You screwed things up big, buddy," the Whistler said. "Screwed 'em up in ways that you can't comprehend."
"I don't understand," Angel said.
The Whistler looked up as he replied, as though speaking to some unseen deity. "They never understand! Four thousand years in this freakin' dimension, and not one of 'em has ever understood! Why not give me a smart one next time?"
Angel stood mute. Should I fell insulted...?
"Well, I suppose that you're even more confused now, huh?" the Whistler said, now addressing Angel again.
Angel nodded.
"Phew...where do I begin? Oh, fine, lets get the basics in place, huh?
"Seven years ago, you met that new Slayer, Buffy. You went to Sunnydale for the specific purpose of helping her.
"What you didn't know was that she was marked for death. She was supposed to die in that church, after the Master bit her. You were supposed to be there, too. But she wasn't supposed to live. Or live again. Or however you're supposed to say that.
"When she came back, things got kinda screwy. Still, things could have still gone the way they should have, but then you two made with the smoochies, and that, you dolt, is why everything is all messy now.
"You see, you were supposed to seal Acathla. Stop Spike and Drusilla. But even that wasn't the great purpose. You stop them. Spike runs back home."
"Home?" Angel asked.
"London," the Whistler replied. "You were supposed to chase him. And kill him. And then...then, near the end of that summer, you were going to meet a boy...a very special boy. You two were marked from the beginning. You were gonna be best pals. You were gonna fight evil together.
"And now, you don't even know who Harry Potter is."
Buffy had long since concluded that flying was not her favorite method of travel. If it had been possible, she would have taken a bus to England.
It wasn't airsickness...that was Giles' bit. It wasn't the in flight movie...that was Dawn's bit. It wasn't the...
Her thoughts trailed off. Something about planes. She just couldn't stand them. They were too - mechanical.
Woe, she thought. Too mechanical? What is that all about?
As these thoughts passed through her brain, the pilot's voice came on the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be landing shortly. Please make sure that all tray's are locked in the upright position. Please make sure that all safety harnesses are firmly in place. We hope you'll choose TWA again soon," and the voice clicked off.
Hopefully not, Buffy thought.
As soon as the plane landed the Slayers piled off. Buffy was surprised to notice just how eager her fellow Slayers were to disembark. She was more surprised to find that she, too, wanted off the plane.
She explained the feeling to Giles as they entered the terminal. "Any thoughts?" she asked, hopefully. What she didn't need was some unexplainable disease or something.
Giles grimaced, not quite over his airsickness. "Slayer instincts, Buffy," he explained. "The primitive is getting to you again."
Buffy was alarmed. "As in literally?" she asked.
Giles smiled horribly. "No," he explained. "Just her thoughts and feelings passed down through the generations. I expect that spending so much time with these other Slayers has...awoken...some of that in you."
"Oh, great," Buffy said. "I was so looking forward to never having to deal with the primitive again."
"Oh, I don't think it will be a problem," Giles said. "No...problem..." and he bolted for the bathroom, looking sick again.
"What's his deal?" Faith asked. "He seemed a bit green around the gills."
"Airsickness," Buffy replied. "He's always been like that. We'd better wait for him."
"Yeah, sure thing, B," Faith replied. "Hey, everyone! Everyone! We're gonna wait here for a while. Go get some food or something. If you're not back in ten minutes, I'll kick your ass."
The group broke up slowly, mixing as people went in various directions. Buffy looked sideways at Faith. "Really getting into the whole leadership thing, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yeah," Faith replied. "Better than sitting on my ass, right? If I'm gonna skip jail, I might as well do everything I can, right?"
Buffy smiled. "Yeah."
Ten minutes later, the group had reformed and everyone, including Giles, had excited the airport in search of the magical Diagon Alley.
As they walked up the busy, dark streets of London, Faith ran to catch up with Buffy. "Hey, B! Mind if I had a word?" she asked.
"If you're really nice, I'll give you two," Buffy replied. Faith didn't get it. "I guess humor was never big in prison, huh?"
"Or in hell," Faith agreed. "I just wanted to know...what are we lookin' for, here?"
Buffy pulled a little piece of paper out of her pocket. "The place is called 'the Leaky Cauldron'," she answered. "We go through there, and then do some stuff with bricks, and there it is. But we can room at the Leaky Cauldron, 'if we so choose'."
Faith gave Buffy an odd look. "It's Wesley's writing," Buffy said, defensively. "He hasn't lost that British touch."
Faith laughed. Then she stopped. "The Leaky Cauldron, right?" she asked.
"Yeah," Buffy asked.
"Well...there it is."
A few weeks passed without incident at the Burrow. Then, as though the only constant thing in Harry's life was pain, something else bad went and happened.
The badness really began the night before. Harry had been dreaming about Voldemort. Though these dreams came almost as often as the sunrise, they still had an effect on Harry.
These days, Harry no longer roomed with Ron. Harry had been given Percy's old room... which was just as well. It was right across the hall from Ginny's room.
When Harry awoke, she was there.
"Harry, wake up! Wake up!" she said, prodding his arm.
Though the dream had been frightening, Harry had no trouble adjusting to the situation. He decided to have a little fun.
Pretending to still be asleep, Harry turned over, and, softly, he muttered, "Ginny..."
Ginny stopped attempting to wake him up. She listened, intently.
Doing his best to keep from laughing, Harry continued. "Oh, Ginny..."
She was staring at him. So, he did the natural thing.
"BOO!!!"
Ginny jumped. "Oh...! Harry! You're terrible! I try to help you, and you frighten me half to death..." she trailed off as he sat up and drew her down into what could best be described as a 'sitting snuggle'.
Ginny forgot her anger. Which is why, when Harry thanked her, she asked back, "for what?"
Laughing, Harry took her hand and lead her from his room, down to breakfast. He enjoyed waking up to Ginny, but he was quite positive that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't approve if she found her only daughter in his bedroom so early in the morning.
The rest of the morning passed without much comment. It was early August; all the students wanted to get started on their homework, and there was no better place to do that then out it the garden.
As Ron was asking Hermione a question about Veritaserum, Harry felt a sudden, sharp pain in his scar.
Clutching it, he let out a small gasp. Ginny, noticing this, put a hand on the back of his head. "Harry, are you okay? Harry...?"
Harry looked up. The look in his eyes was frightening. "Run," he said, softly.
"What?" Ginny asked.
"Run!" Harry yelled. "We need to get out of here!" Raising his wand into the air, he yelled, "Accio brooms!"
As their brooms came zooming up, Hermione, disturbed, looked at Harry. "Harry, what is happening?" she asked, urgently.
"I'm not sure," he said. "But its not good. Hermione...he's here."
The three gasped. Harry's eyes still contained that frightening glimmer. "Get out of here! As fast as possible!" he yelled.
"What about mum?" Ginny asked.
"I'll get her, now go!" Harry practically screamed, and he broke for the house. As he did, it blew up.
"Mum!" Ginny yelled, tears coming from nowhere and appearing on her cheeks.
"Ginny, go!" Harry yelled, again. None of them had taken off.
"We have to make sure she's all right!" Ron yelled, and started towards the house.
A voice from the flames stopped him in his tracks. "Oh, what's left of her is doing very well. Actually, at this temperature, I'm sure she's only at medium right now. Perhaps even medium rare."
Hermione screamed as Voldemort, flanked by two Death-Eaters, immerged from the glow. Ron looked dead, himself.
Only Ginny and Harry seemed to have retained their composure. Seemed.
"Tom," she whispered. "I should have known that you would kill someone I loved."
Voldemort looked down at her. His approach never slowed. "Do I know you, little girl?" he asked. Clearly, the usage of his true name had surprised him.
"No," Ginny said. "I used to own something of yours...a certain diary," she said. Her voice was cold as a glacier.
She came to stand by Harry, so that they were shoulder to shoulder, facing Voldemort.
"Ah...yes, my diary," Voldemort said. "I had wondered what had become of that...I left in the care of Lucius, and he cared so little for my possessions that I feared he'd sold it...but I'm glad to hear that you, at least, benefited from it." He sneered at her.
Ginny said nothing.
Harry, instead, yelled back. "Never, never, say another word to her!" he screamed. He was losing it.
Voldemort, grinning, sniffed at the air. "What is that I smell? Rage? Anger? Hatred? From the good, noble, Harry Potter? Come now, Harry - you don't really want to hurt me, do you?"
Harry replied in a soft, dangerous voice. "Why don't you find out?"
Voldemort's smile deepened. "I don't think so, Harry," he replied. "Not today, at any rate. I just came to check in, you know. Drop by, say hello, murder your best friends mother...what kind of mortal enemy would I be if I didn't do at least that?"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was gone.
Ginny stood, resolute, for about a second. Then, she collapsed against Harry. He held her as she sobbed into his shoulder.
Two hours later, Tonks and Lupin found them, sitting in that exact same pose.
Harry could not remember a single event that happened after the destruction of the Burrow. He could remember concepts, though. He could remember the concept of holding Ginny. He could remember the concept of being pulled by a hook behind his navel. He could remember the taste of a dreamless sleep potion.
That was it.
The next day, Harry awoke to find himself at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
Perhaps it was the subconscious part of Harry's brain that blocked out the events of the previous day; then again, maybe his conscious brain had been responsible, and then it just forgot afterward. Either way, Harry was not thinking of the Burrow as he got up.
Twelve Grimauld Place had never been a particularly cheery place. Now, though, Harry had the distinct feeling that the old house was dead.
Dead, Harry thought. So many people dead...Sirius...Mrs. Weasley...Cedric...Mom and Dad...why aren't I?
Harry was staring blankly at the wall. His deep thoughts prevented him from noticing Dumbledore's arrival.
"Good morning, Harry," he said.
Harry turned. "How is it possible that this is, in any way, a good morning?" he asked.
Dumbledore did not humor him. "Harry...I have nothing to say about what happened at the Burrow. We thought you were safe there...we thought we'd hidden it effectively enough...but we didn't. Our mistake caused Molly's death. Another body with which I shall have to live for the rest of my life," Dumbledore heaved an enormous sigh.
He paused then. He looked tired. "Harry, I don't think that even this house is safe for you. There is only one place on Earth that is even remotely safe for you...Hogwarts."
Harry didn't say anything. He was staring off blankly again.
This time, Harry caused the pause. When it became apparent to Dumbledore that Harry was not going to say anything, he took the initiative out of Harry's hands.
"We leave for Hogwarts in three hours...be ready," Dumbledore said, wearily. He left.
Harry sat, staring blankly.
To Hobbes288...good point! Sorry about that little mistake. My knowledge of Buffy becomes slightly fragmented after Season 4. Zaeria...that's a pretty funny idea...mind if I utilize it in a future chapter? Gyver...thank you. I watched Becoming again, and it still didn't seem very clear. To all of my reviewers...thanks a bunch. You guys do wonders for my poor, defenseless little ego. If you want to keep guessing about plot points in the near future, think about Craig...hee, hee. I have another question - am I spelling 'Grimauld' right? My copy of OOTP is on loan right now, so if you guys could holler out and tell me about that, I'd owe you some bunker shorts. What are bunker shorts, you say? When you know that, you'll know everything. Station!