Welcome back! Chapter eight, now, huh? I'm really gonna do this...I'm really...gonna do this...wow! I'm really gonna do this! I'm going to actually dedicate myself to finishing a fanfic! Cool, huh? Yeah...I know. Shut up and write the damn fic, right? Is that all I mean to you? Am I just you're writing bitch? ... Yeah, okay, I'll shut up now.
"Who?" Angel asked.
"Exactly!" Whistler yelled. "You don't have a clue who he is! Everything is so messed up!"
Angel shook his head. The Powers that Be had never been particularly helpful, and oftentimes they'd seemingly gone out of their omnipotent ways to be confusing, but this was just too much.
"Okay, let's calm down now," Angel said, attempting to sound soothing.
"Right, I'm calm," Whistler replied. He sat down, suddenly. "I need a drink."
"You're barely making any sense as it is," Angel said to him. "I don't need you getting drunk to top that off."
"Right, right, I get you," Whistler said. "What don't you get?"
Angel stared at him, wondering where to begin.
"Yeah, I thought so," Whistler said into the silence. "Okay, here's how it works: You were supposed to go to England and work with this Potter kid. You were going to be a sort of mentor to him. But you didn't. This whole LA thing was thrown together pretty quickly. While you and Buffy were deciding to split, the Powers were trying to make some plan for your future. But, without enough time to prepare, what was to come became clouded, even to them.
"That's why things have been going so horribly wrong. Jasmine...the First...everything that's happened since you lost your soul is because the Powers haven't been able to keep up with the changing times."
"That doesn't sound very omnipotent," Angel pointed out.
"Angel, buddy, we're talking about guys who are used to planning things centuries in advance," Whistler replied. "They're not big on the two minute warning.
"Anyway, you moved to LA, and things pretty much happened on their own from there. I've been running all over the world for the last five years trying to figure out how this stuff was supposed to go down, and now, I've got a pretty good idea of it."
"How's that?" Angel asked. He was leaning towards confused again.
"It's all interconnected," Whistler explained, explaining nothing. "What's been happening here, in Sunnydale, and at Hogwarts and the AWA.
"Jasmine was pretty much the biggest baddy you ever had to face, right? Don't even answer that. I know its true. Do you think that it's coincidence that Buffy beat the First at the same time you beat Jasmine? Do you think its coincidence that soon after that, the AWA got destroyed? Let me clue you in on something, Angel: there is no such thing as coincidence in your world."
Angel sat back in his chair. He was reeling. Like things weren't confusing enough! He suddenly wondered just how much stress his vampiric brain could handle. Vampires weren't meant to be half as deep as he was. Or so he prided himself.
"So...what comes next?" Angel asked, for lack of anything better to say.
"You still haven't heard the whole story, Angel," Whistler said. For the first time that evening, he seemed more nervous then angry.
"When all that stuff started going crazy, I fell back on one of my other...uh...projects. Kid named Craig. I hadn't been planning on sending him to the AWA...I had thought that he was going to be the next guardian of the Sunnydale Hellmouth...but obviously, that wasn't going to be necessary. Not back then, anyway.
"So I sent Craig to school. He's a special kid - real special. He's the only one who survived the AWA."
"What is he?" Angel asked.
Whistler sighed. "You can't comprehend what, exactly, he is," he said, heavily. "Craig, himself, can't, though he does comprehend an amazing amount for a kid his age.
"You'll meet him soon, you know," Whistler continued. "He's in England right now. You're going to go there, too."
"I am?" Angel asked.
"Yeah," Whistler said. "You'll get to meet Craig...and Harry Potter."
At first glance, Diagon Alley was nothing particularly odd, Buffy thought. Upon closer examination, the stores and shops were very, very unorthodox.
Buffy had left the Slayers with Faith to get settled in at the Leaky Cauldron. It was going to be tight - the place only had fifteen rooms available. Buffy had wanted to do a bit of exploring on her own.
The Alley was well lit, but where the light was coming from was a huge mystery to Buffy. As she walked up and down the main street, Buffy noticed that the light didn't seem to cast shadows.
The people lining the streets were some of the most diverse groups Buffy had ever seen. As Trick had put it all those years ago, Sunnydale was strictly of the 'Caucasian Persuasion'. Diagon Alley was a different matter altogether. Not only were there people of all races out, several of them seemed to be of different species.
As Buffy peered in the window of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, a thought struck her. She'd never changed her money after arriving in Britain.
Stopping a man, she asked, "Excuse me, sir, do you know where I could change some money?"
The man pointed. "Gringotts Bank, right up there."
"Thank you," Buffy said.
"Are you new here?" the man asked.
"Yes," Buffy replied. "Am I that obvious?"
"We've been getting quite a few American refugees, after the AWA..." he trailed off, a pained expression on his face. "And then the Daily Prophet, with that article...how is it that they can mess up the truth so badly?"
Wondering how to respond to this, Buffy took a chance. "I wonder," she said, and made her escape.
Buffy hurried in the direction the man had pointed. She wanted to avoid contact with wizards for a little while, at least; she really didn't have a clue what to say to most of them.
Buffy didn't really know what to expect in a wizarding bank. As she entered and looked around, she gasped.
If there was one thing she hadn't expected, it was goblins.
Okay, she thought. Wizards have goblins running their bank. Lets see who's mental now?
There was what appeared to be a service desk in one corner. Buffy approached it cautiously. Her experiences with goblins were few and painful, and she became distinctly aware of her lack of backup.
All alone, she thought. I am never going to get away from that one.
"Uhh...hello?" she said.
The goblin at the desk looked up. "Yes?" he...she...it asked.
"I was wondering if I could change some money here," Buffy said.
"You could," the goblin replied.
The silence stretched like a rubber band. Aware suddenly that it might help things along if she actually took out the money to change, Buffy dug into her pocket. She produced fifty dollars.
"Here," she said, handing it to the goblin. He examined it for a moment, then stuffed it into a little slot in his desk.
"Fifty dollars, American," he said, seemingly at the little slot. Several large, golden coins came sliding out, followed by a few silver and bronze ones.
"There you go," the goblin said, disinterested.
Buffy looked at the coins. She had no idea what they were. They looked valuable...but they didn't look like any money she'd ever even heard of.
"Uhh...what is this?" she asked. The goblin looked up. "Money," it said, looking now as though Buffy was a bit crazy. "You use it to buy things." Buffy stared back. "Right," she said. "but...well..." she trailed off. She couldn't think of anything intelligent to say, so she just went with the first thing that came to mind. "How do I use it?" Now the goblin seemed convinced that Buffy was out of her mind. "You go to a store. You pick something up. You give the keeper the money, and you take the something. We call it buying around these parts."
This was getting her nowhere fast. Buffy tried yet again, and failed yet again, to put into words her question. Instead of saying anything, she simply thanked the goblin and left, hurriedly.
Back out in the Alley, Buffy looked around her with a new nervous feeling prickling in the back of her head. She was not in a favorable position.
She began walking back to the Leaky Cauldron. Then she stopped, deciding that she would have to just swallow her pride and ask someone.
Figuring that she'd have more luck in an actual shop, Buffy turned to the closest one: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
As she entered the shop, there was a tremendous explosion. Smoke met her nostrils and burned at her eyes. She rushed forward to make sure everything was okay.
"So sorry, miss," said a voice out of the smoke. "Just testing some new merchandise...well, hello!" the man said, seeing Buffy.
"Hi," she said, slowly. "I was looking for someone who could explain the money around here."
"Ah, I see," the man said. "Well, I'm sure we can help you with that. Fred! Fred, get up here!"
Another man immerged from the back of the shop, carrying a long, wooden wand. He waved it, and immediately the smoke disappeared.
The shop took Buffy aback as it came into view. It was nearly three stories high, made of an impressive mahogany, and lining the walls were endless shelves. On these shelves were all sorts of things - many of them things that Buffy didn't recognize.
Some things she did recognize. There were several woopie-cusions, water balloons, and firecrackers.
Huh, Buffy thought. I've walked into a wizarding joke shop. That figures - I'm probably going to be the biggest joke in the wizarding world - I ought to fit right in.
She was still gazing in amazement when the new man, Fred, said, "Ah, so you like our little shop, eh?"
Buffy looked back and was startled anew. The two men were identical. "Yes...it's amazing," she said. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Well, then, I guess you haven't been around magic for too long," the first man said. "And by the way, my names is George Weasley, and this is my brother, Fred."
"Pleased to meet you," Buffy told them. "And you were right...I haven't been around wizards much."
"Well, figuring out our money is pretty easy," George said. "Its like this: The big gold one is a Galleon, the silver one is a sickle, and the little bronze one is a Knut. Seventeen sickles to a Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts to a sickle."
"Right," Buffy said, quickly memorizing his words. "Thank you."
"Oh, don't leave yet!" Fred said, running around to block her exit. "Since you're new here, I feel compelled to give you a free sample of some of our new product."
For just a moment, Buffy had considered attacking Fred to get him out her way. She discarded the idea quickly. Can't go and attack a salesman for trying to sell you something.
Sighing slightly, Buffy resigned herself. "Okay," she said. "But make it quick, please. I don't have a whole ton of time."
"Quick as lightning, miss!" George cried, and, in an overly dramatic flourish, drew out his hand and held it, open, in front of Buffy. It was empty.
"There's nothing there," Buffy said, wondering if this was another one of those wizard things that she was unlikely to get.
"Really?" Fred asked. "Look again."
She did, and found that there was something there, now. A small, wrapper lay in George's palm.
"What is it?" Buffy asked.
"This...is a Tooth Decay Taffy!" he said, impressively.
Buffy looked blank. "What does it do?" she asked.
"It'll cause whoever eats it to lose their teeth," Fred explained. "Great way to shut someone up without seeming too rude."
Buffy was appalled. "That's kinda sick," she said, and turned to go.
"They grow back after a moment!" Fred said. "It's only a joke...!" but she was gone.
Fred turned back to his brother. "I guess that some people just can't take a joke."
Even as he said this, an unfamiliar owl flew in the window, a letter tied to its leg. George took the letter, opened it, read it, and promptly fainted.
Buffy found, upon arriving back at the Leaky Cauldron, that everyone was settled in and everything was going fine. Faith and Willow were both in the bar waiting for Buffy's return.
"How'd it go?" Faith asked, slipping off her bar stool and approaching Buffy. Willow followed.
"Okay...I think," Buffy said. "This place makes about as much sense as Andrew."
They all laughed. Buffy was the first to grow serious again. "I'm serious. We need to learn as much as we can about this whole society as fast as possible. Otherwise, we'll never be able to find this Dumbledore guy, or his school."
"You'd have thought that Wesley might have prepared us a little," Willow grumbled. "We were in LA for four weeks, and what did he tell us about this place?"
"Lots of magic," Faith offered.
"Helpful," Willow said, a note of sarcasm present that wasn't usually there.
"Still, you'll fit in better than any of us, Wil," Buffy said, reasonably. "None of us control magic the way you do - not even Giles."
"I suppose that's true," Willow said. "But from what I've seen so far, and granted, that's not much, their magic is different from mine."
"But you have magic," Faith said. "Which is more than you can say for the rest of us."
Willow nodded, reluctantly. "Yeah...I guess."
"Come on," Buffy said to the two of them. "Nothing more to accomplish tonight. Let's get some sleep, then we can get started in the morning."
As she ascended the stairs to where her own, private, room was, Buffy realized that she had no idea how to 'get started'.
Harry sat, staring blankly at the wall. He didn't notice much of the real world around him - which was slightly metaphorical, considering his deep thoughts on life. He didn't notice Ginny's arrival.
"Harry..." she asked, hesitantly.
He didn't answer.
"Harry...Harry, talk to me," she pleaded.
"It was my fault," Harry said, in a dead, emotionless voice.
Ginny screamed.
Jerked back into reality, Harry leapt up and ran quickly to her. "Ginny...! What's the matter?"
Ginny was sobbing. "Don't...say...that!" she screamed at him. "Don't say it...it wasn't your fault!"
Harry took her in his arms, never noticing that those members of the Order who occupied the house had rushed to the door upon hearing Ginny's scream. Harry held her close as she sobbed.
"Harry, don't you see it?" she said, through her sobbing. This was costing her a great deal. "He was...trying to...make you despair...he wants you to lose hope...so that he can beat you...without hope, you can't win, Harry...he knows that..." and she lost it completely, crying into Harry's shoulder.
Ron and Hermione, standing unnoticed in the doorway, were both crying too. Slowly, Ron took Hermione's hand. She squeezed it tightly, without looking at him.
When Ginny finally pulled away from Harry, their audience was gone and she had stopped crying.
Harry leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "Thank you."
She took his hand and gave it a hard squeeze. "Just don't forget - never lose hope."
She left.
Harry was, yet again, staring at the wall. But his stare was no longer blank.
Later on, Harry left the confines of his room and ventured into the kitchen, intent on finding something to eat. What he found was Lupin - attempting to cook.
A large book was propped up next to the stove, and Lupin was muttering to himself, "Add oregano...then...no, add egg...oh, no, that was the last step..."
"Hello, professor," Harry said.
Lupin looked up. "Hello, Harry," he said. "Feeling better?"
"No," Harry said. "But I'm feeling; that's something," he added.
Lupin smiled. "Yes - it is. Say, would you like to try -"
Harry cut him off quickly. "No, thanks, I don't think I'm very hungry right now." He didn't want to take any chances on Lupin's cooking.
"Suit yourself," Lupin said, and went back to muttering and attempting to cook.
Harry left, in search of something to occupy the time. He really wanted to find Ginny and talk to her; though he doubted that, just now, he'd be able to find a topic of conversation that wouldn't result in crying. Inquiring about the weather would be utterly pathetic.
Why is it that they always cry when I'm with them? Harry wondered. Without fail - Cho, Hermione, now Ginny...
Harry noticed that the parlor door was unlocked, which was rare. Members of the Order had used the parlor to train for dueling and other forms of magical combat. Harry suspected that it had been left open on purpose.
His assumption was correct. As he entered, Harry became aware of another person's presence, though he could not see that person.
"Who's there?" Harry asked.
Moody stepped out of the nothingness in front of Harry, discarding his invisibility cloak. "How'd you know I was there?" he asked.
"Just as feeling," Harry replied. He looked around.
"Do you train with all these weapons?" he asked. There were all sorts of weapons lining the walls - medieval swords and maces, hammers, flintlocks, Japanese katana's, a bo staff, and several other instruments of destruction that Harry did not recognize. Moody, himself, carried a small, oddly shaped axe.
"Not all of them - only some," Moody replied. "Mostly, weapons have fallen into disuse in modern magical dueling - but you have to expect the unexpected these days."
Harry couldn't have agreed more.
"Would you like to learn a few things, Potter?" Moody asked, eyeing him with that frightening revolving eye.
"Yes - I think I would," Harry said.
Moody nodded. He cast around for a second, then selected and old, gleaming broadsword. "I believe you've used a sword before, Potter?" he asked, handing Harry the weapon.
Harry nodded. Three years ago, in the Chamber of Secrets, he'd used the sword of Godric Gryffindor - and that had turned out all right.
"Good - we'll see how you do against a competent foe," Moody said, cynicism dripping from his mouth.
Moody lunged at Harry, chopping swiftly downward with his axe. Harry brought up his sword to meet the blow, and caught it on the blade of his sword. He pushed upwards, sending Moody backwards into a spin. In one fluid motion, as he spun, Moody slashed upwards at Harry. The axe stopped less than an inch from Harry's throat.
"You're dead," Moody said, simply. "But that wasn't bad, Potter. That wasn't bad at all. Most wouldn't have know to hold the sword like that - but, I daresay, no one around here has ever faced a Basilisk with a sword!" Moody guffawed. Deciding that it was best to follow along, and he laughed, too.
They trained for an hour, Moody instructing Harry in the various usages of the sword. Harry proved to be a fast learner. Soon, he was parrying and thrusting in a complex, strategic way that landed Moody on his back.
"Very good, Potter!" Moody said, gruffly. "If only I'd actually been able to teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts...you've got a promising future as an Auror, Potter." Harry beamed.
They traded weapons, and Moody explained the axe to Harry. "It's called Hunga Munga, Harry," he said. "Its constructed so that, when thrown, it'll cut almost no matter which end hits the target. You can fight hand to hand with it too, of course; it's quite lightweight..." and so on, and so forth.
They practiced with the Hunga Munga for another hour, until, finally, Dumbledore arrived and interrupted the training session.
Waiting to make his presence known, Dumbledore waited until Harry scored a bulls-eye throwing the Hunga Munga before saying anything. "Good shot, Harry," he said, forgoing the usual 'hello'.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry said. "Is it time to go yet?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "We must go now, Harry. Make your good-byes quick; you'll see your friends in another few weeks. Quickly, now." And he left through the door.
"Thank you, sir," Harry said to Moody. He went to hand the axe back to the old Auror.
"Keep it," Moody said to him. "You're better with it than most in the Order, and it might just do you some good someday."
Harry nodded and strapped the Hunga Munga to his belt. "Thanks again. I'll be seeing you around," he said, turning his back and leaving.
Moody nodded too. "Yes...we will," he said simply, and turned back to his training.
Harry entered the living room through the kitchen and found his friends, along with Lupin and Dumbledore, assembled there. At once, Harry felt awkward, what with a small battle-axe strapped to his belt. All of them eyed it, but no one said anything.
"Good-bye, Harry," Hermione said.
"Be seeing you in September, mate," Ron said, shaking Harry's hand.
"See you," he said, and turned to Ginny. "Bye, Ginny," he said.
"For now, anyway," she said, and hugged him. Such a public display of affection surprised Harry, to say the least, but he did not dislike it.
Once they'd broken apart, Harry stepped up to Lupin. "Good-bye, Professor," he said.
Lupin waved him off, slightly. "Call me Remus," he said, laughingly.
They shook hands. And then, without a word, Dumbledore took hold of Harry, and they were off.
As they came to stop, Harry realized that Dumbledore had been holding a portkey. Expecting to see Hogwarts, Harry was surprised to find himself in Diagon Alley.
"Professor...?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore answered the unasked question. "Hogwarts can no longer be reached by portkey, Harry," he said. "Nor can Hogsmeade. Safety spells, you know. The closest you can get to either one is about fifty miles."
Dumbledore looked around. "Ali...where are you?"
Harry looked around, as well. Diagon Alley seemed vastly unchanged. People still packed the streets, bustling to and fro to buy things from the various magical shops.
"Oh, blast it!" Dumbledore exclaimed, sounding frustrated. "I should never have let Mundungus set this up with anyone he calls an 'old business partner'. Come on, Harry - we don't need anyone here recognizing you." He took Harry by the wrist and lead him into the nearest shop.
Harry looked around as they entered. The shop's ceiling was at least three stories high. Harry recognized various things - Extendable Ears, Extendable Eyes, and even two or three Portable Swamps. Buckets of Canary Creams and Ton Tongue Toffees were set about like islands. It only took Harry a moment to register where he was - Fred and George's premises...Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
Lee Jordan was behind the counter. He jumped up when he saw who it was who had entered. "Professor Dumbledore...Harry! Welcome to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!" His abrupt smile faltered slightly. "What are the two of you doing here?"
"Mr. Jordan, you wouldn't, by any chance, have seen or spoken to Ali Bashir today, would you?" Dumbledore asked.
"Why, no - I haven't seen Ali in weeks - said he was leaving on a 'business opportunity'," Lee replied. "Probably smuggling more flying carpets into the country."
"That," Dumbledore said. "is exactly what he is doing. I sent him."
"You did? Well...that's surprising..." Lee said. Surprise wasn't as a strong enough word for the emotion on his face.
"Yes, I suppose it would be - to you, anyway," Dumbledore said. "He isn't back yet? He should have been...oh, well. Harry, would you come with me while I see if he's at the Leaky Cauldron? Its probable that he went in there right after getting back...no sense of responsibility..."
As they walked, Harry did his best to conceal his face. Dumbledore had been right - they didn't need anyone recognizing him. Harry wasn't sure what public opinion of him was, now; since the Ministry had admitted Voldemort's return, the Daily Prophet had ceased its campaign of slander against him. Still, he didn't want to see whether or not the people like him again. If there was a chance they still didn't...
When Harry entered the Leaky Cauldron, a pace or two behind Dumbledore, the first thing he noticed was the abundance of girls. The second thing he noticed was the culture shock. Nearly everyone inside was speaking in an American dialect.
Harry shrugged, inwardly. It was none of his business, really, who these people were, but he still couldn't help but be curious.
Even as Harry attempted to eve's drop on the Americans, Dumbledore walked up to the counter. "Hello, Tom," he said.
"Ah, Professor Dumbledore!" Tom cried. The Americans stopped talking and turned, intently, to listen. "How've you been?"
"I have been decent enough," Dumbledore answered. "I was wondering if you'd seen Ali Bashir recently."
Tom grimaced. "In the back," he said, pointing. "Not in good shape, either - looks like he flew those carpets right through a hurricane."
Dumbledore thanked Tom and began to walk over towards the corner in which Ali Bashir resided. Harry joined him.
Before they could reach the corner, however, the Americans had stopped them.
"Albus Dumbledore?" the blonde one, who seemed to be in charge, asked.
"Yes," Dumbledore replied, smoothly. "I am he. May I inquire as to who you are, exactly?"
"My name is Buffy Summers," she said. "I've come halfway around the world to see you."
Finally - quality interaction dawns! Pun not intended on the 'dawn' thing. As always, R/R! Oh, and, I've got some really bad news. School started a couple weeks ago, and I've got a jammed schedule this coming week. I have maybe three hours a day to myself, and I have all Honors classes with lots of homework. What I'm trying to say is - don't expect another update for at least a week - maybe two. Sorry...this is not my choice. I'd much rather be writing then doing community service. Better end on a positive note, though, right? Uh, okay...oh, screw it. Have a good week - I won't.
"Who?" Angel asked.
"Exactly!" Whistler yelled. "You don't have a clue who he is! Everything is so messed up!"
Angel shook his head. The Powers that Be had never been particularly helpful, and oftentimes they'd seemingly gone out of their omnipotent ways to be confusing, but this was just too much.
"Okay, let's calm down now," Angel said, attempting to sound soothing.
"Right, I'm calm," Whistler replied. He sat down, suddenly. "I need a drink."
"You're barely making any sense as it is," Angel said to him. "I don't need you getting drunk to top that off."
"Right, right, I get you," Whistler said. "What don't you get?"
Angel stared at him, wondering where to begin.
"Yeah, I thought so," Whistler said into the silence. "Okay, here's how it works: You were supposed to go to England and work with this Potter kid. You were going to be a sort of mentor to him. But you didn't. This whole LA thing was thrown together pretty quickly. While you and Buffy were deciding to split, the Powers were trying to make some plan for your future. But, without enough time to prepare, what was to come became clouded, even to them.
"That's why things have been going so horribly wrong. Jasmine...the First...everything that's happened since you lost your soul is because the Powers haven't been able to keep up with the changing times."
"That doesn't sound very omnipotent," Angel pointed out.
"Angel, buddy, we're talking about guys who are used to planning things centuries in advance," Whistler replied. "They're not big on the two minute warning.
"Anyway, you moved to LA, and things pretty much happened on their own from there. I've been running all over the world for the last five years trying to figure out how this stuff was supposed to go down, and now, I've got a pretty good idea of it."
"How's that?" Angel asked. He was leaning towards confused again.
"It's all interconnected," Whistler explained, explaining nothing. "What's been happening here, in Sunnydale, and at Hogwarts and the AWA.
"Jasmine was pretty much the biggest baddy you ever had to face, right? Don't even answer that. I know its true. Do you think that it's coincidence that Buffy beat the First at the same time you beat Jasmine? Do you think its coincidence that soon after that, the AWA got destroyed? Let me clue you in on something, Angel: there is no such thing as coincidence in your world."
Angel sat back in his chair. He was reeling. Like things weren't confusing enough! He suddenly wondered just how much stress his vampiric brain could handle. Vampires weren't meant to be half as deep as he was. Or so he prided himself.
"So...what comes next?" Angel asked, for lack of anything better to say.
"You still haven't heard the whole story, Angel," Whistler said. For the first time that evening, he seemed more nervous then angry.
"When all that stuff started going crazy, I fell back on one of my other...uh...projects. Kid named Craig. I hadn't been planning on sending him to the AWA...I had thought that he was going to be the next guardian of the Sunnydale Hellmouth...but obviously, that wasn't going to be necessary. Not back then, anyway.
"So I sent Craig to school. He's a special kid - real special. He's the only one who survived the AWA."
"What is he?" Angel asked.
Whistler sighed. "You can't comprehend what, exactly, he is," he said, heavily. "Craig, himself, can't, though he does comprehend an amazing amount for a kid his age.
"You'll meet him soon, you know," Whistler continued. "He's in England right now. You're going to go there, too."
"I am?" Angel asked.
"Yeah," Whistler said. "You'll get to meet Craig...and Harry Potter."
At first glance, Diagon Alley was nothing particularly odd, Buffy thought. Upon closer examination, the stores and shops were very, very unorthodox.
Buffy had left the Slayers with Faith to get settled in at the Leaky Cauldron. It was going to be tight - the place only had fifteen rooms available. Buffy had wanted to do a bit of exploring on her own.
The Alley was well lit, but where the light was coming from was a huge mystery to Buffy. As she walked up and down the main street, Buffy noticed that the light didn't seem to cast shadows.
The people lining the streets were some of the most diverse groups Buffy had ever seen. As Trick had put it all those years ago, Sunnydale was strictly of the 'Caucasian Persuasion'. Diagon Alley was a different matter altogether. Not only were there people of all races out, several of them seemed to be of different species.
As Buffy peered in the window of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, a thought struck her. She'd never changed her money after arriving in Britain.
Stopping a man, she asked, "Excuse me, sir, do you know where I could change some money?"
The man pointed. "Gringotts Bank, right up there."
"Thank you," Buffy said.
"Are you new here?" the man asked.
"Yes," Buffy replied. "Am I that obvious?"
"We've been getting quite a few American refugees, after the AWA..." he trailed off, a pained expression on his face. "And then the Daily Prophet, with that article...how is it that they can mess up the truth so badly?"
Wondering how to respond to this, Buffy took a chance. "I wonder," she said, and made her escape.
Buffy hurried in the direction the man had pointed. She wanted to avoid contact with wizards for a little while, at least; she really didn't have a clue what to say to most of them.
Buffy didn't really know what to expect in a wizarding bank. As she entered and looked around, she gasped.
If there was one thing she hadn't expected, it was goblins.
Okay, she thought. Wizards have goblins running their bank. Lets see who's mental now?
There was what appeared to be a service desk in one corner. Buffy approached it cautiously. Her experiences with goblins were few and painful, and she became distinctly aware of her lack of backup.
All alone, she thought. I am never going to get away from that one.
"Uhh...hello?" she said.
The goblin at the desk looked up. "Yes?" he...she...it asked.
"I was wondering if I could change some money here," Buffy said.
"You could," the goblin replied.
The silence stretched like a rubber band. Aware suddenly that it might help things along if she actually took out the money to change, Buffy dug into her pocket. She produced fifty dollars.
"Here," she said, handing it to the goblin. He examined it for a moment, then stuffed it into a little slot in his desk.
"Fifty dollars, American," he said, seemingly at the little slot. Several large, golden coins came sliding out, followed by a few silver and bronze ones.
"There you go," the goblin said, disinterested.
Buffy looked at the coins. She had no idea what they were. They looked valuable...but they didn't look like any money she'd ever even heard of.
"Uhh...what is this?" she asked. The goblin looked up. "Money," it said, looking now as though Buffy was a bit crazy. "You use it to buy things." Buffy stared back. "Right," she said. "but...well..." she trailed off. She couldn't think of anything intelligent to say, so she just went with the first thing that came to mind. "How do I use it?" Now the goblin seemed convinced that Buffy was out of her mind. "You go to a store. You pick something up. You give the keeper the money, and you take the something. We call it buying around these parts."
This was getting her nowhere fast. Buffy tried yet again, and failed yet again, to put into words her question. Instead of saying anything, she simply thanked the goblin and left, hurriedly.
Back out in the Alley, Buffy looked around her with a new nervous feeling prickling in the back of her head. She was not in a favorable position.
She began walking back to the Leaky Cauldron. Then she stopped, deciding that she would have to just swallow her pride and ask someone.
Figuring that she'd have more luck in an actual shop, Buffy turned to the closest one: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
As she entered the shop, there was a tremendous explosion. Smoke met her nostrils and burned at her eyes. She rushed forward to make sure everything was okay.
"So sorry, miss," said a voice out of the smoke. "Just testing some new merchandise...well, hello!" the man said, seeing Buffy.
"Hi," she said, slowly. "I was looking for someone who could explain the money around here."
"Ah, I see," the man said. "Well, I'm sure we can help you with that. Fred! Fred, get up here!"
Another man immerged from the back of the shop, carrying a long, wooden wand. He waved it, and immediately the smoke disappeared.
The shop took Buffy aback as it came into view. It was nearly three stories high, made of an impressive mahogany, and lining the walls were endless shelves. On these shelves were all sorts of things - many of them things that Buffy didn't recognize.
Some things she did recognize. There were several woopie-cusions, water balloons, and firecrackers.
Huh, Buffy thought. I've walked into a wizarding joke shop. That figures - I'm probably going to be the biggest joke in the wizarding world - I ought to fit right in.
She was still gazing in amazement when the new man, Fred, said, "Ah, so you like our little shop, eh?"
Buffy looked back and was startled anew. The two men were identical. "Yes...it's amazing," she said. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Well, then, I guess you haven't been around magic for too long," the first man said. "And by the way, my names is George Weasley, and this is my brother, Fred."
"Pleased to meet you," Buffy told them. "And you were right...I haven't been around wizards much."
"Well, figuring out our money is pretty easy," George said. "Its like this: The big gold one is a Galleon, the silver one is a sickle, and the little bronze one is a Knut. Seventeen sickles to a Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts to a sickle."
"Right," Buffy said, quickly memorizing his words. "Thank you."
"Oh, don't leave yet!" Fred said, running around to block her exit. "Since you're new here, I feel compelled to give you a free sample of some of our new product."
For just a moment, Buffy had considered attacking Fred to get him out her way. She discarded the idea quickly. Can't go and attack a salesman for trying to sell you something.
Sighing slightly, Buffy resigned herself. "Okay," she said. "But make it quick, please. I don't have a whole ton of time."
"Quick as lightning, miss!" George cried, and, in an overly dramatic flourish, drew out his hand and held it, open, in front of Buffy. It was empty.
"There's nothing there," Buffy said, wondering if this was another one of those wizard things that she was unlikely to get.
"Really?" Fred asked. "Look again."
She did, and found that there was something there, now. A small, wrapper lay in George's palm.
"What is it?" Buffy asked.
"This...is a Tooth Decay Taffy!" he said, impressively.
Buffy looked blank. "What does it do?" she asked.
"It'll cause whoever eats it to lose their teeth," Fred explained. "Great way to shut someone up without seeming too rude."
Buffy was appalled. "That's kinda sick," she said, and turned to go.
"They grow back after a moment!" Fred said. "It's only a joke...!" but she was gone.
Fred turned back to his brother. "I guess that some people just can't take a joke."
Even as he said this, an unfamiliar owl flew in the window, a letter tied to its leg. George took the letter, opened it, read it, and promptly fainted.
Buffy found, upon arriving back at the Leaky Cauldron, that everyone was settled in and everything was going fine. Faith and Willow were both in the bar waiting for Buffy's return.
"How'd it go?" Faith asked, slipping off her bar stool and approaching Buffy. Willow followed.
"Okay...I think," Buffy said. "This place makes about as much sense as Andrew."
They all laughed. Buffy was the first to grow serious again. "I'm serious. We need to learn as much as we can about this whole society as fast as possible. Otherwise, we'll never be able to find this Dumbledore guy, or his school."
"You'd have thought that Wesley might have prepared us a little," Willow grumbled. "We were in LA for four weeks, and what did he tell us about this place?"
"Lots of magic," Faith offered.
"Helpful," Willow said, a note of sarcasm present that wasn't usually there.
"Still, you'll fit in better than any of us, Wil," Buffy said, reasonably. "None of us control magic the way you do - not even Giles."
"I suppose that's true," Willow said. "But from what I've seen so far, and granted, that's not much, their magic is different from mine."
"But you have magic," Faith said. "Which is more than you can say for the rest of us."
Willow nodded, reluctantly. "Yeah...I guess."
"Come on," Buffy said to the two of them. "Nothing more to accomplish tonight. Let's get some sleep, then we can get started in the morning."
As she ascended the stairs to where her own, private, room was, Buffy realized that she had no idea how to 'get started'.
Harry sat, staring blankly at the wall. He didn't notice much of the real world around him - which was slightly metaphorical, considering his deep thoughts on life. He didn't notice Ginny's arrival.
"Harry..." she asked, hesitantly.
He didn't answer.
"Harry...Harry, talk to me," she pleaded.
"It was my fault," Harry said, in a dead, emotionless voice.
Ginny screamed.
Jerked back into reality, Harry leapt up and ran quickly to her. "Ginny...! What's the matter?"
Ginny was sobbing. "Don't...say...that!" she screamed at him. "Don't say it...it wasn't your fault!"
Harry took her in his arms, never noticing that those members of the Order who occupied the house had rushed to the door upon hearing Ginny's scream. Harry held her close as she sobbed.
"Harry, don't you see it?" she said, through her sobbing. This was costing her a great deal. "He was...trying to...make you despair...he wants you to lose hope...so that he can beat you...without hope, you can't win, Harry...he knows that..." and she lost it completely, crying into Harry's shoulder.
Ron and Hermione, standing unnoticed in the doorway, were both crying too. Slowly, Ron took Hermione's hand. She squeezed it tightly, without looking at him.
When Ginny finally pulled away from Harry, their audience was gone and she had stopped crying.
Harry leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "Thank you."
She took his hand and gave it a hard squeeze. "Just don't forget - never lose hope."
She left.
Harry was, yet again, staring at the wall. But his stare was no longer blank.
Later on, Harry left the confines of his room and ventured into the kitchen, intent on finding something to eat. What he found was Lupin - attempting to cook.
A large book was propped up next to the stove, and Lupin was muttering to himself, "Add oregano...then...no, add egg...oh, no, that was the last step..."
"Hello, professor," Harry said.
Lupin looked up. "Hello, Harry," he said. "Feeling better?"
"No," Harry said. "But I'm feeling; that's something," he added.
Lupin smiled. "Yes - it is. Say, would you like to try -"
Harry cut him off quickly. "No, thanks, I don't think I'm very hungry right now." He didn't want to take any chances on Lupin's cooking.
"Suit yourself," Lupin said, and went back to muttering and attempting to cook.
Harry left, in search of something to occupy the time. He really wanted to find Ginny and talk to her; though he doubted that, just now, he'd be able to find a topic of conversation that wouldn't result in crying. Inquiring about the weather would be utterly pathetic.
Why is it that they always cry when I'm with them? Harry wondered. Without fail - Cho, Hermione, now Ginny...
Harry noticed that the parlor door was unlocked, which was rare. Members of the Order had used the parlor to train for dueling and other forms of magical combat. Harry suspected that it had been left open on purpose.
His assumption was correct. As he entered, Harry became aware of another person's presence, though he could not see that person.
"Who's there?" Harry asked.
Moody stepped out of the nothingness in front of Harry, discarding his invisibility cloak. "How'd you know I was there?" he asked.
"Just as feeling," Harry replied. He looked around.
"Do you train with all these weapons?" he asked. There were all sorts of weapons lining the walls - medieval swords and maces, hammers, flintlocks, Japanese katana's, a bo staff, and several other instruments of destruction that Harry did not recognize. Moody, himself, carried a small, oddly shaped axe.
"Not all of them - only some," Moody replied. "Mostly, weapons have fallen into disuse in modern magical dueling - but you have to expect the unexpected these days."
Harry couldn't have agreed more.
"Would you like to learn a few things, Potter?" Moody asked, eyeing him with that frightening revolving eye.
"Yes - I think I would," Harry said.
Moody nodded. He cast around for a second, then selected and old, gleaming broadsword. "I believe you've used a sword before, Potter?" he asked, handing Harry the weapon.
Harry nodded. Three years ago, in the Chamber of Secrets, he'd used the sword of Godric Gryffindor - and that had turned out all right.
"Good - we'll see how you do against a competent foe," Moody said, cynicism dripping from his mouth.
Moody lunged at Harry, chopping swiftly downward with his axe. Harry brought up his sword to meet the blow, and caught it on the blade of his sword. He pushed upwards, sending Moody backwards into a spin. In one fluid motion, as he spun, Moody slashed upwards at Harry. The axe stopped less than an inch from Harry's throat.
"You're dead," Moody said, simply. "But that wasn't bad, Potter. That wasn't bad at all. Most wouldn't have know to hold the sword like that - but, I daresay, no one around here has ever faced a Basilisk with a sword!" Moody guffawed. Deciding that it was best to follow along, and he laughed, too.
They trained for an hour, Moody instructing Harry in the various usages of the sword. Harry proved to be a fast learner. Soon, he was parrying and thrusting in a complex, strategic way that landed Moody on his back.
"Very good, Potter!" Moody said, gruffly. "If only I'd actually been able to teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts...you've got a promising future as an Auror, Potter." Harry beamed.
They traded weapons, and Moody explained the axe to Harry. "It's called Hunga Munga, Harry," he said. "Its constructed so that, when thrown, it'll cut almost no matter which end hits the target. You can fight hand to hand with it too, of course; it's quite lightweight..." and so on, and so forth.
They practiced with the Hunga Munga for another hour, until, finally, Dumbledore arrived and interrupted the training session.
Waiting to make his presence known, Dumbledore waited until Harry scored a bulls-eye throwing the Hunga Munga before saying anything. "Good shot, Harry," he said, forgoing the usual 'hello'.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry said. "Is it time to go yet?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "We must go now, Harry. Make your good-byes quick; you'll see your friends in another few weeks. Quickly, now." And he left through the door.
"Thank you, sir," Harry said to Moody. He went to hand the axe back to the old Auror.
"Keep it," Moody said to him. "You're better with it than most in the Order, and it might just do you some good someday."
Harry nodded and strapped the Hunga Munga to his belt. "Thanks again. I'll be seeing you around," he said, turning his back and leaving.
Moody nodded too. "Yes...we will," he said simply, and turned back to his training.
Harry entered the living room through the kitchen and found his friends, along with Lupin and Dumbledore, assembled there. At once, Harry felt awkward, what with a small battle-axe strapped to his belt. All of them eyed it, but no one said anything.
"Good-bye, Harry," Hermione said.
"Be seeing you in September, mate," Ron said, shaking Harry's hand.
"See you," he said, and turned to Ginny. "Bye, Ginny," he said.
"For now, anyway," she said, and hugged him. Such a public display of affection surprised Harry, to say the least, but he did not dislike it.
Once they'd broken apart, Harry stepped up to Lupin. "Good-bye, Professor," he said.
Lupin waved him off, slightly. "Call me Remus," he said, laughingly.
They shook hands. And then, without a word, Dumbledore took hold of Harry, and they were off.
As they came to stop, Harry realized that Dumbledore had been holding a portkey. Expecting to see Hogwarts, Harry was surprised to find himself in Diagon Alley.
"Professor...?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore answered the unasked question. "Hogwarts can no longer be reached by portkey, Harry," he said. "Nor can Hogsmeade. Safety spells, you know. The closest you can get to either one is about fifty miles."
Dumbledore looked around. "Ali...where are you?"
Harry looked around, as well. Diagon Alley seemed vastly unchanged. People still packed the streets, bustling to and fro to buy things from the various magical shops.
"Oh, blast it!" Dumbledore exclaimed, sounding frustrated. "I should never have let Mundungus set this up with anyone he calls an 'old business partner'. Come on, Harry - we don't need anyone here recognizing you." He took Harry by the wrist and lead him into the nearest shop.
Harry looked around as they entered. The shop's ceiling was at least three stories high. Harry recognized various things - Extendable Ears, Extendable Eyes, and even two or three Portable Swamps. Buckets of Canary Creams and Ton Tongue Toffees were set about like islands. It only took Harry a moment to register where he was - Fred and George's premises...Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
Lee Jordan was behind the counter. He jumped up when he saw who it was who had entered. "Professor Dumbledore...Harry! Welcome to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!" His abrupt smile faltered slightly. "What are the two of you doing here?"
"Mr. Jordan, you wouldn't, by any chance, have seen or spoken to Ali Bashir today, would you?" Dumbledore asked.
"Why, no - I haven't seen Ali in weeks - said he was leaving on a 'business opportunity'," Lee replied. "Probably smuggling more flying carpets into the country."
"That," Dumbledore said. "is exactly what he is doing. I sent him."
"You did? Well...that's surprising..." Lee said. Surprise wasn't as a strong enough word for the emotion on his face.
"Yes, I suppose it would be - to you, anyway," Dumbledore said. "He isn't back yet? He should have been...oh, well. Harry, would you come with me while I see if he's at the Leaky Cauldron? Its probable that he went in there right after getting back...no sense of responsibility..."
As they walked, Harry did his best to conceal his face. Dumbledore had been right - they didn't need anyone recognizing him. Harry wasn't sure what public opinion of him was, now; since the Ministry had admitted Voldemort's return, the Daily Prophet had ceased its campaign of slander against him. Still, he didn't want to see whether or not the people like him again. If there was a chance they still didn't...
When Harry entered the Leaky Cauldron, a pace or two behind Dumbledore, the first thing he noticed was the abundance of girls. The second thing he noticed was the culture shock. Nearly everyone inside was speaking in an American dialect.
Harry shrugged, inwardly. It was none of his business, really, who these people were, but he still couldn't help but be curious.
Even as Harry attempted to eve's drop on the Americans, Dumbledore walked up to the counter. "Hello, Tom," he said.
"Ah, Professor Dumbledore!" Tom cried. The Americans stopped talking and turned, intently, to listen. "How've you been?"
"I have been decent enough," Dumbledore answered. "I was wondering if you'd seen Ali Bashir recently."
Tom grimaced. "In the back," he said, pointing. "Not in good shape, either - looks like he flew those carpets right through a hurricane."
Dumbledore thanked Tom and began to walk over towards the corner in which Ali Bashir resided. Harry joined him.
Before they could reach the corner, however, the Americans had stopped them.
"Albus Dumbledore?" the blonde one, who seemed to be in charge, asked.
"Yes," Dumbledore replied, smoothly. "I am he. May I inquire as to who you are, exactly?"
"My name is Buffy Summers," she said. "I've come halfway around the world to see you."
Finally - quality interaction dawns! Pun not intended on the 'dawn' thing. As always, R/R! Oh, and, I've got some really bad news. School started a couple weeks ago, and I've got a jammed schedule this coming week. I have maybe three hours a day to myself, and I have all Honors classes with lots of homework. What I'm trying to say is - don't expect another update for at least a week - maybe two. Sorry...this is not my choice. I'd much rather be writing then doing community service. Better end on a positive note, though, right? Uh, okay...oh, screw it. Have a good week - I won't.