Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss, Harry Potter belongs to JK.

AN: It's alive! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed.

Crossing Over

Chapter Three: Chance Encounters and Drunk Sex

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well lately I've been thinkin'

about some good home cookin',

just like that I haven't eaten'

in the longest time.

Now I like potato chips,

now please don't get me wrong.

But I haven't tasted mama's rhubarb pie in so very long.

Rhubarb pie, in the summer.

Rhubarb pie, made by my mother.

Nothing better in the winter,

than rhubarb pie after dinner.

Twinkies may be better,

than a hole in the sweater,

and a hole in the sweater,

beats a poke in the eye.

If I had my choice,

I'd leave this gas station store.

And then I'd travel back in time,

and I'd sit down and have some more.

[Chorus]

Looking at the picture,

in the Sunday paper,

of the politician, he's talkin' to the press.

He looks like he's been eating lemons all his life.

Five Iron Frenzy

"Rhubarb Pie"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eye patches are itchy. That's a little known fact in the two-eye-world. A world to which Xander Harris was unfortunately no longer a part of. He stuck his finger behind the patch to start scratching. Damn! Right through the socket again! I'm going to poke right through to my brain one of these days! Thinking that poking his brain was funny, Xander started laughing. If someone else had heard his thoughts, and saw his reaction, they would be excused for thinking he had already hit his brain. Repeatedly.

Lost in his thoughts, and laughter, it took several shoves and jostles to make Xander realize he was standing on the sidewalk of a busy London street. He quickly ducked into a nearby pub to avoid being trampled.

The pub was a dark, dingy sort of place, one that he felt pretty comfortable in. He sat down at the bar and waited for the bartender, who looked to be in a heated discussion with an elderly man. Shrugging, Xander thought back to what had lead to him being in Gilesland, home of tweed, rain, and stuffy Brits.

Xander had originally left the country in order to get away from the squealing girls at Slayer headquarters. There's only so many pillow fights you can witness before it loses its glamour. Eventually the screaming, the fighting, the wicked hard punches, they get to you. Buffy was totally useless. Now that she had no big bad to fight, she was trying to boss everyone around in normal, daily life. The day before he'd left Los Angeles, she'd commanded him to make her bed, then later in the day, she tried to get him to seduce one of the younger slayers. She'd been suspicious of her (the girl, Anna, had made the costly mistake of borrowing Buffy's hairdryer without permission) and she wanted Xander to get close to her to so he could find her evil plans for world domination. When Xander declined the offer (the girl was 15, even Xander has standards), Buffy got a scary gleam in her eye and he figured it would be a good time for a vacation.

Seeing as how the only language Xander could speak was English, and even that not very well, he had narrowed down his choices of countries to visit quite significantly. Canada was ruled out quickly, because he figured it would be freezing (it was September, he really must be poking his brain), so the only other option was England (these two being the only two English speaking countries he could think of).

As he sat at the bar, he noticed a woman with spiky pink hair glancing at him. She was pretty in the way that she was a woman and he was Xander. He casually got up and moved to the stool next to her. She smiled at him.

"Wotcher, mate," she said.

Xander was startled.

"You know Giles?"

The woman frowned.

"What?"

"What?"

The two looked at each other for a minute. Xander replayed the conversation in his head, and decided that 'wotcher' must be British for sit down.

He sat next to the woman and gave her his best smile.

"Come here often?"

A few hours and a few dozen drinks later, Xander was no closer to establishing what 'wotcher' meant. The woman, whose name was Tonks, had used it to greet people, to get drinks, and as a sort of swear word. A few drinks after that, Xander forgot why he ever cared. Instead, he and Tonks started singing a rousing rendition of "What Shall We Do With a Drunken Sailor," that led to a bar fight with a group of drunken sailors. This led to all of them being expelled from the pub.

Once outside, Xander and Tonks made peace with the sailors, who went on their merry way.

"I'll walk you home," slurred Xander.

"Tha's okay," replied Tonks. "I can just ap—app… poof! my way home."

Xander frowned.

"That doesn't seem like a thing to do when you're drunk."

Tonks considered this for a moment, nearly falling off the pavement and into the street.

"You're right. I should use a broomstick."

"Or I could call you a cab," said Xander, trying to figure out what was wrong with this conversation.

"Or you could call me Nymphadora," she giggled, sidling up to him in an attempt at a seductive manner.

"Are those the people who like to have sex?" asked Xander.

"What?" screeched Tonks. Then she thought about it. "Oh, you mean nymphomaniac."

"Right," he agreed. "I used to date a girl like that. She loved sex…" Xander sat down heavily on the ground. "She's dead now," he continued, tears welling up in his eye.

"I'm so sorry," exclaimed Tonks, staggering over to sit next to him. "Was it… too much sex?"

"No… can that kill you?"

Tonks shrugged.

"I think so, sometimes."

"Wanna find out?" inquired Xander hopefully.

The next morning, Xander woke up blind.

"Oh my god, I'm blind!" he exclaimed, trying to jump out of bed, but getting tangled up in the sheets instead.

"Relax," said a soothing female voice. "You've got the patch over the wrong eye."

He felt someone touching his face, and then he could see again. He was looking at a fairly pretty young woman with an uncertain smile on her face.

"Oh, hey," he said. "Uh… Nymph-something, right?"

"Actually, I'd rather you call me Tonks."

Call you a cab… Xander tried to piece together the events that led to this moment, but could only come up with vague recollections.

"It was good, right?" asked Xander.

Tonks scratched her head.

"I think so," she said.

She hesitated a moment.

"Did I say anything… strange last night?"

Xander thought again. Drunken Sailor… cab… broomstick… Anya… hotel… take me, you sexy pirate…blind… wait a minute.

"Broomstick?" asked Xander. "Are you a witch?"

"You know about witches and wizards?" asked Tonks, surprised.

Xander shrugged.

"A little, I guess. I know more about vampires and demons, though."

The two continued to talk, each revealing more about their secrets lives than they probably should have. Xander learned about the existence of the wizarding world and about her metamorphmagus status. For her part, Tonks got a cliffnotes version of Xander's time on the Hellmouth, and about the Slayer.

"Well, I guess that's everything," said Tonks, wondering why she'd told him as much as she had. She had always been a sucker for a pretty face and a bad pick up line.

"Actually," said Xander, "I have one more question. What does 'wotcher' mean?"