Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. Joss Whedon owns the concept of the Slayer.

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Chapter Six: Fifteen at last.

"Twenty five . . . twenty six . . . twenty seven . . . twenty eight . . ."

"Elizabeth?"

"Shh, you're making me loose count . . . thirty . . . thirty one . . . thirty two . . . thirty three . . ."

"You know Elizabeth, you don't need to count the seconds until midnight," said Harry, looking across the dining table to where his sister sat.

Elizabeth did not seem to be paying attention; she was eyeing the watch on her wrist. "Thirty six . . . thirty seven . . . thirty eight . . ."

"It's not that important you know."

Elizabeth finally looked up, her brow furrowed. "How can you say that? It's your birthday Harry! You're turning fifteen, you're practically a man! It's those Dursley's isn't it? They made you think like this!" Harry opened his mouth, but Elizabeth continued, "– and now you made me loose count!" She jerked her gaze back to her watch. " . . . Forty three . . . forty four . . . forty five . . . forty six . . ."

Harry finally gave up trying to convince his sister to stop counting, instead deciding to sit and watch the table. Most people would find this a boring thing to do. After all, what could be interesting about a table? Nothing, Harry would be the first to admit, but he wasn't exactly looking at the table so much as the pile of wrapped-up presents sitting on it. Elizabeth had ordained that he was not to open them until exactly midnight, and so, she had taken to counting the seconds to make sure Harry wouldn't. All the presents currently on the table – six, Harry had counted – were from Elizabeth herself. Hedwig had flown off earlier in the week back to England to wait out Ron, Hermione, and Sirius's presents. She would most likely return sometime during the day.

But Harry didn't doubt Hedwig would dread returning to Number 103 Ocean Crest View because she and Rufus – Elizabeth's cockatoo, the one who had delivered Harry's first letter from Australia – had not thought highly of each other ever since they met. Hedwig deeply disproved of Rufus because of one little incident involving an owl treat. Suffice to say that after Rufus and Hedwig had finished having a go at each other Elizabeth had had to clean up an even worse mess in her living room than what the wayward werewolf had created.

". . . fifty eight . . . fifty nine . . . Midnight!" said Elizabeth, straightening up with a smile on her face. "Now you can open them."

Harry rolled his eyes but proceeded to follow her suggestion. Harry wasn't sure which of them was the more excited as he pulled back the wrapping on his first present, he or Elizabeth. Harry stuck his hand in the cardboard box and pulled out –

"It's a foe glass. It shows your enemies," Elizabeth explained.

Harry nodded, overwhelmed. "I know. I saw one last year."

"Hmm," Elizabeth gave him a side-ways look. "I won't ask where. Unless you went to a Dark Arts shop?"

Harry shook his head, remembering the fake Moody. "No. Professor Moody, or rather, Barty Crouch Junior showed it to me."

Elizabeth nodded, having been told by Dumbledore all about the impostor. "Open the next one then!"

The next few minutes were spent with Harry going through all his packages. He was now the proud owner of a pair of – according to Elizabeth – one hundred dollar sunglasses, his very own surfboard – not hard to guess what it was under the wrapping since it was the biggest thing on the table – a whole bunch of stylish muggle clothes that were comprised of mostly green, black, and red colours ("Had to guess the size," Elizabeth had said, "but I've a fairly good eye.") a camera ("It can take both muggle and magical photographs, so you can take it with you to Hogwarts!" Elizabeth had told him.) And lastly, she got him a . . . "Wow!" he couldn't believe it!

"Isn't it though?" said Elizabeth, observing Harry's awe-filled expression. "I know Dad was an animagus, and I just thought you'd like to follow in his footsteps. Mind you, I had a heck of a time getting my hands on that book. Had to pull a few strings, take back a couple of favours. To become an animagus you have to follow strict Ministry guidelines, after all, which means they distribute the books and the potions, and they watch over you as you go through the process. But that isn't any fun! What's the point of becoming an animal when everyone knows what animal you can become! Nah, much better doing it in secret, that way you and only a select few know. "

Harry was besieged with that all too familiar feeling of gratitude that he'd been having constantly ever since meeting Elizabeth. He reached over across the table and pulled her to him. "Thank you," he mumbled against her shoulder. That seemed to be the only thing he could say. They pulled apart. Elizabeth smiled at him and Harry smiled back, seeing that she understood.

"Well, it's time for bed now, Babe," said Elizabeth, standing up and stretching. "I'll help carry the presents to your room. What's the matter?" she asked after seeing Harry's melancholy expression.

"It's nothing," Harry said quickly.

Elizabeth walked around the table to stand in front of him. "What's wrong?" she asked gently.

"It's just . . . you've forgotten to do something."

Elizabeth frowned, as if trying to process that statement. "What?"

Harry grinned cheekily. "You didn't wish me a Happy Birthday!"

The frown vanished as Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed heartily. "I didn't, did I? And after all that counting, too! I'll have to remedy that then. Happy Birthday Harry-poo!" Then she yanked him over and gave him a back-breaking hug followed by a sound kiss on his cheek.

"Urgh!" said Harry after she'd released him. "Don't call me that. Aunt Marge call's Dudely that."

"What, Harry-poo?"

"No, nephy-poo," Harry mumbled, not having any desire to say the babyish word out loud.

"And who the heck is Aunt Marge?" Elizabeth asked.

"Uncle Vernon's sister."

"And you call her Aunt Marge?"

"They made me," Harry said dully.

Elizabeth pursed her lips, but didn't say anything.

A while later with his presents safely tucked away in his cupboard, Harry climbed into his bed, and gestured for Elizabeth to sit down.

They sat there in pleasant silence for a while, just sat there and stared at each other. Again, Harry couldn't help marvelling how alike they were, the black hair, the green eyes, the smile. But suddenly, he noticed differences in their faces, subtle ones that he hadn't detected before. Her eyes were just that much tilted at the corners, her lips were just that much fuller than his, her jaw was much more rounded instead of the sharp angles of his face, and her brows were softer somehow, less harsh than his. With a pang somewhere in the region of his chest, Harry finally realised she resembled his mother.

Finally, Harry spoke. "Elizabeth?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell me about Mum and Dad?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath, offered him a smile, and positioned her body to lie across the bed, so that her head rested in her hand. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

Harry leaned forward, suddenly excited at the thought that here was actually someone who wasn't reluctant to tell him anything and that he wasn't reluctant to ask questions of. Harry had never asked Sirius because he suspected it would drudge up too many bad memories, (plus the fact that they'd only met a couple of times, and those times had all been rushed) but Elizabeth was his sister, she had fared the same as he, they had been her parents, too. Harry didn't have any problem asking her.

"Just stories," he told her. "I know what they were like, sort of. I know Dad was a prankster, good at Quidditch, courageous. Mum was good at charms, brave, and a . . . very nice person," he finished lamely. Maybe he didn't know that much.

Elizabeth chuckled. "I see I'll have to tell you a lot more than I thought . . . but wait a minute!" She sat up abruptly, and scooted off the bed. "I'll be back in a second!" she said, and whizzed out the door.

Harry sat there, wondering what on earth she was doing as he heard sounds begin in the room next door. A lot of which featured banging and cursing noises. At last she came back, told him to move over, plonked herself next to him under the covers, and extended her hand.

Harry saw there was a photograph in it. He took it, eyes growing wide as he eyed the people in it. People that he knew.

"That's our family," said Elizabeth. "It was taken a day before the raid on Hogsmede. I was four, you weren't yet one. That's our house on Godric's Hollow."

Harry nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. He saw his mother holding him in her arms, and his Dad standing next to her with Elizabeth sitting on his shoulders, her hands in his hair. They were waving and smiling at the camera. Harry continued watching as his Dad hoisted Elizabeth off of his shoulders and took up Baby Harry while his Mum bent down and hugged Elizabeth around the middle.

"You can keep it," said Elizabeth. "We can make extra copies later."

Harry nodded. "Thank you."

"You shouldn't be embarrassed to cry, Harry. It's human nature. You know, I bawled my eyes out when I realised you were actually coming, and that we would finally be together after all these years."

Harry lifted his head and looked at Elizabeth, looked as a tear rolled down her cheek, and at last feeling a single tear trickle down his cheek. "Yeah, I know," he told her, then frowned. "Well not about knowing that you bawled your eyes out, but about the other thing."

Elizabeth sniggered. "I know what you mean, Babe. You're just so cute when you're confused. Are you sure you don't have a girlfriend? I'm surprised they're not falling all over you. Those eyes alone ought to do it!"

"Elizabeth!" Harry grumbled, feeling his face turn hot.

"Well it's true! Don't think I don't notice how those girls on the beach eye you, and how that girl in the shop waved at you. You're turning into quite the stud, if I do say so myself! And I couldn't be prouder."

"Right," was all Harry could say.

"So, about our parents . . ."

Harry sat up.

"I can tell you about this funny thing that happened one time when you were barely nine months old and you stole our Father's wand –!"

"I stole his wand?" Harry asked quickly.

She chuckled, "Yeah. He left it on your high chair next to your food when Mum called him out. I was sitting at the table eating . . . well I'm not sure what I was eating actually, but I remember thinking it was really nice . . . and sweet!"

Harry snorted.

Elizabeth shoved him good-naturedly. "Yeah, yeah I know. Anyway you'd picked up the wand, and I don't know if you thought it was a spoon or something, but you started digging it in your food and putting it in your mouth. Then you sort of banged it repeatedly against the high chair, and well, it started floating with you in it."

"What?" said Harry, laughing.

"Yeah. You can imagine Dad's reaction when he came back into the kitchen to find you planted on the ceiling. He had to work quickly to get you down before Mum came in."

"And what were you doing the whole time?"

"Laughing of course."

They both smiled. Then Harry felt his spirits drop unpleasantly. Elizabeth, seeing him, frowned. "What's wrong?"

"It's just . . . I feel sort of guilty."

"What the heck for?"

"Here I am being all happy and getting presents while back in England people are dying."

Elizabeth held up her hands. "Whoa, hold on a second! Where'd you get that notion? No one's dying!"

"But Voldemort –!"

"Has decided to lay low for a while," Elizabeth told him. "Don't ask me why, that's all I know."

Harry only felt a split second of relief before he processed what his sister had told him. He stared at her suspiciously. "How do you know that? You're all the way across the world. Do you get the Daily Prophet?"

"No, we have our own wizarding paper. But it wouldn't be in the Daily Prophet even if I do get it."

"What? Why?"

"Because no one believes Voldemort is back, Harry. The British Ministry's keeping it all hush hush, or either they don't believe it themselves."

"What!"

Elizabeth nodded sympathetically, took his hand and rubbed it with her own.

"But . . . but if the Ministry is keeping it all secret, and the Daily Prophet isn't printing anything, how do you know . . .?"

"Your headmaster told me. And don't get angry! He has his reasons."

"And what reason is that!" spat Harry, feeling that hot prickle of betrayal spread down his stomach at that familiar statement. "I never get told anything! Before I came here I tried getting my friends to tell me stuff but all they'd write back is 'Dumbledore told us not to say!' or 'We'll tell you later!' or 'Dumbledore has his reasons!' Why can't I know anything! And why do you know? Why didn't you tell me anything? YOU'RE JUST LIKE THEM!"

Elizabeth released his hand and scuttled back, looking wounded. "Well maybe," she said, stressing the word maybe, "if you think before you open your mouth and wait before I finish what I have to say, you would discover that I know about as much as you!" She looked away, breathing heavily.

She stood up suddenly. "Good night, Harry," she mumbled, still not looking at him. Her words sounded horribly exact. "Don't forget to meditate." She walked out of his room, closing the door gently behind her.

Harry winced; he would have preferred for her to slam it shut. He groaned, flinging back onto the pillows. He'd done it now. He'd been angry with the one person who didn't deserve it. Guilt swarmed in his stomach as he remembered her calling him "Harry." She only did that now when she was serious about something, or, as Harry discovered a couple of minutes ago, when she was angry with him. The rest of the time she just called him "Babe."

And he had about as much chance of meditating now as being forgiven. He remembered how she'd taught him to clear his mind in preparation for Occulmency. He had felt a bit stupid at first, sitting cross-legged on his bed. He'd had the inclination to go "Hommmmm!" but after a while he'd stopped thinking it was stupid and discovered that it was actually peaceful when he did it right. But he couldn't possibly achieve that peace now. Why did he have to be such a git? He looked at the photograph still clutched in his hand, looked at Elizabeth's smiling face. He carefully placed it on his nightstand, took off his glasses and placed those on there too, then he pulled the covers up over his head. He knew he was acting childish but he couldn't seem to help himself. He had felt rather like the chastised child when Elizabeth had said those words. He punched his pillow. Some birthday he was having.

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Across the continents, and add a couple of big important oceans in between, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasely sat on the floor of his room – soon to be shared with Harry Potter – discussing all mundane things from the Chudley Cannons ("Do we have to talk about Quidditch Ron!") to Mrs Weasely's fudge (Don't talk with your mouth full!") But it was the subject of the Boy-Who-Lived that got them finally talking and acting seriously.

Presently, Hermione tied the last present (a box of Mrs Weasely's homemade fudge) onto Hedwig's leg, then both she and Ron watched Pigwidgeon and Hedwig fly out of the window and disappear into the sunny horizon.

"I'm really worried about him Ron," said Hermione, turning to face her russet-haired friend. "He hasn't written to us or Sirius for an entire week. You don't think he's really angry do you?"

Ron, who was presently stuffing his mouth with a slice of the same homemade fudge as they'd just sent Harry, said, "Woonnmwarrrbaart!"

Hermione looked at him, disgusted. "What?"

Ron gulped down the last of the fudge. "I said I wouldn't worry about it. It's not like Harry to back out of something when he sets his mind to it. He's probably just doing homework or something."

Hermione, however, frowned. "I don't believe that."

Ron shrugged. "Maybe he's given up trying to get answers out of us. It's not like we tell him anything useful!" he said, plopping another piece of fudge into his mouth.

Hermione pursed her lips. "That's because we don't know anything useful!"

Ron, who was about to answer with a full mouth, promptly swallowed on Hermione's look, "That's what I'm saying. Maybe Harry's realised that."

"It's not like Harry to be so insightful."

"And it's not like you to be so –" Ron stopped at the look on Hermione's face.

"Yes," said Hermione through gritted teeth.

"Er, well . . . you're just reading too much in to it, Hermione."

"Well someone has to. It's obvious you don't care!"

"He's my best friend!" said Ron angrily.

There was a pause.

Hermione slumped slightly. "Sorry!" she said shortly.

Ron looked down as well. "Yeah, me too."

Mrs Weasley's voice came then, thundering through the floorboards. "Come down you lot! Lunch is ready! NO! FRED! GEORGE! GIVE ME THOSE!" There were a few banging, cluttering noises, followed by a scraping sound.

Fred and George's muffled voices sounded from the bottom of the stairs.

"Aww Mum!"

"We spent ages working on those!"

A bout of furious whispering followed George's words; a minute later the twins could be heard marching up the stairs to the room above Ron's.

"Sound's like Mum's finally found the Extendable Ears," said Ron, gloomily.

"Don't look so depressed, Ron. I'm sure Fred and George have more than one pair. And you can't be sure that's what she's found, they have other products, remember?"

Ron cheered up considerably. "Shall we go down then? I think Mum made Shepherd's Pie."

They both walked out of the room and into the corridor, almost colliding with Ginny, who'd been about to go down the stairs. "Did you hear Mum yelling at Fred and George?" she asked as the trio made their way downstairs. "Stupid idiots! Of course she's going to find out about the Ears if they leave them hanging out their pockets. They should be glad she doesn't know what they're for!"

"You mean doesn't know what they're for yet," stressed Ron, looking pointedly at Hermione, who only rolled her eyes.

"Hello Professor."

They had just opened the door of the basement to find Professor Lupin sitting at the dinning table reading the Daily Prophet. "Kids," he said, nodding at them. They settled themselves around the table. Soon, Kingsley, Tonks, Charlie, and Sirius filed into the room, followed by Mrs Weasely levitating a plate of Shepherd's Pie (much to Ron's delight) and a bucket of drumsticks, (to Ron's even greater delight). Bill trailed in after her clutching a gigantic flagon of butterbeer and a loaf of bread. Fred and George did not show up at all through the entire length of the meal.

As they finished off their dessert (left over fudge and a freshly baked apple crumble) Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace.

"Good afternoon everyone," he said. The adults at the table sat up in concern, but that quickly turned to confusion when Dumbledore said, "Ron, Hermione, might I have a word in the next room."

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, bewildered. But they couldn't help wondering if the reason they were summoned had anything to do with Harry. They stood up from the table, ignoring Mrs Weasley's curious look, and Sirius furrowed brow, and followed Dumbledore into the kitchen.

"Is anything wrong Professor?" asked Hermione as she and Ron came to stand in front of Dumbledore, who'd positioned himself by the sink.

"Is it Harry?" asked Ron.

"Partly," said the Headmaster, staring at each in turn, and making them more than a little jittery. "Harry will be coming to stay at Grimmauld Place shortly."

Hermione and Ron turned to each other, smiling. They had thought this to be the case. Dumbledore, seeing the exchange, smiled also. "However," he continued seriously, and Ron and Hermione stopped smiling. "He has been through a lot, as you know. I ask you to be understanding of him. Do not judge him on his emotions alone."

"I knew it! I knew he was angry with us!" Hermione exclaimed, then blushed at Ron's gaped look, and Dumbledore's light, knowing smirk. She cleared her throat. "Of course we won't Professor. We understand, don't we Ron?"

"Er, oh yea, sure. 'Course we do, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled. "Wonderful! Remember; be certain to offer him a lot of support. He will need you throughout the year."

They both nodded earnestly.

Dumbledore smiled. "I'll be seeing the both of you sometime soon I expect. In the meantime I must get back to Hogwarts. Still haven't chosen the new prefects, you know." He stared particularly long at Hermione as he said this.

Hermione, catching the look, tried not to grin. Ron was, as usual, oblivious.

"All right Professor," he said. "I'll just go back to my apple crumble then."

Hermione fought extra hard not to step on Ron's foot.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. "Good day to you."

They followed Dumbledore out the kitchen door, observing as he declined the offer of dessert and skilfully avoided various questions, before flooing away. The two friends went to their seats and continued eating as if nothing had happened.

Everyone, especially Mrs Weasely, was staring curiously at them.

"What was that all about then?" asked Tonks.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, as though conferring with each other. Ron shook his head slightly, his eyes wide. Hermione nodded, and thought quickly. "Just a problem with our new booklists."

Sirius frowned at this.

"There seems to be a lot of problems with your booklists lately," he said, darkly. "Harry had trouble with his about a week ago."

"Oh," said Hermione, feeling stumped.

Ron glanced alarmingly at her. "Professor McGonagall must have forgotten to add something to Harry's then, too."

Hermione looked gratefully at him.

Sirius grunted, his gaze flitting suspiciously between the two friends. "I hardly think that a problem with your booklist qualifies the Headmaster arriving personally to see to it, as opposed to your Head of House who sent the booklists out in the first place, and so, has first hand knowledge of what she'd done wrong." He glanced slyly at them from the corner of his eye.

There was a nasty silence. Sirius had loaded that statement with enough shrewd cynicism, that no one could possibly mistake his meaning.

Hermione was at loss for words. "Well, w-we were just . . . that is to say. . ." She looked to Ron for assistance.

Ron, who had always been the most vocal, as well as the most insensitive of the trio, decided the questioning was getting on his nerves. "Look," he said, very punctually, sounding, for a moment, quite impressive and mature. "What was said stays between Professor Dumbledore and us. It's not that important anyway."

"But it does have something to do with Harry, doesn't it?" said Sirius. He sounded as though he was struggling to keep from shouting.

"Yes, but it's kids stuff, best friend stuff."

"So Harry's written to you then?" Sirius asked, his eyes flickering momentarily downwards. He had taken it personally when his Godson had stopped writing to him, especially since Harry had been sending them demanding owls all summer, but Sirius seemed to have forgotten that Harry had stopped writing to everyone, too, and that he hadn't even been seen to step foot outside 4 Private Drive in seven days, according to the Order Guards Dumbledore posted to keep watch. But this information was not obliging to Sirius. According to Professor Lupin, Sirius believed he'd made Harry angry with him for not providing sufficient explanations as to what was happening in the world outside Private Drive.

Ron shook his head. "No," he said simply, not realising he'd possibly saved Sirius some future self-recrimination. "He hasn't written to anyone. Dumbledore just said to look out for him when he comes to stay." Ron was stretching the truth a bit here, but Sirius didn't need to know that.

"If, you mean," Sirius said, slightly mollified.

"No," Hermione injected, looking happy. "Dumbledore said he's coming to stay really soon."

"When!" almost everyone shouted, the prominent of which were Mrs Weasely and Sirius.

"We don't know when?" snapped Ron, with great pleasure. He wasn't the only one who hadn't been pleased when the adults had refused to tell him and the others about what was going on in the Order. He felt they deserved a bit of payback now, even though Ron, in truth, did not actually know when Harry was coming.

Mrs Weasely was among the prominent who looked disappointed at Ron's statement. Sirius stared at the table.

"Well," said Kingsley. "I know I'd love to be part of his guard when it's time to collect him."

Ron snorted. "Good luck with his relatives then!"

"Ron!" Hermione admonished. But everyone was chuckling at Ron's statement. They had all heard about the infamous Dursley's from some source or other (but it could be said by most of them that Fred and George were the contributors of nearly all the gossip)

"I'd like to come too," said Tonks, leaning across the table slightly. "Finally get to meet The-Boy-Who-Lived. Mum's going to be jealous."

"He's not that special," said Ron. "For a bloke who can't even do a proper Cheering Charm, he sure has a lot of fans."

Nearly everyone laughed at the double meaning behind the joke, and the discussion soon turned to other things. Hermione and Ron left, not noticing the pairs of piercing amber and ebony eyes following in their wake.

Hermione shut the door to Ron's room, but not before peering out the corridor to see if anyone had followed them.

"That was close," she said. "Good thinking Ron."

Ron drew himself up slightly. "Thanks."

"So we're not going to badger him when he arrives, even if he might be a bit . . . annoyed."

Ron nodded. "Right."

"We'll listen to what he has to say, and offer support. Like Dumbledore said."

"I just hope he's not that mad at us. But it's got to be horrible being stuck there. I bet they locked him in his room again, and put bars on his windows, and that's why he hasn't written."

"No, Hedwig came to us, remember. I think he's annoyed, or angry with us."

"Maybe he's just forgotten to write?" offered Ron.

"He can't possibly have, with the way he was harassing us with letters nearly every day . . ."

Ron shrugged. "You never know Hermione. You're the one who's fond of saying boys are thick."

Hermione only tutted.

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Unbeknownst to Hermione, Ron was actually the one who'd gotten it right. Harry had forgotten to write to his friends and Sirius the entire week he'd been Australia because too much new and exciting stuff had been happening. Now he sat in the living room the night after he and Elizabeth had their disagreement. Hedwig and Pig, having just arrived, sat perched on the coffee table. His friend's presents were spread out on the couch, and only now did Harry remember he'd forgotten to write, and he felt exceedingly guilty over it. This guilt already added to the pile he'd acquired last night; the pile that had yet to diminish.

Because Harry had not had a chance to properly speak to Elizabeth at all that day.

He saw her, of course. Breakfast was waiting for him as always when he woke up, as was Elizabeth. But there was a definite tenseness in the air, of formality, that he'd never before experienced in Elizabeth's presence. Everything was always fun and games and that feeling of "I've known you all my life." But that was gone now. In its place was left, "May I please have the milk?" He hated it. Plus, she'd gone running without him. Harry had felt sour at this, and not a little betrayed. That was their time together, but she'd gone off by herself before Harry had even woken up.

And after breakfast she'd gone off again; gone out of the house to who knows where and now, at six o'clock at night, she had still not come back. With any other person Harry cared for, he would have been extremely worried, but he knew Elizabeth, despite being a witch, was also one of the strongest magical creatures in the world, and resourceful besides. But that still hadn't stopped him from peering out the front windows and sitting on the steps beside the front door, waiting for her to arrive.

He'd briefly entertained the thought of there being some huge Dark Creature catastrophe that needed her help, but in his heart he'd known that wasn't the reason.

Harry reached over on the couch and began to unwrap his presents. Ron and Hermione had gotten him two boxes of Honeydukes best chocolate and Mrs Weasely had made him some fudge. Hermione had scribbled I expect we'll be seeing you soon, in his birthday card. Harry silently laughed at that. He already knew when he'd be seeing them, the precise date in fact. Seven days from now. He noticed, however, that she hadn't told him where he would be seeing them, but Harry knew this too, thanks to Dumbledore. He knew that both Ron and Hermione were staying at Sirius's house, where, apparently, a group of mysterious people gathered every once a while to plot against Voldemort.

Harry opened Sirius's present last. It was a card with a single ink paw print on it, and underneath that was the exclamation Happy Birthday! Somehow, Harry cherished this present above all the ones he'd gotten so far, even Elizabeth's. Evidently Sirius could not stroll into a shop and buy stuff as he was thought to be an escaped mass murderer, but still he found the time to actually do something for Harry. But it did make him wonder how Sirius had bought his previous presents. Like the knife he'd gotten last Birthday. Suddenly, Harry felt an overwhelming admiration for his Godfather, and he had to fight the hotness behind his eyes at the unfairness life could offer. He wished Sirius were with him now. He would even settle for Snuffles, as long as he had some company.

It was then Harry heard the opening and closing of the front door. He hastily bought his shirt up to his eyes. He turned and saw Elizabeth standing in the corridor in front of the living room, draped in her usual paint-smeared overalls. Harry wondered, for the first time, why her overalls were smeared with paint. Every time she wore them, there always seemed to be more stains of colour on them than before.

A moment of silence stretched between them as they stared at each other awkwardly. Then Elizabeth bit her lip, looking everywhere but at the couch. Finally, not being able to take any more tension, Harry patted the cushion next to him. A timid smile crossed her face as she walked over and sat down beside him.

"I see your friends have sent you the presents," she observed, ringing her hands together.

Harry had not seen her look so flustered before. She seemed almost nervous.

"Yeah," he said, not really thinking about it.

They both sat in silence for a while. Harry giving surreptitious glances in her direction, while she avoided them.

"I'm sorry!" They finally blurted.

Laughter ensued.

"I'll go first," said Elizabeth.

Harry nodded.

"I shouldn't have reacted like that. I have a temper when I'm accused of lying." She turned to look imploringly into his eyes. "And I wasn't lying to you Harry, I swear. I really don't know anything. Not much reaches us here in Australia, and we're not really concerned with much. Dumbledore only told me about how nobody believes Voldemort is back, and how he's reformed the Order or something."

At Harry's confused look, she elaborated. "The people who fought against Voldemort during the first war. That's honestly all I know. It's just; maybe, I'm not used to having a family. I'm not used to dealing with teenage boys. I'm not sure how it all works."

"You and be both," said Harry, smiling.

"And I'm so sorry I acted cold toward you today, and went running without you, and left you alone until night time. But, I have a very good reason, you see. I would have taken you with me if we hadn't had that fight. But I just felt so . . ."

Harry timidly bit his lip. "Angry at me?"

"No! Never!" she exclaimed passionately. "Angry at myself! You're younger than I am, and I should have had the presence of mind to act more mature, or something." She threw her arms up. "I don't know how to explain it!"

"I understand."

"So am I forgiven?" she asked, looking at him from under her lashes.

"Of course! But you have to hear me out first, I got angry –!"

"No, there's no need to explain. You're a teenage boy. I think you can be excused."

"But I am sorry . . . D-do you forgive me?"

In answer Elizabeth reached over and pulled him into a gentle embrace. "Of course," she whispered against his ear. "Oh look at us. We've both become a pair of blubber brains."

"I haven't!" cried Harry indignantly.

"Well then, I suppose I can be enough of a blubber brain for the both of us."

"Elizabeth, what did you mean when you said you would have taken me with you? Where have you been?"

A mischievous smile crossed his sister's face. "Working."

Harry couldn't believe it. Why hadn't he heard of this before? "You have a job!"

She shrugged, "Kind of, it's volunteer work, don't get paid. But it keeps my nights busy. I can't be slaying all the time, you know. Anyway, I just finished. Do you wanna see?"

She stood up, extending her hand. Harry took it. "Finished what?"

"You'll see." Elizabeth giggled, pulling him up and dragging him across the living room. "Hello Sigmund!"

Sigmund the Blearglob had scuttled into the room. Elizabeth stooped down briefly to give him a fond pat on the head, gesturing for Harry to do the same.

"He really likes you Harry. I've never seen him take to anyone that wasn't a Slayer. But, you're related to me, so I guess that's how it works."

Harry smiled as he put a hand to the Blearglob's shiny head. He felt the familiar smoothness of it as Sigmund leaned into his hand. Harry had often had such encounters with Sigmund and Emma throughout the week he'd stayed with Elizabeth. They couldn't exactly be avoided since they had free reign of the house. Harry thought back to the time he'd almost sat on Sigmund once, only to get a pinch on the bottom. It had only briefly pained, since Sigmund hadn't been trying to hurt him, only warn him that he was already taking up that particular space on the couch.

Sigmund pulled away from Harry's pat, apparently deciding he had dealt with enough humans, and scurried away to the couch, climbing up the side, and settling himself on a cushion.

Hedwig, of course, had disproved of Sigmund since she'd first clapped eyes on him. Harry had a feeling it was because Sigmund was equipped with his own pair of weapons; two sharp claws. Hedwig would eye them mistrustfully every time Sigmund came into the room. And she did so now from her spot on the coffee table. Pig, however, became excited at spotting the lobster, and he whizzed around the head of the couch. If Harry wasn't mistaken, he would think that Sigmund was glaring up the minute owl. Hedwig settled her disproving gaze on Pig as well.

"Let's leave them," Elizabeth whispered, chuckling. They walked down the corridor and out the door. "You know, I've been thinking we should have another pet around the house. The more the merrier I say."

At those words Harry almost tripped down the stone stairs of the front porch. Elizabeth hadn't noticed, as she was busy trying to lock the door. Harry couldn't believe he'd forgotten about the Bunyip! It was exactly a week since he'd first visited Wrigadoogong and met it there. Perhaps he should buy it for Elizabeth? He'd told the shopkeeper he'd come back in a week after all.

"Can we go to Wrigadoogong after you show me whatever it is?" he asked.

Elizabeth looked up in surprise. "I suppose. But, maybe we ought to bring a change of robes. Wouldn't do to walk about in muggle clothes, that only leads to uncomfortable stares."

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Next chapter: Bunyip, and other cool stuff that I won't reveal just yet.

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To answer the questions I got in reviews.

Q1. What pairings will this story have?

None, besides what's usually in the books. Elizabeth will not fall in love with anybody and vice versa.

Q2. Why did I decide to change this to Buffy Crossovers if there's nothing about Buffy in it?

For three reasons. The first was because it's easily accessible to readers; much easier than on Books where it has a tendency to get lost admits the thousands of other stories. The second was because it does have the Slayer concept in it, and after some evaluation on my part, I was forced to change it since I don't know if I'm susceptible to being sued or not. The third was because I want more reviews. And since stories are easier to find on Buffy Crossovers than on Books, I do get more reviews. More constructive criticism helps boost my confidence in writing.

However, if you guys think I should change it back to Books, because now I'm feeling a bit stupid having changed it to Buffy Crossovers when there's no Buffdom, I will. Just let me know.

P.S. I'm not usually so fickle.

Q3. And the reason I picked the name Elizabeth when it's so synonymous with Buffy?

To me, Harry and James are old English names, as is Lily to a certain extent. Not to mention they're really common. Elizabeth is an old English name, plus quite common in Britain. That's the only reason I picked it. If Lily and James really had a daughter, they wouldn't name her something like Raven or Rain or some other inapt Americanised name. (No offence if that's your name. I actually like unusual names, but they're not appropriate for someone like Harry Potter's sister). To me, and I'm sure to a lot of you, that just screams Mary Sue.

And no, Elizabeth is NOT Buffy Summers. For one, they come from completely different cultures, (as well as universes if you want to get technical) and for another, they look entirely different. I hope that's cleared up now.

Q4. Elizabeth's age?

She was born on March 19th 1976 (as Dumbledore explained in chapter three), which would make her nineteen, four years older than Harry and as old as Percy.

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Review Please.