Harry had been devastated. It was not the first time that an innocent person had suffered because of him. First, there had been his parents, killed because of a prophecy concerning their son. In his fourth year there was Cedric Diggory, killed because he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And Sirius…the mere thought of Sirius Black’s death made Harry’s eyes prick with tears. In the final battle, many had fallen. Dennis Creevey took a dagger to the chest attempting to shield Harry from Blaise Zabini. Fred Weasley was hit by a Killing Curse, and Professor McGonagall was in a permanent coma after a hex hit her in the head.
Now Charlie Weasley had joined the list. Harry’s plan was simple, so much so that he was surprised he had never thought of it before. If he was not there, then no one had any need to be hurt. Right there and then, in St Mungo’s ugly waiting room, Harry outlined his plan. Staying in Britain was not an option; too many people knew his face. Australia? Too far away for him to afford, and it’s small wizarding population meant that as soon as a witch or wizard sighted him everyone would know. South Africa? Ditto. But America…it was a huge country with a huge population to match. He had enough money for an airfare, but he would probably need a job after a few weeks. But that was no matter.
He had slipped out of St Mungo’s, Apparated home to the Burrow and grabbed his few belongings. He had then walked a few miles to the village Post Office, used the phone to secure a ticket, and took the next flight from Heathrow to LA.
Los Angeles had held no appeal for him, so now Harry was driving. The landscape passed in a blur. The harsh, unyielding desert made an interesting change to the welcoming fields and forests in Britain. Harry thought that he liked the desert better.
Harry didn’t care where he went, but the car needed fuel, and so he looked relieved when he approached the edges of a town. It was nearing dusk and Harry decided to check into a motel and stay the night. Pumping petrol into the car, Harry realised that Sunnydale was quiet, even for a small country town and instinctively he felt for his wand. The name Sunnydale seemed to ring a bell now. He dismissed it though. Hermione had probably mentioned it in regards to some outlandish fact or piece of trivia.
Steps from behind him made Harry turn around. About to mutter a greeting, the words caught in his throat and it was only reflexes, well honed from his Quidditch days, which saved his life.
A vampire, its fangs exposed stood in front of him. “Prepare to die,” it hissed, leaping forward, only to find itself impaled on the end of Harry’s wand. It gave Harry a look of surprise before exploding in to fine dust.
“That was a pretty impressive job you did,” a blonde girl remarked, stepping out jauntily from behind a pump.
Harry eyed her warily.
“So, how’d you learn about our night-loving friends?” The American asked with interest, eying the wand.
“Around,’ Harry answered curtly as he looked the girl over. She didn’t seem dangerous, but in his experience, those were usually the ones that were. She also wasn’t as young as he had first thought she was, perhaps only a year or two younger than himself.
The girl grinned, and held up her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I didn’t mean any harm, tweed-man.”
Harry raised an eyebrow and allowed himself a small smile. “Tweed-man?”
The blonde gave a little blush and shrugged. “Sorry, I was just thinking about a friend of mine who’s English.”
Harry took the pump out of the car, and feeling for his wallet, made to pay for the petrol.
The woman looked surprised but then grinned, “I don’t own this place,” she explained and this time it was Harry’s turn to blush. She stepped into place with him as he walked to the station buildings.
“Been in America long?” She asked with interest.
“Only about a week,” Harry said and hesitated a second before continuing, “I needed to get away.”
“The woman looked sympathetic and answered, “I know the feeling. What with Warren and Willow going evil-“ She stopped, realising she had said too much. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” she said rather lamely.
“Do you live around here?” Harry asked interestedly as he handed over some notes to the attendant.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“I don’t suppose you know of a good motel in Sunnydale?” Harry asked suddenly. It was completely dark by now, and he had been driving all day. He was tired.
“Sure. There’s one on the northern outskirts of town. It’s a bit run-down, but it’s cheap. I’m Buffy, by the way, Buffy Summers.” She looked at him closely.
“Harry Potter,” Harry said, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Buffy nodded, then looked down at her watch. She made a face. “I have to go. Nice meeting you though. Maybe I’ll see around.”
Harry shrugged. “I’m not staying here long.”
“I wouldn’t advise you to,” Buffy said cryptically, and with a nod, she turned and walked away.
Harry watched her leave with an odd look on his face. She was strange. What was she doing out here, alone? How did she know about vampires? She wasn’t a witch, of that he was sure. But he didn’t think she was a muggle either. There was something very different about her. Her eyes were too old for her body, as if she had seen things beyond her years.
Harry booked his motel room for three nights.
* * *
“Thanks,” Harry took the latté from the waitress at the Espresso Pump and looked around. The town was completely different by day. People walked around laughing and talking and smiling, and the roads and buildings were bathed in sunshine.
One building caught his eye. It looked like it had been burnt out; the walls were blackened with soot and the windows were cracked. It piqued his interest, and, paying for drink, Harry crossed the road to stand in front of it.
“The Magic Shop,” Harry whispered under his breath, reading the sign. Muggle magic shops always fascinated him; more often than not they were filled with nonsense items that would never work, but sometimes there were exceptions. The door opened and a woman walked out carrying some boxes, followed by an equally laden Buffy.
“Well, Anya, that’s about all of it,” Buffy said, placing the boxes on the ground. She caught sight of Harry and started. “Harry isn’t it?” She asked him, her green eyes widening in surprise.
“Yes,” Harry answered and nodded to the shop. “Do you own this shop?”
Anya interrupted,” I own this. It used to be a shop, but now it’s just a wreck thanks to Miss-I-turned-evil,” she muttered darkly. Harry looked interested.
“I thought you were leaving,” Buffy looked at him.
“I decided to stay a bit longer,” he shrugged, tearing his gaze from Anya, “Sunnydale has turned out to be a lot more interesting than it looks.”
“Buffy, who is this man?” Anya butted in. “How do you know him?”
“Anya, this is Harry Potter. Harry, Anya Jenkins.” She turned to Anya, “I saw him fighting a vampire at the petrol station out of town,” she explained.
Anya nodded, and then pushed a cardboard box into his chest. “You can carry his to the car then,” she told him.
“Anya!” Buffy blushed, and turned apologetically to Harry, “Sorry. You don’t have to make with the carrying.”
Harry grinned. “It doesn’t matter, I don’t mind, er, ‘making with the carrying’. Where’s the car?”
“Oh, just over here,” Buffy waved a hand vaguely and bent to pick up her own boxes. As they walked, Harry looked down into the open top of his box and frowned. These were heavy-duty magic items, and not things that muggles should know about. The Orb of Frewdegar? A set of Keir Bells? He shot a suspicious look Buffy’s way. “Do you know much about magic?” He asked.
Buffy gave a little frown, and then laughed. “Nope, Buffy the non-magic person, that’s me. And what about you? Are you a wizard in disguise?” She raised an eyebrow.
Harry laughed as well. Buffy had no idea about him, and he wasn’t about to reveal his secret. “No.’
Buffy placed her boxes beside Anya’s in the boot and Harry did the same. Anya shut the boot and turned to Buffy, “I’m leaving. Are you coming with me or will you make your own way home?”
Buffy smiled. “Wanna go for a coffee, Harry?”
“Sure,” he answered, even though he’d just had a drink. Buffy was peculiar, and he was curious to know more about her. And she was really pretty.
The waitress gave Harry a funny look as she took his order for another latte, but didn’t comment on it. Buffy settled back into the chair. “That wasn’t the first time you had seen a vampire,” she accused him.
“No,” Harry hesitated, seeing that Buffy was eager for an answer, “My…father was a…demon-hunter.”
“Really?” Buffy looked interested.
“What about you?” Harry asked quickly, “How do you know about vampires?”
“I was just unlucky, I guess. So, you found the motel alright?” She asked, changing the conversation.
Harry nodded. “Yeah.” There was an uncomfortable pause.
“What happened to the Magic Box?” Harry asked. Buffy blanched.
“Someone…blew it up,” she said after a hesitation.
“Someone who didn’t like magic?”
“No,” Buffy said slowly, “she was really upset, that’s all.”
“Willow.” Harry said, remembering her words from the night before. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”
Buffy looked at him long and hard before nodding to herself, as if saying he was alright. “Someone killed her lover. She was overcome with grief…and she…”
“She was a witch,” Harry said, suddenly understanding, “and she gave in to her magics.”
Buffy looked surprised. “Yeah.” She sipped her mocha slowly and gazed at the table. She looked up. “What about you?”
“What?” Harry stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“You told me that you needed to get away. What did you need to get away from?”
“I-” Harry was about to answer when he got hold of himself. “Why should I tell you?” he asked reasonably. “We hardly know each other.”
Buffy put her mocha back onto the table and leaned forward. “I don’t know what it is, but something about you is different, Harry. You...you’ve seen more than you should have. And I don’t think you’re what you say you are,” she said suddenly.
Harry started. “What makes you think that?”
“Well…you don’t look like a demon-hunter. They’re usually older, and grizzlier, and tougher.”
“You don’t think I’m tough?” Harry wasn’t sure whether to be offended or laugh.
Buffy looked exasperated. “Not on the outside. And I think you have some knowledge about magic. “
Harry was caught off guard. “Huh?”
“I saw you looking at the stuff in the boxes. And you knew what was wrong with Willow.”
“I was curious,” Harry defended himself, “and anyone could have worked out what was wrong with Willow.”
“You’re acting all sneaky, and I’ve learnt not to trust people like that,” Buffy accused him.
“Fine!” Harry snapped. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I’m tired of people like you sticking their noses in where they don’t belong. I’m tired of my friends and people I don’t even know getting hurt because of me!”
Buffy opened her mouth to say something but Harry put up his hand to stop her. “I’m not finished yet! You wanted to know what was wrong with me, you listen. All my life people have been expecting me to perform miracles, to vanquish evil and come out without a scratch. Well, have I got news for them. I don’t have superpowers; I’m just extraordinarily lucky. My friends and family are always the people who get the scratches, not me.” Harry paused for breath and Buffy cut in.
“Harry, you’re not the only person in this world who got the sharp end of the stick. I have no idea what happened to you in England, but it must be pretty bad if you’re mouthing off to some stranger in a café. I’ve been through some tough times lately too, but I don’t get angry at the entire world and run away from my problems. You don’t have a clue what I do, but let me tell you, mister, that’s it’s every bit as dangerous as you seem to think your life is. My friends are the ones targeted by the big bads as well as me. A month ago one died because of me. My friend totally lost control and I couldn’t do a thing to help her. My sister was almost sacrificed by some loony bitch-”
“Excuse me,” it was the waitress. “I’m afraid that I have to ask you to leave, you’re creating a disturbance.” Harry looked around to find the entire Espresso Pump staring back at him and began to blush furiously. Buffy made an exasperated sound and swept off. Muttering profuse apologies to the waitress, Harry left too.
* * *
Lying on his bed later, Harry had no idea what had possessed him. Never before had he unloaded his problems like that to anybody, not even Ron, and there he was yelling them to a whole café full of strangers. A knock on the door made him groan slightly, but he got up and answered it anyway.
“Buffy,” he said, surprised. There she was, standing on his doorstop wrapped tightly in a blue coat and scarf, looking heartily embarrassed. Remembering his manners, Harry invited her in.
“I…I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For this afternoon.” She said with a blush.
Harry gave a rueful grin. “I’m sorry, too. I had no right to yell at you like I did.”
“Hey, I was the one who pushed you way too far.”
Harry sat on the edge of the table. “I guess I owe you an explanation.” He hesitated. “It’ll sound really weird to you, though, but you have to trust me on this one. I’m a wizard.” He said bluntly. “When I was a baby, an evil wizard, called Lord Voldemort, killed my parents because of a prophecy about me. He tried to kill me too, but the curse rebounded onto him, and just left this scar.” Harry ran his fingers lightly over the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
“What happened to Lord…” Buffy stumbled, “Volwart?”
“Lord Voldemort,” Harry corrected. “He was almost killed. In my fourth year at Hogwarts- that’s a school where witches and wizards go to learn magic,” he explained when Buffy looked confused.
“There’s a school for that?” Buffy looked amazed.
Harry nodded. “Anyway, in my fourth year, he used my blood to rise again to his full power. In my seventh and final year at Hogwarts, I defeated him once and for all, though lots of people were killed. I’m an auror now- sort of like a dark magic fighter- but there are still lots of Voldemort’s followers who are out for revenge. My best friend’s brother was severely burnt when a Death Eater hexed him. I decided that the best thing for everybody would be if I went away for a while. And now,” he ended, “here I am.”
Buffy looked impressed. “Wow. And now I bet you would like to know a bit about me,” she looked at Harry with a grin on her face and he nodded eagerly. “I’m a Vampire Slayer,” she explained.
“A Vampire Slayer?” Harry was startled, “But…I thought they were just a myth!”
“Trust me when I say no,” Buffy sighed. “I’ve been one since I was sixteen. I’ve had to face down a lot of big bads -that’s evil guys, by the way- and a few weeks ago I had to fight Willow, my best friend.”
“I’m sorry,” said Harry, and he meant it.
“Those things happen,” Buffy said heavily. “Anyway, I’ve died twice, beaten a hell-god-”
Harry listened in absolute amazement as she listed her achievements.
“How do you do it?” he gasped at the end.
Buffy looked serious. “Because of my friends, Harry. They’re always there when I need some help or if I need some fun-time. They know all the risks involved with being friends with me and they don’t care. They can get out of this whenever they want, but they don’t. And I bet your friends are exactly the same,” she said passionately. “You’re too busy thinking about what’s best for them that you don’t realise that they are old enough and responsible enough to make that choice on their own. Right now, they’re probably worried sick about you.”
Harry was silent.
“I ran away once, and it was one of the worst things I ever did. It almost destroyed my mother and my friends and Watcher were really, really worried. So, my advice to you, Harry Potter, is to go and find your friends and stick with them. It’s not your fault if they get hurt; after all, they’re adults and they can make their own decisions.”
Buffy stood and put her hand and his shoulder for a few seconds before turning and opening the door. Suddenly she stopped, and crossing quickly to his desk, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and wrote something on it. “That’s my telephone number,” she explained. “Call me any time.”
And then she left, leaving Harry staring at the door.
Half an hour later, another knock made Harry stop his packing. He had to get to LA in time to catch his plane to England. He opened the door. “Buffy-”
But it wasn’t Buffy. It was Ron and Hermione.
“Hey Harry,” said Ron with a huge grin. “Ready to come home?”
