Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine. Oh Yeah, Not Mine. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and various other companies such as Bloomsbury, Scholastics, and Warner Brothers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Angel belongs to Joss and whoever else.
Author's Notes: Okay, this is my first fic I've written in a while. Please, let me know what you all think. I just want to say, this isn't going to be like other crossovers. I hope, at least! lol. I'm NOT going to have Angel or Buffy/Willow if I bring them in, be all knowing and all powerful. I hate fics like that. Angel and/or Buffy/Willow/OR Dawn won't be killing Voldemort. I don't think they could. I won't make them weak either, don't worry. Nor am I going to bash, anyone other than Fudge. I want to say now, I love Snape and both Malfoy's. I'm pro-slytherin, I guess. Oh. since I stated that, no I won't be bashing Ron or Hermione! Ron of course will never like the Slytherins. That's why we love him!
AN 2: You decide Draco/Harry or Angel/Harry?
AN 3: Who do you want in this story from Angel and maybe BtVS? Buffy, Spike, Gunn, Fred, Wes, Willow, Dawn, Xander, Giles? I won't bring them all in. 2 maybe 3 or 4. Depends on YOU! Not sure how I'd bring back Fred. Some ideas if that happens might be good. lol.
AN 4: Revised as of 04/11/09
It hurts. Scalding and glacial at the same time. Like fire under his skin. A slow pounding that begins at the scar on his forehead and spreads out to overtake the whole of his skull.
Slowly, he lowers his head between his knees, gripping chucks of his hair tightly in his balled up hands. He concentrates on breathing. Tries to ignore the feelings, forcing their way through his mind. Anger. Rage. Feelings that don't belong to him. He squeezes his eyes shut, fruitlessly hoping to block out the barrage of images, invading his mind. He hates this. This lack of control over his own body. Hopelessly, he wishes things were different. That he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived. That the war didn't depend on him. A sad, lonely boy. He wishes-- but he knows it's useless, hoping and wishing for things that will never be.
So, he makes himself focus. Suck it up. Pays attention to the feelings that don't belong to him, watches the scenes play out inside his head. Than he reaches for a quill and writes it all down. The location for the next Death Eater attack. The real location not the ruse that the Death Eaters are planning to throw off the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix, to keep them all off there collective bases.
When he's done writing he taps the insignia on the parchment with his wand. He watches the ink fade into the parchment, not unlike it did in his second year with a certain diary that he'd rather not remember. An unpleasant reminder. The reason he hated using the magical parchment, but as Dumbledore had explained when he had first given the parchment and quill to him, it really was the best way for him to get information to the Order quickly and securely.
Harry couldn't fault Dumbledore, though, a pensieve wouldn't have worked, for the simple reason that he was at the Dursley's for the summer. A sudden sharp spike of pain in his scar, brought him out of his thoughts. The pain was ebbing away now, but every now and than Harry would feel a jolt of pain. As if Voldemort was trying to kill him one tiny stab at a time.
Harry stood up slowly, trying not to aggravate his pounding head. He headed for the door of his bedroom. Quietly, he opened the door, so as not to wake his sleeping relatives. He didn't want them to know he was sneaking asprin. Harry futilely wished he could send for more headache relieving potion, but he knew the rules. Creeping slowly through the dark hall he turned the knob on the bathroom door and snuck inside. Once Harry had the door closed he flipped on the light and crossed to the mirror.
Swallowing two of the pills he placed the bottle back into the cabinet and closed the mirror. Harry was suddenly caught by his own reflection. His pale skin made his lightning bolt shaped scar stand out. Touching it lightly he flinched. It was bruised and swollen. Sighing, he scanned the rest of his reflection. He was far too thin and the dark circles under his eyes were glaringly obvious. Proof that he hadn't been sleeping. He knew that he didn't look healthy, the Dursley's hadn't been feeding him much. Mostly he ate what he was able to salvage when he cleared the table during breakfast and dinner. He knew his appearance was going to be a cause for worry, when he got to Grimmauld Place later in the summer.
Turning from the mirror he rubbed at his eyes with his fists. Sighing again, he turned off the light and quietly opened the door back up. He crept back to his room and pulled the desk chair up to the window, where he set with a blanket wrapped around himself. Laying his head against the window, he watched the stars as they twinkled, never noticing the figure standing in the darkness under a tree, watching him.
to be continued...