Disclaimer: I don't own any to do with either Buffy or Harry Potter.
Smiling at what passed for medical staff here, the brown robed figure quickly moved into the patient's room. The room itself was white like most hospital rooms, but filled with old fashioned and outdated equipment, not a single piece of more advanced than the beds fold down bed railings.
The twenty year old male laid unconscious on the bed was about average sized at 5'11, dark black hair that was still damply sticking to his head after the blood had been washed out. The only visible mark on him was the scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his right temple, doubtless the others were beneath his cloths.
His time was short otherwise he would wait for the unconscious man to wake, talk to him perhaps get him to help with the protection of their charge. Pulling out a Victorian era syringe and using it to extract the patient's blood, he didn't stir.
Backing away to the door he couldn't resist one last look back, with a resigned sigh "His magic and blood will protect the key from the minions of the beast." Leaving to return to the order's monastery in the Czech Republic.
Rumpled quilts lay across the bed with a metal frame headboard.
"Faith and I just made that bed"
"For who?" A man with an English accent asked her.
Buffy turned to look at the speaker, he was taller than her, stood there leaning slightly against the closet doors in his black jean and forest green shirt, with his black hair a mess, strands of it falling down to the top rims of his glasses that held his deep green eyes. Frowning at the stranger. "I thought you were here to tell me." Looking back towards the bed as though it held the answer to questions she didn't know. "The guys aren't here, are they? We were gonna hang out and, watch movies..."
"You lost them." He interrupted her.
Looking back at him, confused now."No. No. I think they need me to find them." Turing back to the bed, this time noticing the digital alarm clock. 7:30 AM "It's so late."
"That clocks not for you anymore...Besides it's wrong." He was holding out a stack of large tarot cards to her, the Manus card clearly on top. "You'll need these."
"I'm never gonna use those."
The stranger gave her a small and pained smile. "You think you know...What's to come...What you are. You haven't even begun."
Buffy turns to the door in order to leave. "I think I need to go find the others." Continuing on her way out.
After she had left the stranger had one last thing to say. "Be back before dawn."
Standing in the atop a hill in the middle of a desert, the breeze ruffling her hair and dress."I'm never gonna find them here." Looking up she can see the stranger again walking from further uphill towards her, both the breeze and the pace that he set billowing out his black robes as he walked towards her revealing again a dark green shirt underneath with black trousers.
"Of course not. That's why you came here." His voice strangely calm.
"You're not in my dream."
"I was borrowed. Some has to speak for her." A dark women with dreadlocks, wrapped in rags with face paint appears. Her movement feral, cautious as she circles round in front of Buffy.
"Let her speak for herself."Anger and frustration beginning to colour Buffy's voice. "That's what's done in polite circles." Her eyes shifting to look at the feral women. "Why do you follow me?"
"Where are my friends?"
"You're asking the wrong questions."
Her voice firm. "Make her speak." Only to get a head shake in response from the feral women.
"I have no speech. No name. I live in the action of death, the blood cry, the penetrating wound. I am destruction. Absolute...Alone."
Looking down at the tarot cards she suddenly had in hand, finding the image of her and her friends watching TV. "I am not alone."
"The Slayer does not walk in this world."
"I walk. I talk. I shop, I sneeze. I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back." The First Slayer was clearly getting angry now. "There's trees in the desert since you moved out. And I don't sleep on a bed of bones." Whereas her voice had before been as you tried to explain to an unrulely child it had now turn to a demand. "Now give me back my friends."
The stranger had disappeared unnoticed during Buffy's small speech and now the First Slayer was speaking for herself. "No...Friends! Just the kill. We...Are...Alone!"
It had now been six months since Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort and his forces, and magical Britain had pretty much returned to how it was right before Voldemort had been resurrected just with fewer purebloods around. Already the surviving blood-supremacists (that hadn't helped Voldemort) were pushing Minister Bones to have Harry and those under his 'command' arrested for murder and a variety of other crimes like uses of unforgivable and the dark arts. With Dumbledore working behind the scenes to support these purebloods Harry was well aware that he was becoming less and less safe in Britain for him, Neville, Susan, Hannah, Gred and Forge and the others were safe as Dumbledore didn't consider them powerful enough to challenge him. That's true...In a way, separately they would be hard pressed to defeat him. However Harry had trained them keeping in mind that most 'competent duellists' fought for themselves, they didn't fight in teams or support each other. Harry had trained them so that they would fight in teams, covering and backing up each other, working together they had flattened any opposition they had and Dumbledore would be no different.
But he didn't want that...Not right now. There wasn't enough evidence against Dumbledore. So he had to lay low for a bit, while Dumbledore was distracted try to find and no doubt kill him, the others could amass evidence as to what Dumbledore is really planning and really doing.
Having just walked out of another farce of a trail leaving the angry red-faced purebloods spouting off about how he was a threat to magical Britain and should respect the Ministry and do as they say, Harry couldn't help but notice how just about everyone had pretty much forgotten about what they had gone through already. Diagon Alley was packed with families, some gawking at him while others shied away from him obviously believing the crap that had been in the Prophet recently. Paying the no heed, he walked briskly through the alley and up the steps into Gringotts.
Gringotts had remained untouched through the 'war'. Clearly all sides (Ministry, Dumbledore, and Voldemort) were more concerned with their money that anything else. Harry however had cultured a...Good relationship with them, Harry argued in favour of the goblins getting a share of the vaults sized, when the death eater or death eater family with killed off...Not on purpose, and they would side with him in any concerns that fell under Gringotts purview. Granted they weren't fighting for or with him, however they weren't for anyone else either and for them to bend some rules in his favour was akin to almost worship with them as they never cheated a person (despite what most purebloods will say) but were will to side with him no matter what.
For the next two hours he was in a tedious but necessary meeting with his vault manager, a meeting which didn't become remotely interesting until the end.
"As per your requests Mister Potter, the majority of your money has been transferred through a variety of accounts in the muggle world until it gathered in one very large account in the muggle Swiss bank that Gringotts owns. Your material possessions; works of art, jewellery, books, scrolls, three pensieve, and many other items have been moved to a physical vault in a separate bank in Switzerland that we own after being checked for curses, jinxes and tracking charms." The goblin in front of him pushed forward a frankly ridiculous thick scroll. At the time Harry had wondered why it was so thick, turns out the goblins check over the condition of each individual item and noted it down. The rest of the money remains in your combined Potter-Black vault and is being used for the upkeep of the defences on the vaults and your properties, which have been re-warded with just you, the two house elves you specified and the team of goblin warders and curse-breakers you chose." Just as Harry was standing to leave he was stopped by the goblin. "As you haven't said anything either way or at all about it. Gringotts has decided to set up a trust vault linked to the Potter-Black vault for you newborn daughter."
For a few seconds all Harry could do was blink in surprise. He was certain...Well pretty sure he hadn't gotten anyone pregnant, he used a combination of contraception spells and charms. Besides had he gotten one of the witches he'd slept with pregnant they would have had one of two responses once they had found out; quietly informed him and asked what he planned to do, or first told the Prophet that she was pregnant and that Harry was going to marry her, thereby trapping him in providing for her for the rest of her life while she lives of his money and fame. His sexual...Encounters fell into two categories; two close friends (FEMALE) blowing off steam (which would have become the former of the reactions) and the other was using a glamours and polyjuice to look different and picking up a one night stand (which would become the latter).
Given a couple of minutes Harry regained his voice. "What daughter?"
Even despite the fact that it was hard to discern emotions and expressions from a goblin's face the surprise was clear. "Your daughter Mister Potter, one Dawn Marie Summers."
AN: OK I'm back. First off I haven't abandoned anything, I've just been away for a while. As to starting another story when I haven't finished my others, I would say I have the amateur writers version of ADD.