Chapter Five: Inferi-ority Complex

August 23, 1998. Willy's Bar

Harry walked out of the beautiful Californian sunlight into the dingy atmosphere of the bar Buffy had said had been a 'great source of intel.' The transition from the warm, welcoming glow of the sun to the dim, somewhat foreboding interior of the bar was stark. The wooden floors creaked under his feet, and the smell of stale beer mixed with something unidentifiable hit him immediately. The lighting was low, with only a few grimy bulbs casting a sickly yellow light over the establishment. It was a place that exuded a rough kind of charm, where the clientele were as much a part of the decor as the mismatched furniture.

He had enjoyed his time in Sunnydale so far. The people seemed accommodating, the weather was always a plus, and if he hadn't learned about the town from Buffy, he would have assumed it was just a nice, quiet place to live. Although there still would have been things to raise his suspicions, like the sheer number of cemeteries the town had. Every few blocks seemed to host a graveyard, a constant reminder of the town's dark underbelly.

He had checked into the Sunnydale Motel last night, after parting ways with Buffy at the Bus Depot, with the arrangement to meet with her the next evening. The motel's exterior looked quaint enough, with its neon sign flickering slightly in the evening light. However, he was quite surprised to learn that the motel was cheaper than the hostels he'd visited. That was, until he stepped into the room he had paid for. The wallpaper was peeling, the bed sagged in the middle, and there was a persistent damp smell that no amount of airing out seemed to dispel. Harry had only seen the inside of Riddle Manor in flashes, but he was certain that long abandoned house was in better condition than his room.

The decision to seek better living quarters in the near future was a no-brainer. It was actually part of his motivation for coming to this bar today. He decided to go in the daytime to minimize the number of vampires he'd run into on his own. However, he wasn't fully prepared for the scene he found himself walking in on.

The bar was relatively empty, with only a few patrons scattered around. Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to a group at the bar. 'If things go sour, take out the green guy with the claws first,' Harry thought to himself, as he eyed the two demons sharing drinks at the bar. The first demon was smaller, with yellow skin and small horns protruding from his forehead, giving him a somewhat impish appearance. His friend, however, reminded Harry somewhat of Hagrid, if Hagrid had been a demon with green, scaly skin and claws that looked like they could tear through steel. There was a third demon at the bar that seemed non-threatening, though his appearance was unsettling with rolls and flaps of skin hanging off his frame in an almost gelatinous manner.

"Sorry kid, we don't serve minors in this establishment," said the bartender. He was a short, skinny man with an accent Harry had heard all the time during his short stay in New York. In any other bar, the man would not have stood out. But, given the clientele of this place…

"I'm sorry," Harry began. "I'm just looking for Willy." The bartender froze at this, confirming Harry's suspicion about his identity.

"D-does he owe you money?" Willy asked.

Harry approached the bar as smoothly as he could. The demons, at present, were not paying him too much mind, but he didn't want to antagonize them either.

"Nothing like that. I'm new in town, and a friend of mine said you'd be able to help me find a few places," Harry said, smiling as the nervous bartender let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, that's no problem. Of course, depending what you're looking for, it might cost you." Willy's face broke out in a smile that made Harry momentarily flashback to Lockhart.

"My friend assured me you'd be able to help me at no cost," Harry said, playing up the naïve tourist act.

Willy laughed aloud, looking at the demons nearby for support, "Who is this friend? They sound like they don't like you that much." This got a laugh out of the green-skinned demon, and a chuckle out the yellow one. The third stayed quiet and drank his drink.

"Cute girl. Blonde. Almost my height. Goes by the name 'Slayer.'" At this, the green and yellow demons pushed back their stools and moved as far from the bar as possible. Willy's face dropped in shock, the smile disappearing in an instant.

"Whoa, now. I don't care who you call friends, you do not come into my establishment throwing that name around."

Harry sighed internally. 'Buffy warned me I might have to do this.'

Harry reached over the bar, grabbing Willy by the lapels of his shirt. He brought his face close enough to whisper to him.

"I know you're putting on a show for your customers. How much am I actually going to have to hit you?"

Willy subtly looked over Harry's shoulder at the demons trying to blend in with the wall. They were still keeping a wary eye on the proceedings at the bar.

"You hit as hard as the Slayer?" Harry shook his head softly. "A quick punch in the nose should do it."

Harry released Willy and delivered a quick punch to Willy's nose. Willy sold the hit by grasping his nose and stumbling backward into the display of drinks behind the bar, shaking the bottles, but not knocking any over.

"Alright," Willy shouted melodramatically. "What do you want to know?"

"Where's the nearest Wizarding establishment?" Harry growled, playing the part of an angry interrogator.

"It's downtown, across from that club, the Bronze. Place called the Silver Dragon." Harry had to admit, Willy played the part of reluctant snitch well.

"Now, that wasn't so hard now, was it? Maybe next time you'll be a bit more courteous to strangers." Harry gave Willy a sly wink before turning for the door.

### Espresso Pump

Buffy sat despondently out front of the Espresso Pump, waiting, hoping for Willow to arrive. The cafe was bustling with activity; people chatted over their drinks, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans filled the air, and the baristas moved with practiced efficiency. She knew her return was not going to be easy. Her experience with Ken in the demon dimension helped her remember her strength as a Slayer, and sharing stories with Harry had reminded her how much she needed her friends. However, seeing everybody last night reminded her just how much damage had been done to her relationships.

She knew getting back into school was going to be a tough hurdle, but she had assumed her friends would help her through it. And after all the things Snyder had said to her, in front of her own mother, she could really use a friend.

'Where are you, Willow?' she thought as she watched all the people going about their business. Each person seemed to have a purpose, a direction, something she felt she was lacking.

It was a minute later that she spotted a familiar face coming up the sidewalk to her. Harry's messy black hair and round glasses were a comforting sight. She genuinely tried to smile at Harry, but she was unable to hide the sorrow in her eyes.

"Buffy," Harry asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Just meeting up with Willow." She had put as much heart into sounding steady, but her voice broke slightly near the end. Harry rested a hand on her shoulder as he sat down.

"When are you meeting her?" Harry asked softly. Buffy's smile quickly faded, reverting to her previous sorrowful look.

"Thirty minutes ago," she squeaked out. Harry squeezed her shoulder and brought her in for a hug.

"Do you want some company while you wait?" Harry rubbed her shoulder, trying to comfort the girl he felt was a kindred spirit.

"I'm just going to walk home." Buffy pulled back from the hug, wiping her eyes of the tears she had refused to shed.

"I'll come with you." Buffy nodded her head in acceptance of Harry's offer. "Besides, I'm great at listening

to a friend's troubles."

Buffy was able to briefly push through her pain at those words. A smile crossed her face as she spoke. "We're friends?"

"Of course," Harry jovially responded as he hopped to his feet. "I don't just follow any strange girl home." Harry paused briefly as he recalled the events of this past Christmas Eve in Godric's Hollow. "At least, not anymore."

Buffy mentally stored that comment away for future inquiry as she began guiding Harry back to her house. "So, friend, got any friendly advice on dealing with a school principal out to make you suffer?" Buffy had asked half-jokingly, but had to pause when she saw Harry reflexively rub the scars on the back of his left hand.

"Well," Harry began, "I'd say, 'don't be scared to confide in your friends.' Failing that, fireworks and a few centaurs should do the trick."

"Shoot. The centaur-owned fireworks emporium shut down last year." Buffy sarcastically responded.

### Revello Drive

The pair walked side-by-side down the street. Revello Drive was a typical suburban street, lined with well-kept houses, manicured lawns, and the occasional tree providing shade. Harry had gotten Buffy to fill him in on the details of her encounter with her friends the night before. He was honestly impressed by the group's dedication.

"They were out hunting vampires?"

"Yeah. They had codenames, and walkie-talkies, and everything."

"Did they actually stake him, or…" Harry left the question hanging when he saw the grimace on Buffy's face.

"Nah. He knocked them all down. But I took care of him."

"Like riding a bicycle, eh," the young wizard prompted.

"A bicycle that turns to a pile of ash when you poke it," the blonde Slayer replied half-heartedly.

Harry noticed Buffy's drop in tone. "Is there something about your friends' actions that's troubling?"

"It's just…" Buffy paused, struggling to put her feelings into words. "I don't know. We were all so awkward to each other. Like nobody knew what to say."

"How'd they take the news of what happened in L.A.?"

"I didn't tell them," Buffy grimaced. "I didn't want to tell them about you without introducing you first."

Harry nodded, but felt he should dig deeper. "Did you tell them anything about what else happened? The other dimension, the missing teens?"

"No," Buffy grimaced. "That stuff is pretty run-of-the-mill for our crowd."

"Did you tell them why you left?" asked Harry.

Buffy remained silent a few seconds, looking down at her feet. "I… couldn't."

Harry took in Buffy's body language; the slumped shoulders, the downward gaze. "So what did you talk about," he asked her gently.

Buffy pulled her head up and took a deep breath before responding. "How my mom was, what I was going to do today…"

"Small talk?"

"Pretty much." Buffy's gaze returned to her feet. Harry knew her shoes, while stylish, were not that interesting.

"So the issue seems to me that both you and your friends want to say something, but neither side is able to," Harry summarized.

"Well, sure, you say it like that…" Buffy huffed.

Harry ceased his steps and gently took Buffy's hands in his own. He waited until her gaze met his to speak. "Buffy, you and your friends need to talk. Actually talk. You're all hurting, and until you can open up about that, this distance you feel, will only get worse."

Buffy sniffed loudly, her eyes filled with tears, as she nodded her head at Harry's words. As the wizard hugged his newest friend close, he couldn't help but think to himself: 'Teaspoon, my arse, Hermione.'

After settling herself down, Buffy pulled back from the hug. She wasn't certain whether it was the hugs in general, or Harry's hugs specifically that cheered her up, but she was not going to complain about the results. Looking across the street, Buffy spotted the familiar front of her house.

"Come on," Buffy said, pulling Harry along by the arm. "I want to introduce you to my mom."

### Buffy's House

Joyce Summers sat at the kitchen island, sipping on a cup of tea. The last twenty-four hours had put her through the emotional wringer. Buffy's return had been a whirlwind of emotions. All summer, she had been hoping to say those words, to once again have her little girl back in her arms. But now that she was home, Joyce couldn't, for the life of her, figure out what to say to Buffy.

The memory of her last words to Buffy that night still pained her. She had essentially kicked her daughter out of her home for saving the world. She hadn't meant the words; she was simply frightened of what her daughter said she did every night. 'Vampires, demons, the forces of darkness,' no matter how much Mr. Giles had tried to explain it all to her in the weeks following that terrible night, Joyce couldn't shake off the one question nagging her; 'Why didn't she feel she could tell me?'

Her musings were interrupted when she heard the front door open. Pat had just left, so Joyce doubted it was her. Any further questions were halted when she heard Buffy's voice call out.

"Mom?"

"In here, honey," Joyce called back over her shoulder. Her curiosity piqued again when she heard a second set of footsteps entering the kitchen alongside Buffy's. Joyce turned around and saw Buffy leading a raven-haired young man by the hand into the kitchen. Joyce remained silent, but her blood pressure went through the roof.

"Mom," Buffy said, her face beaming, "I want you to meet Harry. I met him in L.A."

"Hello, Mrs. Summers. Buffy's told me a lot about you." Harry held out his right hand to shake Joyce's; he noticed, oddly, that Joyce's eyes had lowered to examine Harry's left. The one Harry just remembered was clasped in Buffy's.

"Oh… No! Nothing like that," Harry exclaimed, releasing Buffy's hand. "We're just friends. I have a girlfriend back home. I wouldn't…"

Buffy's eyes went wide as she realized what Harry was conveying Joyce thought. "Oh, God. Mom, I didn't mean to sound like I…"

After releasing an enormous sigh, and a silent prayer of thanks to the god of don't-let-my-daughter-have-run-off-and-gotten-married, Joyce schooled her features and addressed the teens.

"Let's just chalk this up to a momentary lapse into a mother's worst fears, and leave it at that?"

"Sounds good," Harry and Buffy replied in unison.

Joyce held her hand out to Harry. "Joyce Summers."

Harry shook Joyce's hand firmly. "Harry Potter. How do you do?"

"Much better," Joyce replied jokingly. "How do you and Buffy know each other?"

Buffy worried about what path to take answering a question like this. Her mother was aware she was the Slayer, it was that truth finally taking root in her mom's mind that led to her running off, but she didn't know how much to tell her mom about Harry. She didn't want to keep any more secrets from her mom, but she didn't know how many people Harry wanted knowing about his powers, either. She went to the fridge to busy herself while Harry answered.

"Well, I'm sort of taking a year to travel, now that I'm out of school, and I met Buffy in Los Angeles. We got to talking while helping a mutual acquaintance, and when she decided to return to Sunnydale, I thought I'd join her."

"He's being a bit modest," Buffy stated. "He actually helped convince me to come back." Harry shrugged shyly at Joyce's look of delight at him.

Buffy was impressed with Harry's answer. It provided the needed details without disclosing his magic, or the fact she made her decision after hacking apart a demon in another dimension. 'Guess I'll just follow his lead with the answers,' Buffy thought to herself.

"Oh, Buffy, before I forget, Willow called. She said she was sorry, but something came up. She said she'd call back." Buffy frowned at this news her mother delivered.

"Did she leave a message?" It wasn't difficult for Harry to pick up the hurt in Buffy's voice.

"No. But I had a thought," Joyce continued, "What if I invited Willow, and Mr. Giles, and everybody over for dinner tomorrow night? Don't you think that'd be nice?"

Buffy signaled her mom with her eyes toward Harry, who had taken a seat on the opposite end of the island. "And Harry, of course."

"I wouldn't want to impose on you, Mrs. Summers," Harry politely responded.

"Not at all, Harry."

"Do you want me to call everyone, and invite them over?" Buffy offered.

Joyce paused at this. "I kind of already did."

Harry had to cover his mouth to hide the smile on his face. 'Mrs. Weasley would love her.'

"But, could you run down and get the company plates?"

Buffy raised an eyebrow at this. "Mom, Willow and everybody aren't company-plate people. They're normal-plate people."

"We never have company over," this time, Joyce's eyes signaled Buffy toward Harry. "Indulge your mother?"

Buffy decided to leave the discussion at that and headed for the basement door. 'Any other awkward situations going to be thrown my way, today?' Buffy grumbled to herself.

### Later

Buffy moved a final shovelful of dirt over before she figured the hole was deep enough. She was just thankful she didn't have to handle the cat's corpse. 'Sometimes it's handy to have a polite, chivalrous Brit around

to handle the truly dirty work.'

Once Harry had set the bag containing the dead cat in the hole, Buffy was about to move the dirt back when Joyce stopped her.

"Don't you want to say anything?"

"Like what, 'thanks for stopping by and dying?'" Buffy snarked.

Harry stepped in at this point. "Sorry, lost, lonely cat, for what befell you before you could make your way home. May your burdens be lifted, and you find all the comforts that were missing in your time."

The Summers women were silent for a moment as they took in Harry's countenance. Buffy knew Harry had recently lost some friends, but looking at him, how his eyes were staring at the cat, it seemed like he was reliving that funeral right now.

"That sounds like the best words to say," Joyce said softly. Buffy wrestled whether to ask Harry if there was anything she could do, but decided it was probably best to finish burying the cat first.

Once that was done, Joyce was the first one to speak. "Where are you staying at, Harry?"

Harry shook his head quickly; clearing whatever thoughts he had been mired in. "The Sunnydale Motel." Both Summers' winced at this. "I know. But when I met Buffy, I was staying at a youth hostel, so this is… just a small step down. I was actually planning to look for somewhere nicer tomorrow."

"Just so you know," Buffy stated, "because you don't technically 'live' there, vampires don't need an invite to enter hotels or motels."

Harry momentarily froze at this news. He contemplated what his response would be. "Really? Huh." Harry was mentally scrolling through the list of wards he could put up, himself, to protect him no matter where he went.

"Wow," Buffy chuckled. "That was almost a dead-on imitation of Oz."

### August 24, 1998. The Silver Dragon

Harry examined the alleyway that separated The Bronze from what appeared to Muggles as an empty warehouse. To the Muggle denizens of Sunnydale, all that adorned this wall right across from the front entrance of the town's most popular—and from what Harry could tell, only—nightclub was graffiti. What was vexing Harry was the fact that was all he could see, too.

He was not as gifted as Dumbledore or other wizards at picking up areas that knew magic, but he could at least tell there was something here. But there was no odd signage, no out-of-place doors, and it was too early in the day to be able to see a lot of oddly dressed people wandering around. All he could see was design after design in paint.

He was just about to give up and head back to Willy's bar when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. As he turned back toward the wall, what he saw disappeared once again.

'A very mild Notice-Me-Not charm,' Harry exclaimed to himself.

Hermione had drilled him and Ron in the use and limitations of the charm while on their search for horcruxes. She had mentioned that what most often gave away the presence of these charms was a witch or wizard subconsciously noticing something caused by what was missing. In this case, what the Notice-Me-Not charm couldn't hide was a shadow.

Harry pulled out his wand as he stepped closer to the section of the wall. He cast a silent Lumos and waved it around. He stopped when the light not only cast the shadow of a large doorknob but also illuminated a design of a dragon made of silver paint.

The tavern he stepped into shared some elements with the Leaky Cauldron, but for the most part, resembled more of an early-century American bar than a Dickensian pub. The tables and bar were wooden, but all the seats had shiny red upholstery. The bar was more of an island, occupying the center of the room, as opposed to the far wall, and the bartenders stood in the middle of the square. Near the back, he saw a fireplace and one of the many signs on the wall read: Owl Post Available Here.

Harry walked up to the bar, taking in the appearance of the bartender in front of him. He was a taller man, with salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in a striped button-up dress shirt with an apron around his waist, covering his dress slacks. The man had a grin on his face as Harry reached the bar.

"Well done, young sir," the man said in a cheery voice with a Boston accent. "You figured out the door a lot quicker than other newbies. The name's Gilbert Sullivan, but you can call me Gil."

"Harry Potter, but you can call me Harry."

"Oh, don't worry, Harry, we've heard of you even on this side of the Atlantic." Gil continued wiping down the bar, but never took his eyes off Harry. "Anything I can get for you?"

"Just a butter beer. It's too early in the day for anything stronger, and I imagine I couldn't order anything else, anyway."

Gil opened a bottle and set it before Harry. "Yeah, we hear that a lot from European types. There's only so many times I can apologize for the drinking age."

Harry took a sip to allow him to glance around the room once more. "Have to admit, it took me a while to find this place. Is this the only wizard business in town?"

"The only solely wizard business, yeah. You can get some decent potions ingredients at The Magic Box, but they're owned and run by muggles. Not much of a permanent population of us wand wavers, here, cause of the vampires; but there's enough tourism traffic to keep me in business."

Harry nodded in understanding. He'd only been in Sunnydale a few days and could see the effects the supernatural had on the populace. It could wear down even the toughest of people, magical or muggle.

Harry gestured toward the fireplace. "Does that do international floo calls?"

"Only between the hours of ten p.m. and three a.m. You want to sign up for a time slot?"

"Yeah," Harry said, setting a Galleon on the bar. "Got some people back home I need to let know my mailing address for the next few weeks."

### Sunnydale High – Library

"Geez, Giles, can't you like anything normal," complained Cordelia to the older librarian.

"I'm trying to determine how it rose from the grave," Giles groaned bitterly. "It's not like I'm going to take it home and offer it a saucer of warm milk."

Oz continued examining the undead cat with his usual focused, stoic gaze. "I like it. I think we should call it Patches."

Giles always thought to himself that Oz's Zen acceptance of the paranormal was either the healthiest view he had ever seen or possibly the most unnerving. The only sure thing was that he was a good counterbalance to the excitable redhead currently flipping through reference books.

"What about Buffy's party, tonight," Willow asked aloud. "I told her mom we'd help out. Bring stuff."

Cordelia, flipping through her own reference book, replied, "I'm the dip."

The assembled Scoobies paused a moment at that. The perfect opportunity for Xander's patented wit. "You gotta admire the purity of it," he offered quickly.

"What? Onion dip? Stirring, not cooking, and easy to make. That's what I bring," Cordelia explained.

Oz sat back in his seat, partially because he had slated his curiosity about the smell of the zombie cat before him. "We should determine what kind of deal this is. Is it a gathering, a shindig, or a hootenanny?"

Giles, Willow, and Xander merely gave Oz a curious glance. Cordelia was the one to ask: "What's the difference?"

"Well, a gathering is brie and mellow song styling's. Shindig: dip," this got a smile from Cordelia, "slightly less mellow song styling's; possibly a large amount of malt beverage. And a hootenanny? Chock full of 'hoot,' with just a little bit of 'nanny.'"

Xander quietly scoffed. "Well, I hate brie."

"I know. It smells like Giles' cat," Cordelia added derisively.

"It's not my cat."

"And what would we discuss at a gathering, anyway?" Xander continued, his voice building in bitterness. "'So, Buffy, meet any nice pimps on your travels? Oh, by-the-by, thanks for ruining our lives for the past three months.'"

Xander would have seen the shock on everyone's faces had he not been staring at the undead cat in a cage.

"Xander?" Willow muttered, getting his attention.

"I know, I know," Xander backpedaled. "She doesn't want to talk about it, we don't want to talk about it, 'so why don't we shut up and dance?'"

"Buffy did say she wanted to let loose a little." Willow brightened with an idea. "Hey, Oz, you guys are rehearsing tonight; why don't you guys play the party?"

Oz nodded. "Yeah Certainly!"

---

"From what Joyce said, we have him partially to thank for Buffy's return."

"Well, all the more reason, then," Willow exclaimed. "Nothing like a party to say 'welcome home, Buffy,' and 'thank you, Harry.'"

Xander slapped Giles on the back, unwittingly distracting him from the next page of the book in front of him, featuring a drawing of what would have been a familiar-looking mask. "That's one vote for 'boring, bad-smelling cheese night.' Who all votes for actual, fun?"

The teenagers in the room all raised their hands. Cordelia even raised both of hers.

"Alright," Giles sighed, before blindly turning a page. "I'm clearly outvoted."

### Sunnydale – Cinnebar Street

Harry walked along the sidewalk, taking in the brisk evening air. He had decided to swing by the Silver Dragon after pricing out some of the nicer hotels and pick up a bottle of wine for the evening. The bottle was currently shrunk down and in his mokeskin pouch.

His journey was also delayed by the flashing police lights and crime-scene tape ahead of him. There were a few gawking bystanders taking in the sight of the investigators securing the scene around the man sprawled out on the ground. Harry bowed his head momentarily in silent respect of the unknown deceased. His vigil was ended when he heard collected gasps and the sounds of struggle.

When he looked up, the man who was sprawled on the ground moments ago was now tearing his way past the investigators. Those who tried to stop him were thrown violently out of the way.

Harry rolled his eyes skyward. 'One night. Was that too much to ask?'

Harry scanned the crowd to make sure no one was paying any particular attention to him as he slipped away from the crowd. He'd have to circle around to make sure no one saw him. He just hoped he'd be able to catch up to the animated corpse before it was too late.

### Giles' Car

Giles pushed his car as much as he could. He had found the cause of the undead cat currently raising hell and a stink in his office. He had also found the depiction of the cause, hence his grumbling.

"Honestly. 'Do you like my mask? Don't you think it's pretty? It raises the dead.'" Giles could only think of one word to explain this. "Americans."

Giles was distracted enough in his ramblings to not notice the form that was in the middle of the street until it was too late. With a squeal of tires, his car made impact with the body, momentarily rolling it onto his hood before throwing it forward.

"Oh, good God." Giles had unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car before he heard another voice.

"Get back in the car!" shouted the dark-haired youth with a familiar accent. "It was already dead!"

"What," Giles was able to ask before the partially decayed corpse started getting back up. "Oh."

In no time at all, the young man had pulled his wand and cast an Incendio at the corpse. Giles flinched when it went up in flames, falling to the ground once more. He quickly pulled himself together and looked at what he now knew was a young wizard.

"Good thing you were tracking it," Giles offered his hand. "Rupert Giles, at your service."

"Harry Potter. Sad to say that wasn't the inferi I was trying to track down."

"Harry…" Giles muttered in surprise under his breath. The groaning of several more zombies coming their way interrupted them.

"Although," Harry continued, "the one I was tracking might be one of those." He cast another two incendios before Giles grasped his shoulder.

"We have to get to the source of them. Come on!" Giles dragged Harry to the car.

Once the doors were shut, and the car on its way, Harry turned to Giles. "What's the source of the inferi?"

"They're not inferi, they're zombies."

"What's the difference?"

"Zombies, you only have to cut off the head."

"Good to know. Where are we going?"

"1630 Revello Drive."

Harry stared at Giles aghast. "Buffy's house?"

It was Giles' turn to be aghast, although he couldn't gape at Harry quite as long. "You're Buffy's Harry?"

Realization dawned on Harry's face. "Oh, you're her Watcher, aren't you? Pleased to meet you. Now, tell me what you know."

### Buffy's House

Giles' car came to a sudden halt out front of Buffy's house. The Watcher and the Wizard jumped out of their respective doors. From the damage to the front door and windows, they knew they were too late to warn the occupants of the danger.

"You go in and get the mask, I'll stay out here in case more of them show up," Harry shouted to Giles.

'Ginny is just going to love this,' Harry thought sarcastically to himself as Giles hurried inside. 'Hermione's going to be pissed, too. She might even try swearing.'

Harry was checking the perimeter of the house when he heard the telltale crash of glass and the sound of a body hitting the ground. He was quickly rounding the corner to the backyard when he saw what appeared to be a woman in a mask hitting a young man with a flash of light. All Harry could see happen to the young man was him freezing in a trance-like state. Harry decided to take the opportunity provided.

"Diffindo," he shouted, casting the severing charm. Worry quickly hit him when he saw the woman raise a hand, blocking the curse. "Definitely more than a zombie."

At this point, Harry saw Buffy rise up, a shovel in hand. "Hey, Pat." As the woman turned, Buffy stabbed the shovel into her eyes. "Made you look."

The woman stumbled back, and in a flash, was gone. The young man, still in the door, called out. "Never mind."

Buffy smiled at Harry, waving him over. "Harry, I'd like you to meet Oz. Oz, this is Harry."

The two men shook hands as Buffy guided them inside. "Did I see correctly, that you shot a spell at Pat?"

Harry looked at the wand that was still in his hand. 'Well, I was going to tell Buffy's friends anyway.' "Yeah. You saw right."

Buffy went to Joyce as she entered the front room and hugged her. Harry saw there was a dark-haired couple next to Giles, and a redhead moving toward Buffy.

"Was this a normal day at the office for you," Joyce quipped.

"No. This was nothing," Buffy replied. She quickly hugged Willow before noticing the awkward expression on Harry's face.

"Guys," Buffy said as she stepped back from Willow, "this is Harry. Harry, you've met my mom and Oz, this is Willow, Xander, Cordelia, and Giles."

"Oh, I already met Giles, he drove me over here," Harry explained. "It's a bit of a story, I'll tell you more when I'm done cleaning up."

"Harry," Joyce said, "you don't have to—" her protest was silenced when Harry waved his wand around the room, causing the broken glass, furniture, and torn fabrics to mend themselves. In less than a minute, the front room looked like it was just set up for the party. Joyce, Xander, Cordelia, and Willow were in a stunned silence. Oz was in his usual silence, and Giles and Buffy were both holding back their laughter at everyone's faces.

"How-how did you do that?" Xander managed to spit out.

"Can you teach me to do that?" Willow excitedly asked.

"What the hell are you?" Cordelia shouted in a confused, angry tone.

"He's a wizard," Giles said, matter-of-factly. "Do you prefer 'Boy-Who-Lived,' or 'Man-Who-Conquered'?"

Harry smirked at Giles' question. "I prefer just 'Harry.'"

"Where can I get one of those?" Willow asked, more excited than before.

### August 25, 1998. The Burrow

Ginny Weasley was not happy. Her boyfriend was an ocean away, he was still rushing in to save people, and for some Godforsaken reason, he thought he could drop a huge bomb on them in a postscript. *Did you know demons were real?* Those words had created a virtual firestorm amongst the Weasleys.

Molly demanded that Arthur find out what he could from the Ministry, but that just resulted in an uncomfortable conversation with an Unspeakable, according to the Weasley patriarch. Hermione, and by extension Ron and Ginny, had started researching what they could find, which wasn't much. Ron had quit by lunch, Ginny by dinner, and Hermione only quit when Molly chased her off to bed.

It was for these grievances that Ginny had gotten started early this morning on a letter that she felt destined to be her first howler. Before she could really hit her stride on the third draft, the fireplace flared to life.

"Hello," Harry's voice called out. "Is anyone there?"

Ginny turned slowly in her seat. 'Oh good.' Ginny thought to herself. 'I can save the owl a trip.'

Ginny kneeled in front of the fireplace. "Hi, Harry," she said in her most insincerely sweet voice. A fact that was not lost on Harry, judging by his nervous expression.

"Hey, Ginny. I take it you guys got my letter?" A nod of her head, and a predatory smile was the only response Harry got. "Is there anyone else in the house?"

"Don't worry, Harry. They'll be down to join us

soon enough." Ginny then took a deep breath and started an angry tirade that soon drew Molly and Hermione downstairs.

Hermione and Molly voicing their opinions on the matter drew George downstairs. The reactions of the Weasley females and Hermione to Harry's tale of excitement with the zombies, just hours ago, was loud enough to even get Ron out of bed before 8 a.m.