| Summer Crossover Series 2003: Fair Warning By Kuzibah |
| An Angel/Harry Potter (Book series, for those of you living in a cave for the past five years) Crossover This story contains spoilers for �Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.� If you wish to remain unspoiled, read no further! Disclaimer: Wesley Wyndham-Pryce and other characters and situations particular to "Angel" are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, The WB Network, and other individuals and corporate bodies. Bill Weasley, Harry Potter and other associated materials are the property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended or implied. Introduction to "Fair Warning": When Wesley was last seen, he was signed on as a partner/owner of Wolfram & Hart, L.A. branch. Bill Weasley, eldest brother of Ron, was last known to have been working with the Order of the Phoenix, a secret wizard society dedicated to the struggle against Lord Voldemort (He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) and his followers, the Death-Eaters. Also, according to one of my Christmas fics from last year, Wesley and Bill are old school chums. Read the whole story here: With All of the Folks at Home Rating: PG Archive- Please email request. Feedback- Absolutely. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Wesley�s secretary had just delivered a pot of perfectly brewed tea and a plate of cheese biscuits to his desk when pandemonium erupted. Six security guards with guns and what looked like a large butterfly net burst into his office and headed for the window. �I�m sorry, sir,� the head guard said. �It got past the perimeter. But don�t worry. We�ll grab it when it lands.� Then Wesley saw what all the excitement was about: a large barn owl heading their way. �It�s okay,� he said. �Stand down� er� at ease�� He pointed to the guard with the net. �For God�s sake, stop waving that thing around.� Reluctantly, the guards stepped back, but still watched warily as Wesley opened the window and beckoned the owl inside. It hopped through the window and extended a letter toward Wesley, who took it. �Thank you, gentlemen,� he said. �The situation is quite under control.� Slowly the guards left, closing the door behind them. Wesley gave the owl a handful of biscuits, then sat at his desk. He looked at the letter, noting that unlike the one at Christmas and the dozen or so since, this was without an address or return name, and the seal, instead of intertwined Ws, bore a simple star. Wesley opened it and began to read, and the oddness continued. �My dear friend,� it read. �I�ll bet you�d thought I�d forgotten tomorrow�s Muggle holiday! But how could I, after the wonderful celebration we had in Italy as boys. In fact, I�d like to meet you tomorrow night. You pick the place and send a note with the owl. No need for the address, just send the name. I�ll find it. �Until tomorrow. And watch out for vampires! (Ha, ha!) �Your good friend.� It was unsigned. Wesley read it over again. Aside from the final sentence, he might well have believed he�d gotten someone else�s mail by mistake. He hadn�t seen the presumed writer of the letter, Bill Weasley, since Christmas, although they�d written regularly since. Bill�s letter�s, until recently, had expressed his fears about the resurrection of the Dark Lord Voldemort. But then, a month or two ago, news of the politics of the Wizard world had ceased, and Bill had spoken only of himself and his family. Wesley hadn�t thought about it, as the news of the Weasleys had been so personal, Bill having apparently moved back in with them, but now that he thought about it, the letters were phrased in such a way that anyone intercepting them would not understand them. Now this, full of deliberate misinformation and vagueness. Something was going on, Wesley was sure. His usual haunt, The Lion and the Lamb, would be no good; he was too well known there. But there were a few bars where Wolfram and Hart�s people occasionally did business that were quiet and discreet. Wesley wrote the name of one on a card and slipped in into an envelope. He sealed it and handed it to the owl without addressing it. �Take this to Bill Weasley,� Wesley said, and the owl flew gracefully out the window and was soon lost to sight. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Wesley arrived at the bar twenty minutes early. It was a small place on the top floor of an expensive hotel, a bar with four stools, and maybe a dozen tables and booths. The lighting was subdued, the d�cor tasteful, the staff discreet. Not surprisingly, domestic beer was ten dollars for an eight-ounce glass. Privacy, like most things, didn�t come cheap in L.A. Luckily, Wesley had an unlimited corporate account. He took a corner booth and ordered a gin and tonic. Right on schedule, Bill arrived, and Wesley was glad he�d opted for seclusion. The wizard�s clothes were ill-fitting and patched, and he still wore a robe over his normal clothes. He carried a broom and Wesley could clearly see his wand stuck in the belt of his trousers. Bill�s long, red hair, normally pulled into a ponytail, was loose around his shoulders, and tangled as though by a strong wind. But worst were his eyes, which had dark circles, as though Bill had not been sleeping well, and were looking furtively around the bar. Even in their darkest days together in school, when the shadow of Voldemort was over them all, Wesley had never seen Bill look so haunted. Bill spotted Wesley at once, and slid into the seat across from him, propping the broom against the corner. �Wesley, thank goodness you were able to come,� he said. �There�s so much I have to tell you�� Wesley put a steadying hand on Bill�s arm. �It�s all right,� he said. �We won�t be overheard here. My firm� they see to it.� Bill visibly relaxed, and allowed Wesley to order him a drink, being unfamiliar with �Muggle ales.� Then, with a last careful survey of the near-empty room, he began. �There�s terrible things afoot in the Wizard world,� he said. �You-know-who� he�s back, Wesley. Completely restored to life and gathering his followers to him. They�re ready to wage war.� He took a sip of the Guinness he�d gotten, and took a deep breath. �They believe the benefits of magic should belong to pureblood wizards and witches only,� he went on. �Those with Muggle blood will be forced from our society, if they are successful.� �Dear Lord,� Wesley said. �His followers, they�re called Death-Eaters,� Bill said. �They�re at every level. They�re denying that you-know-who is back, and making life very difficult for those who know he is. They�ve been intercepting our owls�� �I thought that might be the case,� Wesley said, �given the strange remarks in your latest letter. I mean, I didn�t recall visiting Italy with you�� For the first time Bill allowed himself a smile, but it quickly faded. �I couldn�t take the chance,� he said. �If a Death-Eater had connected me to you, it could have been very dangerous. My parents and some of their friends are members of a secret order, sworn to fight you-know-who and all that he stands for.� Bill lowered his voice even further, causing the two men to lean in close across the booth to continue talking. �The Order includes those in very high positions, as well, but also wanted criminals and known undesirables�� �Part Muggles?� Wesley asked. �Worse,� Bill said. �A werewolf, a half-giant, and a former follower of you-know-who. We�re all being watched. But I�m telling you this for your own protection. Your firm, and you in particular, are beginning to attract the wrong kind of attention.� �But� we aren�t part of the Wizard society,� Wesley said. �That�s precisely the point!� Bill burst out, then looked around the bar again to see if anyone had heard him. �You�re Muggles, without any inborn ability at all, and yet by will alone you�ve found ways to control magical forces. You-know-who and his followers look on this as an abomination.� �We�ve wards,� Wesley said calmly. �Protective spells and barriers�� �Children�s toys, Wesley,� Bill said gravely. �If the Death-Eaters bring the battle to you, you wouldn�t�� The wizard suddenly went pale. �What is it?� Wesley said, then he saw it, over Bill�s shoulder: a tall robed figure in a mask. Bill reached out and took Wesley�s hand. �Apparate!� he shouted, with a flourish of his wand, and Wesley felt the world slide out from underneath him. They didn�t go far, just into the hallway outside the bar, but Bill did not relax his grip on Wesley�s hand. He waved his wand again and said, �Pariei nebulae.� A wall of thick fog rose up around them, completely hiding them from the view of anyone coming after them, and Bill pulled Wesley after him as they ran down the hall and into a stairwell. They descended one floor before exiting. Bill pointed his wand at the first window they came to and shouted, �Feri Quassa!� The glass exploded outward, as though hit by a shock wave, and Bill pitched his broom in its direction, calling out �Levitatio,� as he did so. The broom skimmed through the air like a surfboard along a wave, and came to a halt just at the sill, hovering. �Climb on,� Bill told Wesley, as he lifted his robes to straddle the broomstick. �Are you serious?� Wesley said. �We haven�t time, Wesley,� Bill insisted. �You�ll be perfectly safe. I�ve been flying brooms for over twenty years.� With a longing glance back at solid ground, Wesley leapt onto the broomstick behind his friend. �Now hold on tight,� Bill shouted, and like a bottle rocket the broom streaked out the window and away. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* They touched down on the beach, away from the city lights, as gently as a falling leaf. Somewhat unsteadily Wesley climbed from the broom and sank gratefully onto the soft sand. �I�m sorry I can�t stay,� Bill told him, still hovering on the broom. �Can you get home from here?� Wesley extracted a tiny cell phone from his breast pocket. �We �Muggles� have had to make do,� he said. �My firm can have a limousine here in less than ten minutes. Not as fast as magic, but much less exciting.� �I�ll try to find a way to keep in touch with you,� Bill said. �The owls are too risky just now.� �You could try the phone,� Wesley said. �Or the U.S. mail.� Bill gave another small smile. �Now that is a novel thought,� he said. �Good luck, Wesley. And be careful. I mean it.� �I will,� Wesley said, and with a nod, Bill turned his broomstick in the air and zipped out of sight. With a shaky laugh, Wesley flipped open his phone and hit speed-dial. Afterward: There will probably be more of these cross-overs. J.K Rowling just writes too damn slowly for me. Main Menu ~ Return to Crossover Menu |