Marcus L. Rowland (ffutures) wrote,
Marcus L. Rowland

BtVS / Harry Potter: Dead Trouble part II


BtVS / Harry Potter crossovers, SPOILERS FOR HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS. Part one is here

Dead Trouble


Mild Peril

Harry looked in the mirror, trying to spot any flaws in the illusion that would hide his scar and alter his appearance subtly for the next few hours, and adjusted his respectable red tie. Behind him Ginny said “Admiring yourself again?”

“Well, someone has to.”

“You are so full of yourself.” Ginny imitated a south London accent.

“And you’re watching too much Doctor Who when we go round to the Dursleys.”

“And you don’t, 'Harry Tyler?'”

“There’s sod all else to do there and I’ve got to call myself something. This time of year with everyone on holiday I could run into witches or wizards almost anywhere, and I really don’t want to explain a bunch of autograph hunters to Muggles if someone notices my name. Remember when that daft Australian witch spotted me in Trafalgar Square and wanted me to sign her ‘I’ve seen the Short-Snouts of Kopparberg’ T-shirt? In fluorescent green Singing Ink?”

“Fair point. Okay, show me your psychic paper.”

Harry held up a Muggle passport, two credit cards, and an envelope containing shipping documents and his airline ticket, all perfectly genuine but bearing the Tyler name. The Ministry had a man in the Home Office who took care of the passports, Gringrotts were only too happy to arrange the credit cards on Muggle banks for a suitably large fee. “It’s all here, honest.” He tucked the cards into his wallet, covering his Auror’s identification, added a sheaf of bank notes, and put a Muggle photograph of Ginny and the children over the usual animated picture.

“Shopping list?”

“Um… errr…” Harry pretended to be patting his pockets then produced the scroll from behind Ginny’s ear with a flourish. “Soon as the funeral’s over I’ll do the rounds of Hogsmeade, get everything I can and order the rest.”

“And you’ll apparate home afterwards?”

“Or take the Knight Bus if there’s too much to side-apparate.”

“Right then.” Ginny handed him a small case that he could carry as hand luggage. “I’ve packed a change of clothes and a formal black robe for the funeral, if you need more than that you can always Floo home once you’re off the plane. And don’t try to apparate from the plane unless it’s a real emergency, you know how dangerous that is.”

“I know, love.” Harry pulled her close and gave her a lingering kiss.

“Mmmm...” Ginny eventually broke free and dabbed the lipstick from his mouth, straightened his tie again, and said “Better head off, the flight’s in three hours. Have you got a good arrival point at the airport?”

“I’m just apparating to the Auror’s offices. No reason not to, I’m not undercover or anything, except from Muggles.”

“Right then.” She adjusted his tie again. “Make sure that your wand is out of sight.”

“Right. See you Wednesday evening.” He apparated out, leaving Ginny in the hall. In the living room, unnoticed, a clock hand labelled with an ornate ‘H’ swung from ‘At Home’ to ‘Mild Peril.’

. . . . .

Having negotiated the perils of the Auror’s office, the airport concourse, and the specialised air freight company that was arranging the shipment of the body, Harry eventually found himself queuing for the security check. With his wand concealed in his sleeve and some mild Muggle-repelling spells in place to prevent anyone taking too much interest in his clothing or his bag, he was reasonably safe from any embarrassing revelations. Immediately ahead of him a dozen teenage girls were waiting to go through the barrier, apparently led by an older red-headed woman Harry guessed was their teacher, who was arguing about something with one of the security officers. All of the girls had small backpacks and the usual assortment of shopping bags, handbags, and junk that needed to be checked. It seemed to take a ridiculous amount of time, and a girl half-way along the queue was juggling some brightly-coloured plastic balls, a little larger than ping-pong balls, one handed. Harry had nothing better to watch, and soon realised that there were seven balls in the air, all of them apparently under perfect control. It was an eye-catching performance, and Harry watched appreciatively for a couple of minutes before a thought crossed his mind. If he was watching this, what was he missing?

It took another minute for him to spot the trick. Concealed by three other girls, a fourth threw something over the barrier and past the search area, a distance of at least twenty-five or thirty feet. Presumably someone caught it on the far side, but Harry couldn’t see past the queue. It happened three more times, then whatever problem was holding up the queue was resolved and people started moving forward again.

Harry followed, puzzled and not entirely sure what he’d seen, or what he should do about it. He hadn’t had a chance to take a good look, but he was pretty sure that whatever it was that the girl had thrown looked a lot like short thick wands. Maybe they were trainee witches from one of the foreign schools, for some reason unable to conceal their wands magically as they went through the security check. It didn’t feel quite right, somehow – the way that the wands had been thrown looked like sheer skill, not a spell. Maybe there was someone around who could detect magic, even the low-level power of a concealment charm, and the girls were trying to evade him. But none of them looked familiar, or matched the face of any of the wanted witches every Auror had to memorize as part of his job. So why were they throwing wands? And if they weren’t wands, what were they? Tent pegs?

It took another three or four minutes for Harry’s subconscious to finish processing what he’d seen, and he finally realised. Not tent pegs, not wands. They were too short and stubby. He looked around, but there were no other Aurors in view. Why should there be when the famous Harry Potter was going to be on the flight? He tried to think of a way to send a message, some sort of warning of trouble ahead, but without an owl or Floo, and no way to perform a spell without being noticed in the crowded lounge, it was going to be impossible.

Maybe it was nothing, but why in Merlin’s name did anyone want to smuggle stakes on a plane?


Tags: btvs, crossover, fanfic, harry potter

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