Marie Antoinette

Disclaimer: I own neither Buffy, nor Harry Potter. Like every fanfiction writer
out there, I secretly wish that I did. But I'll save that tired joke for another fic.

Timeline: Buffy, Post Chosen (aka after Season 7). Harry Potter is after Book Five,
Order of the Phoenix. Just cause.

Note on Magical Abilities: Xander is not a Wizard. Xander will not be a Wizard.
The end.

AN: Yes, I finally gave in to a "Xander's Real Father" Challenge. Not sure if the
Challenge is still up, but I'm following more the basic idea than the specifics.
Would REALLY like some feedback on this, I'm not sure how I feel about it.

And yes, the title is a Douglas Adams reference. I can't get the damn theme song
out of my head, and I was totally lacking for title ideas.




***************** Gee, Thanks for all the Love: Prologue *******************




You know, of all the ways Xander Harris had imagined he’d die over the years, being
hexed by men wearing DRESSES was not one of them. He skidded to an abrupt halt on
the stone floor as he heard the screamed curse, arms wind-milling, and watched
exasperated as a stream of green light went sailing by, inches from his chest.

Stupid Avada Kedavra. Join the thirteenth century and use a goddamn stake!

There were clusters of bodies on the floor, and people still trying their best to
kill each other in the halls, but Xander was on a mission. A typical Xander Harris
mission.

Save Buffy.

Although all in all, things weren’t going bad for a Last Battle. The Voldemort dude
and his followers weren’t taking their ass whoppin’ lying down, okay quite honestly
before Buffy and Scoobies had shown up with a veritable army of mini-Slayers things
for the side of light had looked pretty grim, but it was amazing what a little hard
work and utter ruthlessness could do to help win a war. And now here they were,
fighting to the bitter end in the hallways of Hogwarts.

With everyone wearing dresses.

Willow’s power shot by his head, clearing a path towards the Great Hall. He turned,
blew his best friend a kiss, and sprinted onwards, pausing only to thump an errant
and Death Eater or two across the head with the Scythe on his way. Hermione Granger
was just about to get gutted by a Death Eater who had figured out what the pointy end
of a knife was for, for instance, when Xander sped by and took the bastard down a
solid thump on the back of the neck. The young witch flashed him a brilliant, feral
smile, and leapt back into the fray.

Good girl.

Xander allowed himself a moment of righteous outrage on the Golden Trio’s behalf
though, mostly because he and his better halves knew, more than anyone on this
screw-ball planet of theirs, how utterly awful it was to have the mask ripped off of
life as a child. To not just see things most adults would run screaming in terror
from, but to have to stand up to all those monsters under the bed and hope to God
they didn’t kill you.

It got so much harder after the first death.

The doors to the Great Hall were askew, and it was a lot quieter here than in the
rest of the castle. Xander wasn’t fooled though because, if Buffy was in there, this
was where all the really scary stuff was going down. He paused for a moment in his
headlong dash at the threshold, took a deep breath, and without a backward look for
the life he was probably leaving behind, ran in.

*****************************************************************************

He saw Buffy first of course. Not much mattered outside of that, really, because as
long as Buffy was still around things couldn’t totally go to Hell on Earth. The
Powers owed them, her, too much for that. Although Xander was sure they’d debate
that point endlessly.

Bastards.

She was crouched by the side of Dumbledore, and though they both looked very much
the worse for wear, Xander was pleased to see a nice mound of dead and incapacitated
Death Eaters around them both. Xander wasn’t totally convinced that Albus Dumbledore
was really as powerful as everyone seemed to think, but Wills had brightly told him
that he was almost as strong as she was and, well, that was enough for him.

The elderly wizard was looking very old today, and blood streaked his long, white
beard, but there was a fierce light in the twinkling eyes that was positively
bloodthirsty. Rather like young Hermione Granger. Buffy was, quite clearly,
visibly, pissed off. She hadn’t looked over at him yet, but he could tell by the
rigid set of her shoulders and the visible tightness of her body that she was one or
two badly worded insults away from cracking.

That was reassuring too in a way. Buffy got so much more done when she had worked
herself into a self-righteous rage.

And then there was Harry. Harry Potter, supposed savior of the Wizarding world.
Ever since the Scoobies had exploded into the quaint warring world of Wizards a month
and a half ago, Buffy had played fiercely protective Big Sister to the young savior
from day one, after a somewhat lengthy explanation of course. The mothering seemed
to have given the young boy enough spine to be standing defiantly in front of the
Wizard who was responsible both for his parents’ deaths, and his own somewhat
miserable lot in life. Harry Potter obviously stood in guard of Buffy and
Dumbledore, his wand raised defiantly, chin jutted out, glasses askew.

It was cute.

What was NOT cute was the fact that, despite three of the Light’s big guns being in
the room, despite all Death Eater bodies either moaning or lying suspiciously still
in little piles around said three big guns, there were at least another thirty Death
Eaters in the room. What was worse, in Xander’s opinion though, was that while
Dumbledore, Harry, and Buffy all looked somewhat the worse for wear, and stupid
red-eyed Voldemort looked like he’d just woken from a particularly blood curdling
nap.

And old Voldie was flanked by Henchman 1, all silver eyes and icy blonde Lucius
Malfoy, and Henchman 2, dark and brooding, whom Xander assumed to be Severus Snape,
Spy for the Side of Bad. Also known as Hogwarts’ Potions Professor, or as Ron was
always calling him- “that greasy git”. Xander knew Lucius mostly by reputation, and
the fact that Draco, who was currently fighting HIS little traitorous heart out, side
by side with Ginny Weasley of all people, was the spitting image of dear ol’ Dad.

“Hey guys,” Xander said casually as he inched towards Buffy, who was watching the
Scythe in his hands like a cat watching a plump, tender, ass kickin’ mouse. “Nice
party you’ve got going on here. Very Apocalypse Now.” Buff flashed him a grateful
grin that was part benevolent friendship, part sheer relief because with the Scythe
in the game, well, the stakes had just significantly improved for the Side of Good.

Dumbledore, bless his powerful heart, looked bemused, and Harry was looking at him
like he was fifty-two cards short of a deck. A quick glance at the angry Trio of
Bad showed them sharing a remarkable resemblance to Harry. Apparently just strolling
in on a little Death and Mayhem Jamboree just “wasn’t done”!

It was kinda fun being a party crasher/life saver some days.

Voldemort’s red gaze narrowed as he briefly studied, and then dismissed Xander for
the non-entity that he was. Just another fool who would soon die a horrible and
agonizing death. It was almost touching, really. But then something strange
happened as Voldemort raised his head slightly and, just SNIFFED.

And suddenly Xander Lavelle Harris found himself pinned by that inhuman red glare as
Mr. Snakey breathed in again, his eyes resting on the slash across Xander’s forehead
as his forked tongue flickered out, and tasted the air. So there Xander was,
standing dumbly in the middle of the Great Hall of Hogwarts during the great Last
Battle for the Wizarding World, and Voldemort, Tom Riddle, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named
had apparently decided that he wanted to join the long line of people to screw with
Xander Harris.

Buffy had apparently noticed the same thing because she was at his side in a flash,
too fast even for the remaining Death Eaters to stop, hands on her slender hips as
she stared up at her newest Big Bad. But even Buffy glaring in all her splendid
post-Slaying glow wasn’t enough to distract You-Know-Who.

“Lucius,” Voldemort commanded curtly as his eyes stayed riveted on Xander, “who is
this newest guest of ours?”

Lucis Malfoy’s own silver gaze raked him over, found him lacking, predictably, and
answered his Lord. “His name is Alexander Harris and he is party to these…
Slayers.” Xander’s own one eye narrowed dangerously. Oh, so someone thought THEY
could do disdain so well. White-haired freak. “He is, to my knowledge, completely
without power or, potential use.”

Xander’s mouth tightened and twitched with that pot shot. “Oh, I don’t know,” he
drawled as Buffy poked him in the ribs and stepped closer to him, “I make a pretty
damn good human shield, and I can do snarky like no one’s business.”

Voldemort threw his head back and laughed. Okay, really, he cackled, because it was
freakin’ creepy. And Xander was wishing he had learned his little lesson about
shutting up a couple of Big Bads ago. Unlike Buffy, Faith, and the more spirited
Girls, he did NOT have super powers to take out the uglies of the world after he
pissed them off.

Just dumb luck.

And friends with a hell of a lot of power.

Oh, and some twenty odd years of survival experience on the what was once the world’s
most active Hellmouth. That HAD to count for something.

“If you get yourself killed, so help me,” Buffy whispered fiercely, “I’ll resurrect
you!”

Ouch, okay, that pot shot was well-deserved.

Volie the Molding had stopped laughing and was staring unnervingly at Xander once
again. So unnervingly that Xander didn’t protest a meep when Buffy got as close as
she could without being IN his pants. The Dark Lord was apparently done with
questioning HIM though.

“Severus, tell me, how old would your son be now if you hadn’t strangled him with
your bare hands on my orders?”

You know, Xander wouldn’t have said the Great Hall had exactly been a center of
activity and noise, but even the groans of the dying Death Eaters stopped with that
delicately poised question. The silence, excuse the clichéd pun, was deafening.
And now Henchman 2 was staring at him searchingly too.

This was not going to end well. Even if they DID win.

“He would be twenty-six years of age,” came Severus Snape’s sharp, biting reply. And
then, almost as an afterthought, “My Lord.”

Voldemort hissed softly. “Yes, pity that. I’m sure, worthless or no, he would have
grown into the spitting image of his mother.” Buffy and Xander watched, fascinated,
as Severus Snape’s face was transformed, just for an instant, into a grief so deep it
was painful to see. “But sometimes” Voldemort continued softly, “those that we love
serve us best in death.”

And that was all the warning ANYONE had before Voldemort’s wand shot out and the Dark
Lord started to scream the curse that would make the world short one less Greasy
Git. Dumbledore’s cry of denial was all Buffy needed, ever a girl of action, to
throw herself at Voldemort, but not before throwing her beloved Scythe at the
startled Harry Potter.

Buffy knocked the startled Dark Lord to the ground with all the impressive weight of
her slim, Fates enhanced body.

Dumbledore raised his own wand and hexed Lucius Malfoy as he attempted to perform his
proper duties as Henchman 1 and kill Buffy.

The very confused Death Eaters milling behind this whole scene blinked in shock as
Xander screamed at the stunned Harry Potter. “NOW YOU BLEEDING IDIOT!”

And bless his little prophecy burdened heart, Harry Potter sprinted forward those
few precious yards to where Buffy was pinning the greatest Dark Wizard of all time,
Willow excluded of course, to the cobblestones and, with one clean swipe, cut off his
head.

Xander resisted, just barely, making a Marie Antoinette joke.