Ask The Trees

Summary: Brains, braids and a mischievous streak large enough to get him run out of Britain. Who is this 'green boy'? And what happened to Harry Potter? BtVS xover. Slash(ish).

Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. They belong to JK Rowling and Joss Whedon respectively. I am making no money from this.

A/N - Given Harry is pretty much still a child in mind, he's more asexual than anything else. He finds people attractive (I.e. Xander), it doesn't actually mean he wants to act on that attraction. So yeah, there won't actually be any big romances in this.

Prologue

Harry has always known he was a little... odd. It comes with having green skin. Oh, not bright green skin. Just enough to make him look a little different. Or ill. Most people took it to mean he was feeling sick.

Of course, once he found out about his parents and the wizarding world, Harry began to wonder if there was a reason for his strange pigmentation or the fact that he could make things happen just by thinking of it.

The explanation that he was a wizard just didn't cut it with Harry. Not when he was eleven, and certainly not as he got older. And it turned out that wizards were just as, if not more, blind than muggles in some things. His skin being green just happened to be one of them.

He spent the whole of his time at Hogwarts thought of as sickly. It irritated Harry a little, if he was honest.

Another thing that annoyed him was everyone saying he looked so much like his father. If they were talking about James, then they were blind. Harry saw photos of James Potter and could honestly say that he saw no likeness between them. Well. They both had black hair. He could admit that might be similar.

Harry didn't wear glasses though, James did. Harry was short, really short, and as far as he could tell from the photos, James really wasn't. Of course, Harry had conceded that that could have been caused by the near starvation he endured at times by the Dursley's. Not that he blamed them for starving him. He was a little shit to them.

So for the first sixteen years of his life, Harry had no idea who he really was. He didn't believe the cock and bull story the wizards gave him about being the son of Lily and James Potter, The Boy Who Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World. No. Neither of the elder Potter's had green skin!

So Harry just stewed in silence, not bringing attention to the fact that he had no idea who or what he was. He certainly wasn't human. He knew that trees didn't speak to humans. Not that they were very helpful. They didn't tell him what he was either.

Then, he got his breakthrough in his sixth year. They had to do a potion that would show them the names of their parents. It wouldn't have told him what he was, but it told him who he was.

Harry watched Slughorn closely as he told the class what the potion for that day was supposed to be. He silently admitted to himself that he really wanted to do this potion. An inheritance potion apparently. Which would tell him who he was and give him a starting point to finding out what he was. Because the trees were really beginning to piss him off.

Harry quickly got off his stool and walked to the store cupboard to get the ingredients he would need for this potion.

After adding the finally piece of arrowroot to his cauldron and then stirring it the required amount of times, Harry was pleased to see that it was the right colour. Not that he was shocked. Even if he had been bad at Potions when he first arrived, the prefects of Ravenclaw made sure that none of the new Raven's were behind or struggling in any of their subjects. Apparently that wasn't the impression they were supposed to give of their house.

Not that Harry particularly cared what people thought of him or his house. He was quite clearly a disappointment to the Wizarding World as a whole, and obvious distrust of everyone, a mischievous streak a mile wide and apparent discomfort in general made people prefer to leave him alone.

Still, Harry had made a particular effort with this potion. He wanted, no needed to know who his parents were. And possibly what he was.

His hands trembled in barely concealed excitement as he took out the sheet of parchment he would be turning into a new birth certificate, and then glanced around the room to see what everyone else was doing. It appeared he had managed to finish the potion before most of his fellow classmates, besides Terry Boot, who was now allowing his charmed quill to write across his own piece of parchment.

Harry then nibbled on his lip and glanced at his potion anxiously, he then took a deep breath and pricked his finger, allowing his blood to drop four times into the potion, watching it turn from pale yellow, to burnt orange, then, somehow, fade into pure gold, in satisfaction. He grabbed his quill and dipped it into the potion and then placed the nib at his parchment.

Harry jerked and opened his eyes at the sound of his quill dropping to the table and then glanced at the writing on the parchment nervously.

"Buck up, Potter. Read it," he muttered to himself and then frowned at what it said, glancing around him to make sure no one was paying him any attention. He wasn't surprised to see that no one was. The novelty of the strange Potter kid, that was supposed to save them, but never did, had worn off part way into his second year, when he had made a snake explode for calling him names.

His defence that he had actually been intending to tickle the snake into an apology hadn't cut it and he'd been given a detention. During that month of scrubbing cauldrons, the students and staff of Hogwarts had come to the general consensus that he really was just as odd as he had appeared to be when he had first arrived.

To be fair to Harry, having only really had trees and flowers to talk to for the first ten years of his life had had somewhat of an affect on his mental state.

Still he was now looking at his homemade birth certificate, holding it with shaking hands, a multitude of emotions running through him. The main one being relief.

"The prophecy doesn't mean me," he whispered as he stared at the sheet of parchment in his hands.

Name: Rhys-Robin Goodfellow

Date of Birth: 1st August, 1980 Time of Birth: 5:57am

Mother: Lily Evans-Potter

Father: Robin Goodfellow.

Now all he had to find out was who the hell Robin Goodfellow was, and what the bloody hell he was. He was almost certain that Lily was human. Ninety percent. Maybe eighty.

Which left Robin Goodfellow.

And why the bloody hell everyone called him Harry.

It took him until the end of his sixth year to find out who Robin Goodfellow was, and he found out by pure accident when he stumbled into the small section in the library dedicated to Muggle literature.

In a play. A Midsummer Night's Dream. Puck.

Harry, or Rhys as he had been calling himself mentally, was man enough (or possibly not, given who his father was) to admit that he had laughed somewhat hysterically at that. Then wondered if it was just coincidence.

So he decided that there really was only one way to find out.

So whilst everyone else was busy being distracted by the fact that Voldemort was trying to take over the Wizarding World, and the fact that someone had somehow managed to fill the Great Hall full with marshmallows, Harry snuck out into the Forbidden Forest. He greeted the trees he was most familiar with happily, as they directed him with whispers towards a clearing that would be perfect for him to call Robin Goodfellow to him.

If he was honest, he had been more surprised that Robin Goodfellow actually did exist and hadn't been made up by some whacked out Muggle who clearly had something of an unhealthy addiction to an opiate of some sort, than he was that there was a way to call the... whatever he was, to him.

So Harry, or Rhys, made his circle of sugar and then placed his offering in the middle. It hadn't stated what the offering should be, but Harry had figured if he was going to be summoned, he'd like something to eat and drink when he arrived. So Harry's offering was some treacle tart, a glass of honeyed rose-water and a bag of the best pranks he had been able to find without leaving Hogsmeade. He was actually quite proud of what he had managed to find.

"Er... shit, knew I should have memorised that bloody spell. Look, Mr Goodfellow, sir. If you can hear me, I kinda need your help with something." Harry looked around the clearing and then sighed after ten minutes of silence. "I have treacle tart?"

"Why didn't you say that?!" Harry shrieked and jumped about a foot in the air, then turned around and saw a tall man standing behind him with a smirk on his green-tinged face, leaning against the oak tree that Harry was rather fond of. "So, kid. What did you need my help with? The marshmallow thing in your school wasn't me."

"No. No, that was me," Harry admitted with a shrug and a frown, nibbling on his lip as he wondered how to word his enquiry. Robin threw his head back and laughed, showing off his pointed teeth, that made Harry run his tongue over his own slightly pointed teeth.

"Ah, that was a good one, kid. Mind if I use that in the faerie courts one day?"

"Sure?"

"Cool. So, what did you need to ask of me then?" Robin asked him, pushing up from the wall and walking over to the offerings in the middle of the circle. He picked up the goblet and sniffed it, before raising an eyebrow and looking at Harry. "How'd you know my favourite drink?"

"It's my favourite. I figured if it was good enough for me, it might be good enough for you," Harry said, then frowned as he thought about what he had said. "That didn't come out right."

"I get what you meant, kid. Look, I can't keep calling you kid, what's your name?" Robin asked, moving to sit on the grass with his legs cross. Harry nibbled on his lip for another second before taking a deep breath and moving to sit across from Robin.

"I'm Rhys," Harry told him in a quiet voice, noticing Robin stiffen slightly, Harry looked up through his shaggy fringe and eyelashes at the man before him. "Rhys-Robin Goodfellow."

"What?" Robin gasped out in a whisper, and Rhys looked away, shrugging and then shifting and pulling the parchment out of his robe pocket. He handed it to the being in front of him and then looked out to the trees, smiling softly when he felt their reassuring whispers brush over his skin, caressing him and soothing him.

"She told me you'd died." Rhys jerked in his seat to look at the man, who was looking at the parchment in his hands as though it held the answers of the universe. Rhys was pretty damned certain it didn't. He wouldn't have handed it over quite so eagerly if it had.

"Huh?"

"Your mother, Lily. She told me that she had miscarried. Then she... she disappeared a month later. I never... I didn't know about you. I didn't know," Robin said through gritted teeth, the parchment in his hand being crushed, before he shakily let go and smoothed it out.

"So... you thought I'd died?" Rhys asked him after a few moments of complete silence, broken only by hushed whispers from nature and Robin's heavy breathing as he tried to calm himself down.

"Yes. Where... where is she now?"

"Dead. As far as I know, anyway. Died when I was one. I was brought up by her sister and her family. They didn't like me very much," Rhys added with a shrug, then smirked and looked up at Robin. "I made sure they'd never forget me though."

"Oh? What... Did... Why did you find me?" Robin asked finally, after seemingly trying to find the right words.

"I knew. I knew James Potter wasn't my father. But everyone around me... they're blind! They can't see me. They don't... they don't get me. They think I'm a freak and... I am! Compared to them, I am. I never knew that Wizards had never really encountered a vegetarian before I came along. I don't... I spent the last six years in this world looking for who I am. Then we made that," Rhys said, waving his hand at the birth certificate and shaking his head, the small braids in his hair whipping around him.

"And you found out about me," Robin finished, and Rhys nodded and then shrugged.

"I get if you don't want anything to do with me, really I do. I just... I need to know who – No, what I am. I just needed answers."

"What gives you the impression I wanted nothing to do with you?" Robin asked him incredulously, and Rhys' head snapped up and he gaped at Robin.

"Why would you? I'm sixteen, nearly seventeen. I... who wants a nearly adult son dropped in their lap?" Harry asked him, still incredulous. Robin smiled at him and then shook his head.

"Me. I've never had a kid. No one to pass on my knowledge to. No one I could trust with my kingdom. I'm a king. I... I want to be your father."

"Sounds good to me," Rhys said with a weak smile, looking at Robin, who smiled back at him. "One more question. I promise, this is my last one."

"What's that? And you can ask me all the questions you want," Robin added, making Rhys look at him dubiously before looking down at him.

"What do I look like to you?" Rhys asked, looking back at Robin, to see him staring at Rhys in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... you didn't even twig who I might be, no one seems to think there is anything actually different with me besides being mentally unstable, everyone thinks I look like James. What do they see? Because it sure as hell ain't what I see when I look in the mirror."

"Huh. You're short, but not too short, maybe five foot six? You have lightly tanned skin, wide green eyes, and shaggy, short black hair. Why, what do you see?" Robin asked him, and Rhys gaped at him for a few seconds before he closed his eyes and ran his hand over his face.

"I've got skin the same colour as yours, my hair is shaggy and black, but it's not that short. It's just above my shoulders. And my height? I am short. I'm five three. If that. My eyes are green though, dunno if they could be considered wide. I always thought they were more cat-like. Like your own," Rhys added, looking up at Robin, his father, who had stood up during his description and was pacing. Rhys could see that Robin quite clearly reached six foot, if not taller.

"You... You must have some sort of spell on you," Robin finally concluded, and Rhys nodded his head, having come up with that same explanation himself when Robin described him, and stood up, brushing off his robes and placing his hands in his pockets. "I can... I can find some way to take it off of you."

"Okay. Just... I figure I should graduate first, before I change species in front of their eyes," Rhys said with a small grin.

"It may fade naturally on your seventeenth. Wizards have some sort of unhealthy obsession with that age."

"I'd noticed. They mature or something on that birthday." Rhys added with a shrug and Robin looked at him and grinned.

"You won't. You're only a baby in sprite years. We don't truly reach adulthood until we are six hundred and thirty."

"Huh. That's quite... Old," Rhys said, using all his energy to not gape at his father.

"You could say that. Not for us though."

"So... what now?" Rhys asked, after a couple of minutes in which they just stared at one another in silence.

"When do you finish this year of school?"

"Er... next Wednesday. We take the train back to London King's Cross. We normally arrive into London at about six in the evening," Rhys told him, frowning a little in confusion.

"Then I shall pick you up from there at six. If I am to be a good father, I need to start by collecting you from school. Then move on to making up for the sixteen birthdays and Winter Solstices I have missed."

"You – You want me to live with you?" Rhys asked him, gaping in shock.

"Sure. I get if you don't want to. I mean, you're almost an adult in human years, but... you're my baby son in my eyes. I want to make up the time we lost. And most of all, I want to introduce you to my kingdom."

"I thought... I thought Titania and Oberon ruled the faerie court," Rhys said with a confused frown and Robin grinned at him mischievously.

"Technically, they do. But I rule over nature. They listen to my advice, because they know that if they don't, I'll prank them mercilessly."

"Oh. And you really want me to be your son?"

"I'm positive."

"Oh. Well... that's really pretty cool." Rhys finally said, beaming at his father, getting a wide smile in return.

"There is one thing though, should you come with me in the summer, then you need to know that time runs faster in the faerie courts. Because you're not mortal, you won't age during that time, but you'll live with me for a couple of decades in the summer. In fact, it'll possibly be a good thing as I'll be able to teach you what you might need to know about being a sprite and also being my heir."

"Would my being only half-sprite mean that I will age? I mean, technically, am I not still mortal due to my mother's blood," Rhys asked, frowning in confusion though not really having any doubts about wanting to go with his father.

"You're not. Half-sprite, I mean. There's no such thing. The child of a sprite and a mortal will either be born mortal or a sprite. No half and half. Given you have green skin, I'm thinking you are a sprite," Robin told him with a grin, getting an answering grin from Rhy in return.

"Oh well, in that case then, I look forward to seeing your kingdom."

"Our kingdom," Robin corrected before he smirked and leant forward, nearer to Rhys. "Now, about the marshmallows. How did you get them into the hall?"

Of course, being the son of Puck did explain his insatiable need to cause mischief. Rhys went through his seventh and final year - after spending about sixty years with the Unseelie Court - being ignored by most of the staff and students or getting disappointed looks from them for not doing anything to stop Voldemort. He just stayed in the background, did his homework and made everyone in Hogwarts' lives a living hell through pranks.

Occasionally he played jump rope with the Whomping Willow when everyone was asleep. That was fun. Especially the cursing that the Willow did when talking about the stupid students that tried to play chicken with him.

And when he graduated, he was actually proud to be leaving with the third highest NEWT scores in their year. His father was equally proud.

They had spent the whole of his seventh year talking through weekly letters, making plans on how to make the Wizarding World pay for keeping him away from his true family. To be fair, Rhys did concede that it was really just Lily's fault, but still, he and Robin were both pissed about it and had made plans to make everyone pay.

Which brought him to where he was now. Running. From an entire country of angry wizards and witches. Voldemort even more so. He hadn't appreciated all of his followers being cursed into perma-Playboy bunnies. To the best of his knowledge, they still hadn't worked out how to get rid of the rabbit ears and fluffy tails. Rhys snickered every time he remembered the look on Lucius Malfoy's face as he tried to push the floppy ear out of his face whilst he aimed a curse at the laughing sprite.

That was another thing that he hadn't kept secret. During the graduation ceremony, Harry Potter had walked up to accept his certificate and Rhys-Robin Goodfellow had left the stage much to the shock of everyone in the Great Hall, and pride of Robin Goodfellow.

So a yeah and a half after his graduation, Rhys was on a plane to America. The Hellmouth to be exact. He could have gone to live with his father, but he wanted to see the world.

Actually, he just saw the potential havoc and mischief he could cause in a place where evil seemed to congregate. Rhys giggled evilly and rubbed his hands together, making the woman in the seat next to him shift away from him and glance at him nervously, when the pilot announced their arrival at LA.

The mischief was about to begin.

If Rhys could work out a way to get to Sunnydale...

A/N - So I actually posted this a few years ago on my LiveJournal and only posted the first chapter before suddenly forgetting how to write (or at least, that's what it felt like) but now the muse for it has just come rushing back - because it has awesome timing, I mean, I have all the bloody time in the world to be writing this - and demanded to pick this up again. I've made a few changes here and there, though they're only minor. Don't worry everyone who reads Bitter Hug, that fic comes first in terms of priorities to this!

Oh, and as I mentioned at the top, there won't be much romance in terms of a pairing. Harry/Rhys is still a child really, so he may be attracted to Xander but he won't really act on it. Kinda like having a crush on your older siblings friend when you were ten/eleven.

And if you were wondering, Harry/Rhys is now about seventy-nine/eighty, but he looks like he's about fifteen/sixteen. Which is another reason why Xander probably wouldn't return Rhys' affections in that way. Though Xander is only eighteen.

Hope you like my first foray into the Buffy world (even though they're not actually there yet) and please review and let me know what you think! :D