Story Notes: Post-Chosen (BtVS) and Post-The Girl in Question (AtS) for Buffy's timeline. There is nothing explicit said about the HP 'verse so the timeline really doesn't matter that much, I hope. I'm not as familiar with HP as I am with BtVS.

A/N: This is my first attempt at a crossover, so let me know what you think. (I don't consider my fics that cross the Angel and Buffy series as true crossovers since they come from basically the same 'verse- Angel did spin off from Buffy, after all.) Apologies to all for any grammatical errors or just plain wrongness. Completely unbeta-ed, as per usual, so the fault is all my own. Feedback is always appreciated.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not gonna be mine. Not making a profit here either.

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Xander looked around the Great Hall and wondered for the fifteenth time what, exactly, he was doing here. Willow he got, what with the magic and all. Faith, sure. If anyone should be lecturing on the dark arts and how seductive evil was, how fast and easily you could fall, it was Faith. Giles, again with the yeah. Buffy (when she got done with the small crisis that had delayed her coming with the others), of course. Warrior of the Light, shoe stores everywhere and life in general- who wouldn't want her to guest lecture? What he didn't get was why the head wizard guy kept insisting Alexander Lavelle Harris, one-eyed carpenter and finder of misplaced slayers, was needed.

The doors to the Great Hall were suddenly thrown open and a dark-robed form strode in, causing a slight lowering of the din accompanying their er. That reminded him…

"Hey, guys, we got a major problem."

Somehow Faith managed to continue looking completely indifferent while jumping directly from the relaxed sprawl of Def-Con 5 right up to 'blink wrong and you'll be a stain I'm wiping off the bottom of my boots.' "Slayage?"

"Not this time. I'm pretty sure they'd frown on that," Xander said, not without a happy little thought at the prospect. "It's that guy." His eye flicked and Willow's eyes followed before turning to him with a concerned frown.

"Badness?" She asked.

"Mucho with the badness. Buffy and that guy can never, and I mean never, meet."

Xander was hit from both sides by confused speculation. "Why not?"

"They just… can't." Xander smiled lamely, knowing that wouldn't satisfy either of his dinner companions.

"Gonna have to give us more than that, man."

Xander turned to Willow, knowing instinctively she'd be the only one to understand, and whispered in a harsh voice. "Take a good look, Will. Now think for a minute about Buffy's completely screwed up love life."

Willow swirled her spoon around in something she was pretty sure was soup and swept her gaze nonchalantly across the Hall, lingering a little on the man who had captured Xander's attention before moving on. "I don't see it."

"Come on, dramatic swooping entrance, black cloth flaring out behind him, stalks around like he owns the place, who does that remind you of?"

"Well, Spike, maybe," she said with a little question in her voice.

"The Immortal," Faith spat, disgusted.

"Angel," Xander added, with equal revulsion. "And have you talked to him yet?"

Both girls shook their heads.

"Accent," Xander said succinctly before ticking the names off on his fingers, "Angel, Spike, the Immortal."

"Okay, but everyone here has an accent. Or they don't and we have the accents. Or we all have accents and they're just different accents because we come from different regions. I mean, hello, California, Boston, England, way different. And anyway, Angel's wasn't really that-"

"And the hair," Xander finally cut in, knowing how unbelievably long she could go on with just one breath. "Tell me who else uses that much hair gel, 'cause that look just isn't natural."

"Look, man-"

Xander gave Faith a long look before the fingers came up again. "Angel, Spike, the Immortal."

Willow was starting to look a little worried, sneaking peeks at the object of their discussion every time she thought she could get away with it.

Faith just shrugged, completely unconcerned. "I don't see how it's any of our business. Besides, it's not like we'll be here that long. I say, if B hits it, good for her." She tore her bread into little pieces and grumbled, "At least one of us might have a chance at gettin' some this trip."

Knowing he'd lost one half of his audience to just the thought of vicarious sex, Xander concentrated on wearing down the last of Willow's resistance. "I hated him on sight with the deep, fiery passion of a thousand burning suns. And he tends to lurk in shadows and pop out at you unexpectedly from dark corners."

"I know, I know- Angel, Spike, the Immortal," Willow recited it just a step ahead of him. "There is an age difference." Xander gave her a look and started to open his mouth. "Don't say it," she warned. "Besides, maybe Buffy will hate him on sight."

Xander's lips twisted as he wiggled three fingers at her.

"Okay, point, but maybe he'll hate Buffy on site. Maybe she's not his type."

Xander goggled at her, mouth gaping while he tried to find the words. Of course Buffy would be his type, wasn't she listening? Whatever his type was, sooner or later Buffy would wind up being it. Finally, Xander's mouth closed and firmed, ready to throw down the ace of exactly how really, terribly, horribly bad this was. He leaned forward, making Willow unconsciously lean forward also. "Will, I talked to the headmaster guy about him." Xander glanced around quickly, making sure no one else would hear, and lowered his voice even further. "He used to be evil, not annoying lower-case evil like mosquitoes and Andrew's Star Wars monologues, but full-blown capital 'E,' with the giddy enjoyment of torture, multiple murder and bad magics, Evil." Staring solemnly at her, he drove his point home. "And now he's redeeming himself by working for the side of good."

"Oh Goddess," Willow breathed, looking at Xander in undisguised horror, "we can't let Buffy anywhere near him."

Finally. Xander leaned back, smiling smugly and looking vindicated.

As they started surreptitiously plotting ways to make sure Buffy was always on the opposite side of the castle from wherever the completely oblivious object of their machinations was, neither of them saw the slow, wicked smile stealing across Faith's cherry-red mouth.

And if any of them would have looked down the head table a little farther, they would have seen a mischievous twinkle flare to life and start a slow burn behind delicate, wire-rimmed spectacles.

fin