Title: Xander's Green Eyed Obsession
Author: Grayswandir
Fandom: Harry Potter, BtVS

A/N: This chapter ventures into the world of Angel: the Series. This should be the only time they directly interact. In any case, I don't intend for this to be a regular occurrence. (Quick-disclaimer: AtS was created by the awesome Joss along with David Greenwalt.)

BBT

A shiny blue Jaguar turned into a nearly empty parking lot aside a rundown bar in the heart of Los Angeles. The car idled shortly before the purring of the engine cut off. Harry sighed, his head audibly thumping against the headrest as he gently removed the key from the ignition. Xander grinned, practically seeing the cogs spinning in Harry's head. The naked defeat written across his face was so different from his general good humor.

"For a magic whose-it, this place fails in the star ratings, Harry," Xander couldn't resist ribbing.

Harry frowned, quirking a brow in Xander's direction. "It's a facade. One of the grand things about these rundown places: most people will pass them by as being ramshackle and unsanitary. This one just happens to cater to both wizards and muggles."

Xander blinked. "And this is important… why?"

Harry grimaced slightly before mumbling out something Xander was unable to decipher.

"You'll have to repeat that," Xander grinned wryly.

Clearing his throat, Harry replied, "Less likely to encounter rabid fan types."

Xander coughed, barely suppressing a laugh. "And this is a common issue?" Xander's mind whirled slightly as he imagined Harry running from a horde of Cordelia-shaped girls, all desperately attempting to retouch their makeup for a close-up while also reaching out to grab Harry by his adorable vest.

Harry bit his lip as he moved to the front of the car. "Did I not say I was, kinda, slightly, maybe," he hesitated, presenting his right hand with thumb and index finger parallel by half an inch, "just a bit famous?"

Xander stared, frozen, as he ran over the many conversations the two had had. "Hinted at, but never fully explored," he admitted.

Harry hummed slightly, tilting his head, before shrugging. "Of course, it shouldn't be an issue. We aren't in the UK right now." Harry shifted his feet, his bottom lip trapped adorably between his teeth. "Can we go inside now?"

God he's cute when he gets flustered! Xander smirked as he watched Harry walk confidently toward the rear of the pub. Shaking his head, Xander called, "Harry! Entrance is the other way."

"That's the side entrance," Harry responded. "I much prefer using the main."

Huh? Xander looked to where Harry was walking. All he could see were unattractive, overflowing dumpsters that stood five feet apart against the building's outer wall. "Harry! I think you need to have your vision checked!"

Harry spun, snapping his fingers. "Right!" Harry groaned. "I totally forgot." Swiftly striding back to Xander, Harry captured his wrist in his own hand, turning back toward the filthy corner of the lot.

Grimacing, Xander protested, "Harry! I really have no desire to see a restaurant's refuse!" Closing his eyes as the dumpsters loomed ever closer, Xander braced himself for the inevitable stench of decaying leftovers.

A gentle hand slid over Xander's eyes as the two slightly stumbled to a halt. A mild tingle radiated from Harry's hand as he mumbled something Xander couldn't understand. The tingle remained as the hand disappeared. Xander held back a whimper, successfully preventing himself from embarrassing same. "Try looking now," an amused voice interrupted Xander's internal placations. Dammit! He noticed.

"Still no desire to see-." Xander trailed off as he looked again, blinking repeatedly at the spectacle before him. The fetid dumpsters were no longer in his path. Instead an elaborate, gaudy entrance, that could easily put to shame any on the Las Vegas Strip, stood in its place. A figure in some sort of sports outfit held a ball tucked under its arm, in a pose that Xander would readily compare to a running back with a football, sat astride a Halloween style broomstick and appeared to be "flying" toward a bubbling pot that dangled from the tail of the Q in the pub's name. As soon as the figure scored a basket, goal, whatever the sport had, another figure would appear from the opposite direction in a different colored outfit and repeat the process.

And that was just the signage!

The stairs were artistically laid out brickwork of alternating reds while metalwork figures of the same characters from the sign wormed their way into the handrail supports, crafted with the same bricks as the stairs. All this led to ornately carved doors with more of those figures immortalized in stained glass.

"That's certainly different," Xander whispered, silently afraid that any word from him would break the image and return the rotten piles he had first seen.

"And this is just the outside, imagine what lies within," a sultry sounding voice caressed Xander's ear, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. Feeling slightly numb and not a little bit dazed, Xander followed that hand, which had moved from his wrist to clasping his own, into the newly unveiled entrance.

Xander jerked abruptly from his daze as he crossed over the threshold. The entrance was shockingly normal with its hall of memorabilia that several restaurant chains happily touted to pacify waiting guests. Of course the information displayed was not of the norm, but at least it actually looked interesting. More of the broomstick wielding figures featured on these walls, but in historic moving photographs and playbook diagrams and broomstick evolution charts and other various items that Xander knew must be specific to the sport.

"'Arry!" An accented female voice from close by startled Xander from his reading. He turned to see one of the most gorgeous females he had ever witnessed embracing his boyfriend and planting a kiss on both of his cheeks. A heated blush overtook him as he watched the intimate greeting take place. Xander noted that even the very pregnant nature of the blonde did nothing to hide her beauty.

Xander nearly smacked himself as he felt drool building in his mouth. Stop it, Xander! You are with Harry, you should not be staring at the amazingly ho—pregnant woman. Xander kept his mind focused on the latter fact as much he possibly could as Harry peeled back in the female's embrace, a smile on his face.

"You look lovely, as always, Fleur," Harry spoke, the words rolling off in that friendly tone Xander associated with those Harry was willing to associate with. "How is your husband?"

"Ask 'im yourself," she –Fleur– responded, a tinkling laughter in her voice as a shadow approached.

Mortification filled Xander as that melodic voice did unthinkable things to him, even as he whirled toward the shadow's origin, morbidly certain that it was to be this temptress's husband. A tall redhead who appeared to have encountered the wrong end of a demon-dog-clawed beastie's nailed paws in the not too distant past approached the pair. "Hi, Harry," he spoke softly, offering a hug as the ho-pregnant, very much attached female released Harry.

"Bill," Harry's voice melted into that which Xander had decided belonged only to those who were very much family members. The two hugged briefly before adding that very important two steps of personal space. "What brought the two of you to this section of the globe?"

Bill's lips moved to respond, when the blond bombshell interrupted, "Who iz this?" Xander flinched at the steel in her voice, the cold veneer her eyes took on. Oh crap! Oh crap! Did she notice? Is she going to tell Harry that I started drooling? That I'm-? Oh god whatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo? Ermm, Giles naked, Giles in a tutu, Snyder in a vampire orgy being complimented for his sexual prowess!

A hand slipped around Xander's waist, grasping his hip as it pulled him to the left. "Where have my manners gone?" Harry groused humorously. "Bill, Fleur, this is my boyfriend, Xander Harris. Xander, this is Bill and Fleur Weasley."

Xander tensed, dry swallowing from the attention he had been receiving and the sudden cold shower that rushed over him. "Weasley?" He kept himself from shoving Harry behind him, but only just. Wasn't his former best friend a Weasley? Don? Ron? Or Bob maybe? Xander frowned slightly. But Harry isn't angry with Bill…

"Ron is Bill's youngest brother," Harry supplied, somehow knowing exactly where Xander's mind had run to. Xander's stance instantly melted back to its relaxed state. Harry smiled, planting a quick peck to Xander's cheek before turning back to the married couple. "You'll have to forgive him; this is his first experience with any wizardry."

Fleur's tinkling laugh released full bore. "That explains ze blush!" She did! She'd noticed! Xander couldn't help it. He swallowed several times, hoping, fruitlessly, that his blush would deepen no further. No luck. The laugh continued. "He iz too cute!" That laugh was doing all the wrong things Xander did not want to have happen in public.

Too embarrassed to even try facing Fleur there! I did it! She is so not that hot! again, Xander turned his head to look at Harry. Mirth danced merrily in those emerald eyes, lips quirking upward in the corners. Xander groaned, wedging his head into the crook of Harry's neck. Laughter answered him before heated breath touched his earlobe. "It's perfectly natural, Xan. Fleur is one quarter Veela."

Xander couldn't prevent the confused look on his face as he pulled away from Harry. Is that supposed to mean something to me? Xander didn't want to give in to his desire to salivate unashamedly at the gorgeous pregnant female standing nearby, that Harry definitely knew, and didn't seem the least bit concerned at the reaction she was eliciting. The oppressive sensation of his unpleasant, mortifying, situation made Xander turn in embarrassment back to the wall o' weird-cool wizard stuff.

{ While Quodpot is unlikely to be played internationally at the same level as its big sister, Quidditch, the demand for quick, agile brooms remain equal. The Nimbus© numbered series dominates the field in European nations, while the Ba'al© PawPaw Gliders line are the preferred broomstick of the discerning American Quodpot professional. }

"Xander," Harry whispered as he slid his arms around Xander's waist, hugging him tight. "We're grabbing a table. Here," Harry stuffed a pair of gold coins into Xander's right hand. "Grab yourself a drink, something to eat if you wish, when you're ready to join us." A fluttering kiss pressed into that neat little space on Xander's jaw that was normally shadowed by his ears before Harry left him to his reading.

BBT

Meanwhile behind a frosted glass office window, stamped with faux etched stickers proclaiming it entrance to Angel Investigations…

"Look, we're talking about a different brand of magic, sweetheart. It isn't the sort just any person is capable of." Cordelia stared incredulously at Doyle's proclamation. "This is wizarding magic we're dealing with, and it?" Doyle added a whistling phew before finishing, "It's the most dangerous sort."

"Magic shmagic, Doyle," Cordelia happily sneered from her seat behind the desk. "Just because someone scared you at a magic show when you were a kid, doesn't mean it's something you must be afraid of."

Angel just shook his head as he watched the two children bicker. Doyle was trying to impress Cordelia with his knowledge and Cordelia just couldn't bring herself to care about anything that didn't directly affect her. Angel could only hope that Doyle would eventually figure this out. Wizard magic was not new to the vampire. Sure, he hadn't tangled with it in his long life, or at least he wasn't aware he had, but a distant cousin of his had been born with it. Despite what most of the world believed, wizards didn't die out some thousand years ago. They began hiding a few decades before Angel —Liam— was born. He was old enough, had an old enough sire, to know that vampires crossing wizards would only cause harm to the vampires in the long run.

Of course, because Angel was the only champion in town, he would be sent a message via vision from the Powers That Be to deal with that which a vampire would best avoid. He could only hope that these wizards Doyle saw would not know how to harm him. "So, Doyle," Angel interrupted the rising argument, "this contact of yours: we're meeting where?"

"My guy tells me he'll be expecting to meet us at a place off Sunset called The Quodpot Pub," Doyle replied, swallowing at the glower set on the vampire's face. "Never twigged before that Quodpot was a wizarding establishment."

"We're meeting one of Doyle's guys at a place called Quad Pat? Sounds reputable," Cordelia scoffed.

"Quod. Pot." Doyle carefully enunciated. "I believe it's a sport, princess."

"Whatever," Cordelia dismissed Doyle's clarification. "So this contact, he like your usual guys? Sells stuff that 'falls off the back of trucks'?" She happily glorified her speech with air quotes.

"Well, my guy does that, yeah," Doyle admitted sheepishly. "But we're seeing a friend of a guy of my guy."

"Let me guess," Cordelia snarked, "the truck driver?"

"That's enough, Cordelia," Angel interceded, finally through with listening to the barb fest. "We do at least have a name, right?" he asked, looking pointedly at the Irish half-demon.

"Yeah, man," Doyle exhaled. "I got a name. Should leave soon. Would love to catch some of happy hour." Angel and Cordelia shared an eye roll at the Irishman's enthusiasm.

Thankfully the trip passed nearly uneventfully, only one near collision from a Cordy squeal, and the trio had pulled into a rundown little pub in the heart of the city. The ramshackle building showed telltale signs of rotting wood and termite infestations; its rickety name board barely proclaiming its name with chipped and peeling letters.

Cordelia scoffed as she stared at the building. "Doyle, do any of your contacts meet in sanitary locations?"

"The inside'll fool ya, gorgeous," the Irish demon answered, making a beeline to the entrance.

"I find that highly unlikely," Cordelia snapped, grumbling as the crumbly blacktop attempted to eat her heels. A sudden cry forced Angel to save her from a sudden painful fall as it succeeded. As she pulled herself upright, slowly releasing her death grip on Angel's arms, Angel heard her gasp.

"You okay?" Angel mumbled. She shook her head and relinquished her grasp on his arms, almost absently straightening the wrinkles from her sundress. Weird. Angel almost shook himself before he noticed the one thing that would turn Cordelia into her cheerful huntress stance.

A shiny, new, blue Jag, hidden just around the side of the building. Wonderful! Angel knew his sarcastic inner voice could be extremely vociferous, but had not known it was so in-tune with the former queen bee.

"Fine, Doyle," Cordelia's voice colored with that pasted on sneer she use to use whenever someone hinted at her ever having a less than unpleasant afternoon in the company of the Scoobies. "Let's see this fool-able interior."

Angel groaned internally as he spied that glimmer in the brunette's eye, the one that shouted out Victory! in Sunnydale maroon-and-gold cheerleader regalia. The quick step that accompanied that look spelled trouble out in M-O-N-E-Y. Please, oh please, be a female driving that car. Angel silently loped forward, eating up the distance between himself and the rest of his team.

Years of brooding adaptation kept Angel from laughing at the nonplussed expression that sprung to Cordelia's face as they entered the premises. The bar, apparently, was the only part of the establishment that was maintained with any consistency. The rest was quite similar to the exterior.

"Not fooled, Doyle," Cordelia hissed, her eyes roving, obviously searching for the patron with pecuniary pockets.

"We're not in yet, gorgeous," Doyle chirped. "This is the side entrance."

"Excuse me?" Cordelia snapped in that you-are-totally-insane manner she reserved for Doyle's frequent attempts at a pass. "You must already be drunk! This place doesn't have the class for a presentable front entrance, let alone a side one!"

"Cordelia," Angel intervened, placing his hand on her shoulder. All of her vitriol was drawing the attention of the few patrons in the establishment, none of which seemed enthused by the former debutante's tantrum-to-be. They're worse than Spike and Dru! At least with those two, a few blow were exchanged and they'd be blissfully, sickeningly in love again. "Doyle."

"Right." The Irish demon was at least in tune enough to know how annoyed the nearly three hundred year old vampire was. "Uh, this way." A small section of wall between the booths and the bar neatly concealed a tiny alcove, and a giant dog. A type of mastiff, if Angel wasn't mistaken. But there was something off about the animal, besides the oddly auburn-colored fairy wing shaped spotting spanning its entire back. It drew itself, almost casually, from its lazy sprawl as they approached. The subtle twitch of its nose preceded bared canines and a low rumbling growl.

"Easy, there," Doyle adopted his more pleasant, soft seductive voice, the one that Angel regularly used to pacify frightened bystanders. The dog stood unseduced, tail unnaturally still. "We're expected," Doyle continued, scrambling in his pocket as the dog advanced. A crumpled piece of paper flopped from his hand to the floor. Doyle chuckled nervously as the dog began to growl at the fidgety half-demon. "Cordy, a little help?" he asked as he kicked the crumpled ball backward.

"Ew!" Cordelia scoffed out. "Like I'm your cleaning lady. And this dog? Seriously, Doyle, its guarding a wall!"

"It has the password written on it, darlin'," Doyle grit out, his teeth nearly audibly grinding together. "And the door is hidden."

"Ughh! Fine," Cordelia growled, crouching down to grab the crumpled bit of paper. More sounds of disgust followed as she flattened the paper out. Reading the poorly scrawled words, Cordelia scoffed. "Cute, Doyle," she sneered, dropping the paper down to her side. "What kind of password is Quid Itch Drools?"

The dog yipped before turning tail. The AI trio looked at each other as the dog jumped at the wall, and the wall disappeared. Angel wordlessly followed the dog through the newly created doorway, absently noting how very well-kept the other side looked in comparison to the rundown front room. A shiver exploded from his spine as he crossed the threshold.

"Something wrong, boss?" Angel turned at the unexpected question, the door swinging shut after the party passed through. Angel's eyebrow quirked at Doyle's face, morphed into its red-spiked blue self. Luckily for Doyle's swooning heart, Cordelia had squeezed through before him and failed to see the change.

"Yeah, Angel," Cordelia laughed as she passed both of the males. "Why the Game Face for what would otherwise be any chain restaurant with bar?" Despite her disdain, Cordelia surveyed the surprisingly large patronage with eagerness.

Angel lamented the fact that Cordelia would never notice the actual intrigue of the place as he relaxed his muscles, releasing his demonic face. It may have looked like any normal restaurant on first glance, but trays floated, photos "played" images, children giggled as playing cards exploded in their hands.

Far flung ambience from any late 20th Century American eatery, and Angel had experienced quite a variety of them.

"It's part of the security." An androgynous voice answered Cordelia's question. Whipping around to the source garnered much confusion for Angel. It had been so long since he had been in the presence of so many purely magical people that it confused his senses completely. The androgynous voice had come from an equally neutral gendered person, one who barely scraped past the five foot mark. The person bore thick glittering makeup and wore a backless top, neither of which leant definition to the person's sex. The scent of that damn dog clung thickly in the air, clouding Angel's nostrils from determining that way as well.

"And forcing ugly demon-face is security how?" Cordelia sneered back.

The eunuch-like person smirked, a leer in their eyes, as they replied, "Always best knowing what threats may need dealing with. After all, forewarned is forearmed. But enough of trivialities, who's expecting you?"

"Right-right-right-right-right!" Doyle rolled through the word, pulling a card from one of his inside pockets. "Ermm," he began, flipping the card over and around in multiple angles. "Ah William Wesl-Wisl-Wez-."

"Weasley," the odd-body interrupted. "You want the Brit up there." He/She/It, for Angel couldn't even be certain the being was human, pointed to a private platform. "Looks like he has company tonight. But," the person murmured, stepping close to Cordelia, "I would love to keep you company tonight." A heavy lecherous lilt filled the proposition.

Cordelia scoffed, blinking furiously. "Listen, glitter fairy," she bit out, "Never going to happen! You're short and not salty, and definitely not rich, so crawl back into the hole where you belong."

"Bitch." The stranger turned around, heading back to the door they had all entered through. "Don't let the door bite you as you leave," he/she growled. Angel spied a masterful swirly fantasy fairy wings tattoo in vivid colors spread fully across the back before the person disappeared, unveiling the same dog that guarded the door, canine form sliding out to its previous post.

"God I hate magic!" Angel clenched his teeth. Turning to his demon-seer, Angel prompted, "Lead on."

"If it's all the same to you, boss," Doyle responded, words half-choking in his Irish accent. "Perhaps it would be best if you took over the correspondence, if you know what I mean."

Angel growled in annoyance. He had not been the one to see what was going to happen, so how did Doyle expect him to convey the information properly? I need to find more mature lackeys. For once, Angel whole-heartedly agreed with his demonic subconscious side. They are lackeys.

Ready to give in to the half-demon's cowardice, Angel stepped toward the platform only to nearly be trampled by his quasi-receptionist with visions of Versace. "Cordelia!?" Angel hissed sharply, unsure if he should be worried, angry or relieved.

"Step aside, boys," Cordelia chirped out, straightening her hair as much as she could without the use of a mirror, checking her outfit for wrinkles, before gliding forward. "This one's mine."

One quick glance to their destination and Angel sprinted to catch Cordelia. Of course the only possible owner of that Jaguar would be a wizard! No normal owner would come to this establishment. As they both loped toward the table, Angel saw the table already occupied by a blond female and a male with that very orange shade of red hair, both wearing regular everyday clothing. But the third person was definitely not a regular patron. A three piece sans jacket, and definitely not of the cheap variety, in a, as Cordelia coined it, chain restaurant was not normal.

That, or the guy always duded up when in public.

Whatever the reason, or non-reason, Angel knew no good could come of Cordelia stumbling in with her privileged attitude. Wizards are dangerous on the best of days and Angel preferred to get in and get out, hopefully with very little lingering between those two steps. Angel was inches from waylaying Cordelia, the note of panic that flashed through her aura told him she knew it too, but that panic faded as she gasped out a greeting to the mystery man, her feet stopping less than a foot from the platform stairs.

"Hey handsome! Is that your Jag outside?" Cordelia called out as Angel made contact.

Time crawled in conjunction to the slow turning figure as the stranger made to focus on Cordelia. The blank expression that Angel attributed to the stars and starlets preparing for an unwelcome public was plastered across the stranger's face. An extended pause passed as the stranger gazed at the AI team members. Some answer must have crossed in the stranger's mind as he relaxed slightly, moving further into the secluded space. "Might carry the keys," he finally replied in a crisp British accent. Crap. He's Doyle's contact? Angel had to admit this one was a bit outside the circle of Doyle's regular guys.

"I must apologize for my companion," Angel interceded, pulling Cordelia behind him. "She suffers from chronic foot-in-mouth syndrome and fancies herself to be the tragic heroine of her own Cinderella story."

Intense emerald eyes bore into Angel's soul as the stranger gauged his words. The man laughed. "Suspect that's not far from the truth," he casually replied. "No worries. I've experienced worse, many times." With that, the man settled into a seat, turning his back deliberately to continue the conversation Cordelia interrupted. "So," he cleared his throat, "Malfoy, apparently, decided that even though the family ranch has reared mooncalves for the better part of two centuries that the stock was subpar, and the expected supply was 'pitiful and, by far, unprofitable for any future business prospects.' Is it any wonder why I was sent as damage control?"

The female chuckled, a singing lilt that begged Angel forward, "It had to 'appen sometime, and at least it was fix-able. Besides, you were due a 'oliday, no?" A French accent flavored her voice, presenting an even more tempting treat. Great! Another magical creature person. Except this one was definitely female and possessed a very much magnetic, bordering fatal, attraction.

Angel shook his head, clearing the mystic fog before he approached. "Excuse me, Mr. Weasley," he interrupted, staring at the dark haired male. "Forgive me for intruding on your meeting but I was told you might have some information for me." All three figures turned to face him this time. Confusion was writ plain in the emerald eyes of the male Angel thought was his contact.

TBC

Afterword: Sorry about the extended delay on this chapter… It has been excessively stubborn and RL has been quite adamant in its attention needs what with moving and stubborn Dads and hospital stays and moving, twice. Upside: it is the longest chapter to date. I do not intend to abandon this fic and I am grateful that so many are interested in this story, far more than I could have anticipated. Until next time…

Ja ne!