With the squeak of the door hinges, every single face in The Leaky
Cauldron towards the bright rectangle of light of the doorway Eyes squinted
and narrowed to focus on the group of figures standing there, only one
familiar to anyone.
"Good grief!" One of the Hogwarts teachers who had been seated at a table
with several colleagues, celebrating the end of a school year, stood up,
staring at the lead figure with a combination of shock and surprise.
"Rupert Giles...is that you?"
The former Watcher stared down at the tiny, white-haired Wizard. "Bloody
hell!" He exclaimed with a laugh. "Professor Flitwick!" He wove his way
around tables and chairs and staring customers, to bend and shake the
little Wizard's hand. "Always one for recognising ex-pupil, eh, Professor?"
"How could I forget you, Mr. Giles?" The Charms Teacher smiled broadly,
eyes glinting. "If you recall, I was unfortunate enough to be one of your
teachers."
"And anything that happened to you that was in any way...er...bad, while
I was at school, wasn't my fault."
"I'll believe that the day Minerva starts dancing around the school in a
Tutu." Flitwick retorted with clear amusement. "You might have kept your
hands clean, young Giles, but you were the Ring Leader of the Three Wise
Monkeys and we all knew it."
Giles chuckled. "You know we preferred the Three Musketeers."
"Ah, yes," The white-haired Wizard sighed, shaking his head.
"Fortunately, we teachers used the more accurate version." He looked past
his former pupil to the group still standing awkwardly at the door.
"Business?"
"You could say that." Motioning the group forward, Giles brought Buffy to
the fore, letting Willow shielded herself with her boyfriend and best
friend, hoping to keep her identity safe until she had met her family.
"This is Buffy Summers."
Flitwick's eyes went wide. "Good heavens!" He leaned back to stare up at
her. "The Slayer!"
Startled whispers rippled around the strangely quiet bar, making the
blonde look around uncomfortably. "Uh... Giles? What's the deal?" She
demanded. "How did the short guy know that I'm the Slayer?"
"You always knew you were famous in the Supernatural world, Buffy." Her
Watcher said with a small smile. "The Wizarding World knows more about the
Slayer and her existence than any muggles would."
"Uh...huh..." Suspiciously looking down at the small Wizard, she
reluctantly had to smile as he took her hand and rose on his toes to bow
over it to gallantly kiss her knuckles. "He knows I can kick him across the
room, doesn't he?"
Flitwick looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Why else would I be
trying to stay on your good side, Miss Summers?"
"Hello! Buffy Summers!" A shrill, nasal voice called from further up the
bar. "Hello!" Both Slayer and Watcher looked around and recoiled in mutual
horror at the sight of a Witch with badly-dyed blonde hair, fake-diamond-
studded stilettos and gaudy acid green robes. "A word!"
"Run!" Flitwick hissed under his breath, quickly turning back to his
drink, as the Witch swept towards them, a broad smile on her bespectacled
face.
"Hello there!" The Witch trilled over-brightly. Her voice was like nails
on a blackboard. "I'm Rita Skeeter." Tacky-looking jeweled glasses perched
on her long, pointed nose. "Could I perhaps have a word?"
Buffy looked down at the notepad in the Witch's hand and the poison green
feather quill that was zipping across the page, writing already. She looked
back up at the Witch, staring closely at her. "Are you related to Dame
Edna?" She asked. "You dress like him...her...it..."
A snort of laughter escaped Giles, who hastily covered his smirk with a
hand, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back the laughter.
"Dame Who?" Rita Skeeter knew she had probably been insulted, but was
determined that she would be the first Witch reporter to interview a
Slayer.
"She's an ugly man who dresses up in drag and looks even uglier as a
woman." Buffy replied blandly, ignoring the sniggering she could hear from
Giles. Her gaze drifted over Skeeter's hideous robes. "It looks like you
have the same stylist."
"Hahaha!"
Buffy raised a brow. "What was funny?" She asked, her hands balled into
tight fists on her hips. Rita immediately stopped laughing, a look of
uncertainty crossing her face. "I don't like being laughed at."
As emphasis, she picked up one of the thick metal spoons from the nearest
table and easily bent it in half with her forefinger and thumb. Several
jaws dropped. Wisely on her part, Skeeter took a startled step backwards,
stepping on the hem of her robes and almost tripping, as the Slayer
squeezed the crushed spoon into a round glob of metal.
"And," The petite blonde added. "You know what else really annoys me?"
Rita Skeeter shook her head, looking ready to make notes. "Reporters..."
She heaved a huge sigh. "Ever since they accused me of murdering someone, I
kind of...haven't liked them much." She fixed Rita with a pointed stare. "I
would really like the chance to show one how I feel." The solid lump of
metal that had once been a spoon was implicitly placed on the table beside
her. "So, Rita, what did you want to talk to me about?"
Rita's eyes were on the deformed spoon. "Wh-what?" Her quill had frozen,
ink dripping silently onto the page of the notebook.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" Buffy's voice dripped with
sickening sweetness.
As if by magic - which it probably was - Skeeter's notebook and bright
green quill vanished. "Oh, nothing important!" Her voice was a great deal
shriller than it had been seconds before. "It was nice to meet you, but I'm
afraid I must be going."
She darted away into the gatherings of witches and wizards in a flurry of
hideous green robes and clacking, diamonte-studded shoes and apparently
fled out of the bar.
Immediately, there was a deafening roar of laughter and applause that
made the surprised Slayer blush slightly.
"Well done! Well done!" Flitwick squeaked enthusiastically. "No one has
ever made Miss Skeeter depart faster than that!"
"But she may well put something in The Daily Prophet about you...she's
not a good person to annoy." A plump witch with flyaway hair and dirt-
stained hands and clothes nodded in the direction of the Slayer. "She
always manages to publish something nasty."
Buffy looked around the faces at the closest table, then grinned
wickedly. "Not if she wants to keep that badly-dressed, badly-dyed," She
pulled a face as if it was the most heinous crime in the world. "Body
intact."
"Buffy," Giles started to chastise her. "She is a human..."
The Slayer shrugged. "Doesn't mean I can't beat her senseless for crimes
against fashion, does it?"
"She does have a point there." Anya offered from behind Xander. "Anyone
who wears that colour should be taken out and shot like a dog in the
street." She frowned slightly. "I don't understand why someone would shoot
a dog in the street, but its a phrase I read in a book somewhere and I
like it and I think that the Skeeter-woman should be."
"Giles," Buffy looked to her Watcher. "Just promise me that - no matter
how evil you went when you were younger - you never ever wore that colour
voluntarily. If you did, I would have to kill you now."
"Fortunately, while my common sense left me, I did retain some sense of
taste and decency."
"Taste?" Xander raised his brows. Giles raised his finger. "Whoa! G-Man!
You got yourself a nice bird there."
"Anya, be a dear and warn your frog to keep his mouth shut." Giles
remarked, then turned back to Professor Flitwick. Xander clapped his mouth
shut quickly. "Professor, have you seen Dumbledore hereabouts, lately? We
were meant to meet him here."
Tom, the Innkeeper, who was standing behind the bar, cleared his throat.
"He said he would be here in a bit, Mr. Giles." He called over. "He's
booked rooms for you, if you want to take your luggage up to them now..."
"That would be marvelous." Giles nodded. "After so much time in planes,
it would be nice to have somewhere to take a quick nap."
"But I wanted to go to see the stores!" Anya exclaimed, only to be
silenced with a cautioning look from Xander. "Well, I guess I could sleep
for a while, even if the neat stores are right behind the pub." She
grumbled.
"We have plenty of time, Anya." Giles reminded her, motioning for the
group to follow him towards the old barkeep, who had hauled a large ring of
keys out from beneath the bar and was trying to pull three off it.
"Follow me." Tom said, as the group neared, giving up on liberating the
keys for the time being and hauling the whole ring with him.
They were led through strangely wide hallways that looked simply too big
to fit into the tiny pub, numerous dark, wooden doors lining the walls,
each with brass numbers screwed onto them and gleaming in the faint light
cast by the oil-burning lamps on the walls.
"How big is this place?" Buffy asked with amazement, as they passed the
twentieth door in the corridor and started up a long flight of stairs.
Tom looked back at her with a timid, toothless grin. "Well, we have five
hundred rooms available, if we need them, Miss Summers." He replied,
opening a large door that led into another insanely wide corridor.
"Usually, we only have the usual two hundred."
"Must be useful." Oz murmured. "Kind of like a tardis."
"That seems to be an analogy that muggles use a lot." Tom agreed,
grinning a gummy smile in the direction of the werewolf. He paused in front
of the door numbered 314 in bold, brass numbers, raising a bushy brow when
the Slayer and her friends started laughing. "Is there something amusing?"
Shaking his head, Giles quelled a chuckle. "You really don't want to
know, Tom, believe me." He said, with a faint grin. "Its a long story and
no doubt it'll find its way into The Daily Prophet some time during our
stay."
"Giles, I gotta have this room!" Buffy said determinedly. "Me and Will'll
take it!"
"Very well," Tom nodded, resorting to using his wand to remove the key
from the ring and handing it to her. "Your friends will be in rooms 315 and
316." He looked at Giles. "Is that all right by you?"
"That'll be fine." Giles replied with a nod.
"Neat! Check out the invisible city!" Buffy was leaning out of the
window. She could hear the sounds of the city, but there had to be some
kind of spell on the view that meant that the room owner saw only beautiful
scenery that could have come from any idyllic novel.
It was very strange to hear such contrary sounds and sights outside of
the window.
The view before her looked like it was from some kind of fantasy film,
with a stunning waterfall pouring down a sheer cliff and blue skies high
above them. Forests spread around both sides of them and she found herself
wondering what view the other rooms had.
It was nearly four hours since they had all arrived at The Leaky Cauldron
and all of the group had been catching up on sleep, caught in the throes of
jetlag. Trays of food had been provided twenty minutes before and the
Slayer was now taking the chance to have a look around.
"I can't believe I'm here." Willow was sitting on her bed, the one
nearest the door and on the right side of the fireplace, where a small,
cool fire was crackling to provide a cosy atmosphere without the stuffy
heat.
"It's amazing, isn't it?" Buffy returned from the window, dropping down
on her own bed. "Such a huge place in such a tiny building."
Willow nodded absently, withdrawing a handful of letters from her
rucksack and spreading them on her bed. "I can't believe I'm going to meet
my parents soon..." She fingered the envelopes, then yelped in sudden
panic. "And I must look a mess after travelling all this way!"
She was already on her way to the large, round, gold-leaf framed mirror
on the beige wall, brush in hand, when Buffy started to disagree with her.
"I think you look fine, Will." The red head didn't listen, tugging her
brush hastily through her silky hair.
"Do you have anything that would make my hair behave itself?" She called
over her shoulder to the Slayer.
"I think you're past help, dearie." The mirror murmured sleepily.
Willow squeaked in surprise. "You spoke to me!"
"I don't see anyone else reflected in me." The mirror replied, apparently
waking up and not too happy about it. It paused when Buffy hurried over to
peer at it as well. "All right, come and stare at me. That's all anyone
does."
"Well, I was going to talk to you." Willow looked offended. "How come you
can talk?"
"You really want to know?" The voice brightened considerably. "Ooh!
Normally no one ever does anything but stare into me or ignore me." There
was a pause. "I think I've got a charm on me or something."
"So you're alive?"
There was a dusty chuckle at the Slayer's words. "I'm a mirror, dear. Of
course I'm not alive."
"Have you been here long?"
"Long enough." The mirror said absently. The dust around the edge of the
frame suggested it had been a long time. "What about you? Its obvious that
you've never been in the Leaky Cauldron before."
"I've been living on a Hellmouth in America." Willow replied, still
trying to figure out why she was actually talking to the elaborately-framed
mirror. "I didn't know about The Leaky Cauldron until I found out I was a
proper witch a few months ago."
The mirror seemed to regard her for a moment. "You're a late starter,
aren't you?" It remarked. "Mind you, I have heard people talking about
Hellmouths before...nasty places they are. Had a cousin who was broken to
be made into a stake there."
"Uh...that might have been my fault." Buffy said awkwardly. "Sorry, but I
needed to kill a couple of vampires and I didn't have anything else..."
There was another hoarse chuckle. "Don't worry dear," The mirror said
reassuringly. "That's considered a promotion in my family." There was a
pause. "That would make you a Slayer, wouldn't it?"
"Even mirrors know who I am?" The Slayer looked like she didn't know
whether to be flattered or annoyed.
"You'll find you are very famous, Miss Summers." Dumbledore's voice spoke
from behind them and both girls spun to see Dumbledore calmly pulling
himself out of the fireplace and dusting his robes down. "Good afternoon,
Willow."
"Did...did you just come through the fire?" The red head asked
uncertainly.
"That I did." The Professor's pale blue eyes twinkled merrily. "I had to
resort to floo powder, so I wouldn't attract too much attention
downstairs." He looked around. "I'm assuming that your companions are in
the neighbouring rooms."
"Yeah." Buffy returned to her bed, sitting down and quickly pulling her
black boots off to replace them with another pair. "Giles and Oz are next
door and Xander and Anya are next door to them."
"Fine." The mirror sighed melodramatically. "Forget all about me..."
"I had to put my shoes on." Buffy called over apologetically. Fastening
the boots, she returned and smiled at the mirror. "Better?" She hastily
brushed her hair, pulling it back and pinning the loose curls back with
clasps. "Will I do?"
"For a Slayer, you could do with putting a little weight, dear." The
mirror replied, tutting in a strangely maternal fashion. "It won't do,
being so skinny."
"You'd get on well with my mom." Buffy pulled a face, glancing at the
chuckling reflection of Dumbledore who was standing behind her. Willow was
pulling her shoes on, sitting on the end of her bed. "Professor, d'you
think they'd let me take this mirror home with me?"
"I beg your pardon?" The mirror squawked.
Buffy turned her full attention back to it. "Well, you seem kinda neat
and it seems kinda boring here." She bent closer to it. "If you promise to
compliment me at least once every morning, I could take you home with me,
if you like."
The mirror laughed a little more loudly this time. "Blimey!" It said,
still laughing softly. "I must have made a good impression, then! And old
Tom always says that I'm too talkative." There was a wistful sigh. "It
would be marvellous to get out of this room for once, as well."
"I'm sure Tom wouldn't object, Buffy." Dumbledore added with a small
smile. "After all, you merely need to remind him that you could tear his
pub down with one hand and that would be enough to convince him."
The Slayer grinned broadly, looking towards the door as it opened. "Hey,
Xander! Look at this cool mirror! It can talk!"
"Ours can talk as well." Anya grumbled bitterly. Her boyfriend's face
coloured a deep shade of magenta. "It was very off-putting when we were
having sex. It was cheering and telling us we should have provided
popcorn."
"A mirror handing out sex tips...there's something you don't hear every
day." Willow stood up, smoothing her crimson blouse down over her black
trousers.
"I covered it in a sheet and it called me a prude." Xander shook his
head. "Some of the things I've seen here are just too wiggy."
"Wiggy?" The mirror inquired from the wall.
"It mean weird." Buffy explained, reaching up to pat the frame. "Don't
worry. He's a muggle, so he uses weird words."
"Buffy, you're having a conversation with furniture." Giles remarked
dryly, entering the room with Oz. "Should we start worrying about you?" He
nodded a greeting to Dumbledore. "Nice to see you Professor."
"Giles, I'm adopting the mirror. He...she...er...what are you?"
The mirror paused, silent for several seconds and if it could have, it
would have frowned in thought. "Call me Bob." It said.
"So you're male?"
"Nope. I just like the name." She could visualise a grin.
"Okay." She grinned back at it. "I name you Bob the Mirror." Her friends
rolled their eyes but she ignored them, patting the frame again. "I'll see
you later, okay, Bob? We're going to go to the stores."
"Have fun, dear."