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Believe Half of What You See...	By : Scribe Category: -Misc TV Shows > Crossovers Views: 1519 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the television series that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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*sound effects or actions* Thoughts and things that are to be emphasized are in italics //Indicates what the author wrote.//
Notes: Someone told me they had a little trouble recognizing the character they meet inside the courtyard, even though we'd discussed it. Hint--think Moulin Rouge.

Believe Half of What You See... Chapter Nine

It Had to Happen Sometime--Harry Potter Universe

Scribe tumbled to the ground--the rather stony ground. "Damn it to hell! Why can't I ever land on a nice mattress, or at least in a haystack?" *pause* "Scratch that. I'd probably find the needle." *Oof!* "Damn, Quinn, you're solid." The Slider had, naturally, landed right on top of her, and didn't seem inclined to move. "Get off me. We need to move, now."

He snuggled. "Just a little more. You know, what with the sliding, I haven't had a chance to, uh, relate to a girl for some time."

"You don't understand. I think you're cute as hell, but if we don't move now we'll..." *Oof!* *Oof!* ""Damn it to fuck! Harris, get off him so he can get off me so I don't freakin' suffocate! I said stop humping his butt and get up!"

"Party pooper," grumbled Xander, giving Quinn's ass one more squeeze before scrambling off them. *pause* "Look, Quinn, if I have to get up, you have to get up." He grabbed Quinn's shoulders and hauled him upright, then gave Scribe a hand up. "How ya doin', babe?" He started brushing her off. "Any interesting new bruises?" He started lifting her shirt. "Let me check." She slapped his hands down. "But I need to keep a record for, uh, insurance purposes. I'm sure I can find an Instamatic around here somewhere."

"Nice try. I've managed to avoid any of you yahoos getting hold of nekkid pictures of me so far, I don't want to break my record." She looked around. "Where are we?"

Quinn pointed to where turrets and spires could be seen rising over the trees at a distance. "There's a castle or manor or something on that hill over there."

Scribe frowned. "Don't like that. Fandoms involving castles or manors are very seldom relaxing. There's usally all kinds of wizards, or elves, or pompous knights with lances, or vampires roaming around."

"Well," Xander looked around. "It's the only building within sight right now, so we might as well go there." Scribe looked stubborn. Xander sighed. "Look, you know that someone will just come out and drag you in if you don't go."

"Oh, hell. All right." They started to trudge toward the castle. "I wish we didn't have to go through this forest to get to it. I keep wanting to sing 'follow the yellow brick road' and look out for winged monkeys."

"Native ahead," observed Quinn, pointing to a slender, cloak wrapped figure standing under a tree not far away.

They approached cautiously. He was a pale faced, dark haired young man with quirkily handsome features. He stepped toward them and said, "Hello. I must warn you against getting any closer to that castle. It has a very confused and dire reputation."

So does most of New York City, but it doesn't keep out the tourists," said Scribe. "What's it to you?"

"I'm henvesnvestigating allegations of witchcraft, and I don't want you civilians risking yourself."

Scribe peered at him narrowly. "Ooh, okay. How's it going, Ichabod?"

He blinked. "Do I know you, miss?" His eyes flicked over her, and he gave her the geeky equivalent of charm. "I'm sure I'd remember such a charming woman."

"I haven't actually written any Sleepy Hollow fiction, so you might not be all that acquainted with me."

"Then why is he here?" Xander asked, eyeing the young man. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I didn't say I hadn't thought about it. Bram was awful cute, after all. I guess introductions are in order. Ichabod, I'm Scribe, and this is Quinn Mallory. The hornpuppy is Xander Harris. Guys, this is Ichabod Crane."

"Ichabod, huh?" Xander sidled close to Ichabod. He bumped him with his shoulder. "I, personally, don't think there's anything icky about your bod." He let a hand slide over Ichabod's butt. "Wanna fool around?" *thud* "Crap. He fainted."

"Yeah, he does that a lot," commented Scribe. "Kinda cute, actually."

"Would it count as necrophilia if I molested him now?" There was the thunder of hoofbeats.

Scribe looked down the road. "I'm not sure, but I think that big, dead, headless dude heading for us right now might have something to say about it."
"Rii"Riiiiight."

The huge black horse, with the headless Hessian bent low over its neck, raced toward them. Scribe sighed. "Help me get him up." Quinn and Xander helped her haul the limp body into an upright position. "Okay, stand fast, but be ready to jump at the right moment."

Closer and closer, faster and faster. The horseman leaned to the side, arm outstretched. Ichabod blinked, opened his eyes, and saw what was racing down on him. "Wow!" He fainted again.

"Now!" All three of the travelers jumped back, letting go of Ichabod. Before the unconscious man could collapse, he was scooped up and neatly deposited across the saddle (and, incidentally, the thighs) of the Horseman. As they gallopped down the road, disappearing behind the trees, an eerie, triumphant laugh floated back.

"How the hell does he do that with no head?" asked Quinn.

"Did you notice that he was squeezing Icky's ass?" Xander observed. He looked thoughtful, then grinned.ell,ell, he may not have a head now..."

"Don't say it!" warned Scribe.

"But..."

"I said no!" She shook a finger at him warningly.

"I can't help it. You gave me a dirty, smart mouth when you created me." Very rapidly he said, "HemaynothaveaheadnowbutIthinkhe'sgonnagetsomesoon." *thwap* Scribe swatted him soundly on the back of the head. "It was worth it."

"And I didn't create you." She looked up at the sky. "Hear that, Joss? Okay, let's get going for that castle." They'd gone a few yards when men in green tights came leaping out of the trees. "Oh, for... Turn your pockets out, guys." They did.

The men looked at them dispiritedly. Finally oaid,aid, "I say we search 'em." Xander quickly extended his arms to the side. "Wot the 'ell are you so eager for?"

"I've reached the point of horniness where body cavity searches are a viable option," he informed them.

The leader of the band sighed. "Okay, they qualify as poor. Shell it out, guys." Several of the men handed coins to each of the travelers.

Scribe looked at Quinn. "Wait for it."

The leader clapped his hands together. "Look! They have money! Stand and deliver, travelers." Grumbling, Scribe, Xander, and Quinn handed the money back. The leader got a thoughtful look. "But now they have no money. Men, give them..."

"I don't have all day!" Scribe shoved her way through the group. "C'mon you guys." She turned back, pointed at the leader and said, "Oh, and you? Ditch Marian and hook up with Will Scarlet. Don't necessarily believe all that nonsense about him being your half-brother--he's the cutest one in the group."

"You know," said Xander as they walked, "I find this area strange, even by my standards."

They'd reached the castle. There was a slender, black leather clad figure, very pale, witiky iky black hair, standing near the entrance. Scribe blinked. "Strife?" *clickclick* "Whoa. Nope, Strife is into sharp edged things, but he doesn't actually have them attached."

Xander, staring at the young man, said, "I dunno. I've heard some stories about the nipple piercings, and safety pins."

They'd stopped before the person in question. Scribe explained, "Edward Scissorhand."

"Looks a lot like Ichabod." Xander started to sidle toward him. *clickclick* He sidled back.

"Don't be afraid, Xander," soothed Scribe. "According to the canon, Edward is a sweet, gentle, non-violent soul, with tender yearnings of mostly unrequited love, afraid to touch, lest..." *click* *prrrrp* Scribe looked down at her now much deeper neckline. "Or maybe not. Crap, I could use some of those safety pins right about now." *snip* She grabbed at her drooping waistband. "You stop that! One of you, do something!"

Xander eyed the razor sharp, long knife/fingers. "I love ya, babe, but I'd like to keep all my bits attached. I'm not getting any closer."

*clang* Something smacked into Edward's head. Edward, about to try to turn Scribe's shirt into an open vest, dropped like a stone. Scribe gaped. "Whahappen?"

"I threw the timer at him." Quinn squatted and picked up the device. He shook it. *rittittbumpclick* "Hm."

"How's it supposed to sound?" Xander asked.

"It isn't. Damn. Now what am I going to do?"

"What we all do--wing it. Let's go in." Scribe hitched her pants up with one hand and clutched her shirt shut with the other. "I need a change in wardrobe."

They entered what looked like a large courtyard. A bearded man in medieval dress was walking past, muttering and gesticulating. He paused when he saw them, and pointed at Scribe. "You. My room. Nine o'clock." He started to walk off, then paused and looked back, sweeping a finger at Xander and Quinn. "Bring your friends." He stalked off.

Xander looked at Scribe. She was staring after the man with a slightly dreamy look on her face. He waved a hand in front of her eyes. "Scribe?"

"Huh?"

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were tempted."

She shivered. "Accent. Brrr. He does evil so well."

A dark haired young man (dressed in clothes that were much more modern than what they'd seen recently, but still a long way from the mall) wandered up. "I was glad they didn't ask me to do a French accent in that last fic. I always feel so idiotic when I have to say 'zee' for 'the'. You're beautiful. Can I write you a poem?"

"Sure, go ahead. Make it short and snappy, and I'll put it in my email signature when I get back," Scribe said.

"I could use some inspiration," he said wistfully.

Scribe looked at her right hand (clutching her shirt closed), then her left hand (holding up her trying-to-go-south pants). "Crap--nothing to grab with. Lean over." He did. She leaned in and smooched him.

He smiled, but said, "I'd be more inspired by tongue."

"Wouldn't we all," drawled Xander. "Do you have any idea where we could find someone that could fix a busted interdimensional wormhole opener?"

Christian had pulled a notebook and pencil out of his pocket, and was busily scribbling. He waved vaguely toward the huge building behind him. "Try in there. They seem to be able to do just about everything, except manage to keep the stairways in one place. Would you consider being a redhead?"

"I have been. Fucking expensive." She, Quinn, and Xander entered the castle. She glanced around. "Damn, I'd like to shake the hand of the set designer for this place. Let's try over here, first."

They entered an absolutely enormous room that was filled with long table. Sitting at the table were what looked like several hundred young people between the ages of about eleven or twelve, and their late teens. Scribe blinked. "Good gravy. How the hell did they manage to get this many teenagers in one place at one time dressed alike?" She thought. "Especially without resorting to T-shirts?"

Quinn was peering around, looking confused. "Maybe it's some sort of choral meet? I mean, they are all wearing robes."

Scribe suddenly noticed that the room had gotten very, very quiet. Well, as quiet as it could get with that many teenagers. "Well, visitors!" That was from a tall, thin, very old man at the front of the room.

I haven't seen a beard like that since the last time ZZ Top played Houston, Scribe thought. "Hi. Look, do y'all have one of thosees tes to spare? My clothes are trying to desert, thanks to a certain snippy person, and if I don't get something to cover up pretty durn quick, your students are likely to get an anatomy lesson they aren't prepared for."

"That's what you think!" was called from a table that was decorated in silver and green.

One of the (obvious) teachers near the old guy rolled her eyes. "Slytheryns."

"You can say a whole lot with just one word andattiattitude," Xander told Quinn.

"I'm sure that one of the upper girls should have a robe that would fit you. By the way, my name is Albus Dumbledore, and welcome to Hogwarts."

"Yeah, right, big surprise. Why can't one of the guys give me a robe? I mean, it's not like these things are gender differential, huh?"

A boy in his late teens, with screamingly red hair, jumped up and bowed. "As first boy, it's only proper that I make the sacrifice." He pulled the robe over his head. Xander visibly drooped with disappointment when he saw that the boy was clothed underneath.

"Thanks, Pers. You're a prig sometimes, but you're a sweety." Oo, them redheads can blush! He offered her the robe. "Can't turn loose of anything right now, babe." She dipped her head. Just slip it over." Percy did. Scribe's head popped through, then she wiggled her arms up through the sleeves. She took a step, then kicked aside a pair of pants. Whoops from the Slytheryns, but there were a few of the Griffyndors who weren't exactly shielding their eyes.

"Now, hate to interrupt what was obviously a get-together, but we need a little help. Can anyone fix an interdimensional traveling machine?

There was a massive gasp. "Muggle technology?" whispered someone. "It's... it's... unnatural."

"Oh, dear," said Dumbledor. "I'm afraid we can't help you there. Now, if it was magic..."

A t git girl with long, frizzy hair stood up. "I'll try."

"Really, Hermoinie, do you think you could?" asked the wizard.

She shrugged. "I learned how to program my parent's VCR." Dumbledore lifted an eyebrow. "Preset, to record one show while you watch another."

"Oooooooo..." A moan of awe echoed through the room.

Scribe looked at her companions. "That's so legendarily hard that even the fanfiction wizarding world knows about it, and is impressed. Quinn, why don't you go with Hermoinie and see if she can fix that." As they started off, hunting up Filch for some tools, she called, "And I'm not going to ask why you can't fix it, since you invented it." He flinched as he exited. She grinned at Xander. "Plot holes. Gotta love 'em."

"Well," Dumbledor rubbed his hands together. "You have no idea how pleased I am to have you here, Scribe, though I'm afraid you're going to have to start with the first year students, since you have no magicing experience."

"Waaaaait a minute. I'm not here earnearn. I'm done with school, thank you very much. Did my required twelve, then even donated a total of six more, and still missed my damn teaching degree by," she held up her thumb and forefinger an inch apart, "that much, thank you, governor Let's-require-more-for-teaching-certificates-and-maybe-the-parents-won't-notice-that-the-money-from-the-lottery-isn't-going-into-education-like-we-promised."

Dumbledor waved aside her protest. "Nonsense. You'll have a fine time, and be greatly enriched."

"If I want to be enriched I'll watch Massterpiece Theater and the Arts and Entertainment channel."

"I must insist."

"Insist all you want, Fuzzy. Ain't gonna do it. C'mon, Xander."

She turned around and bumped into the most massive nun she'd ever seen. She was at least six foot three or four, probably well over three hundred pounds, and thus was impressive enough without the beard. She twinkled merrily at Scribe. "Now, now, girlie, you just go on up there and get yourself sorted."

Scribe stared, jaw dropping. Xander whimpered. "Do you have any idea what this is going to do to my Catholic schoolgirl fantasies?"

Scribe shook her head like a wet dog and looked again. Finally she said, "Hagrid, you're dressed for the wrong movie. How is Eric, by the way?"

Hagrid looked down. "Oh, deary me! Wrong costume. Would someone?" There was a flash, and he was dressed in rough work clothes. "There, much better. Now, then, don't keep the headmaster waitin'." Scribe crossed her arm. Hagrid said gently. "Ore yre ya all tired out? I could carry ya..."

Scribe scooted toward the front. "Like I'm letting someone that big get his hands on me." Xander followed quickly. At the front, she scowled at Dumbledor. "Well?" He indicated a low, three legged stool. "You have to be kidding."

"It's traditional. All first year students sit on the sorting stool."

"All first year students have legs about half as long as mine. No way. I'm not going to sit there with my knees up in front of my boobs." *snickers* "Shut up, Slytherins!"

"Very well, in this case we can dispence with the seat." He lifted a battered wizard hat and moved toward her.

She jerked her head back. "Wait a minute. When was the last time that thing was washed?"

"Um..."

"Get it away from me. Do you have any idea how prevailant head lice are in boarding schools? No offense meant--it's just the enclosed environment."

Dumbledor sighed, pulled a wand, and tapped the hat. "Verminus Exterminus." *flash* "There."

Scribe hesitated. "Hell with it. Slap it on."

He did. "My word, it's quite a good fit."

"Helps that I'm an adult with a normal sized head, I guess."

The room got quiet. The hat twitched, then spoke. "Mmm... This is an interesting one. Brave and bold..." Scribe snorted. "All right, bold at least, or possibly brazen is a better word. That's Griffyndor material. But there's creativity, here, too, so Ravenclaw is not out of the question. Hmm... Hufflepuff? No, they never get any of the interesting ones. Slitheryn? You're sly enough."

"I'll testafy to that," offered Xander. "Chased the booboo through two sections before I finally got her. Giles had a list of her escape tactics that was longer than your arm."

"Well, there's really only one possible choice." *pause* *everyone leaned forward, breath held, waiting* *waiting* *waiting* *and waiting...*

"Oh, for crying out loud, quit being coy!" Scribe snapped. "They'll hyperventilate."

The hat chortled. "Slytherin!"

*huge cheers from the Slytherins, including a very creditable wave, and lots of high fives.* *boos and hisses from the rest*

"Wait a minute! You know darn good and well that I'm not nearly nasty enough to go with them," Scribe protested. Xander cleared his throat. "You know what I mean. I do not belong with... Wait a minute." She snatched the hat off her head, and peered inside. "Just as I thought." She pulled out a small sack, that clinked. "Somebody bribed the hat." She peered at the bag. "Someone with the initials DM."

Xander gasped. "David Mulder?"

Scribe hit him with the sack. "Quit mixing actors and characters, Xander! No, it's..."

"I highly resent the implications," drawled someone. A light-haired, grey eyed boy with a sharply handsome face lazily crossed his legs.

Scribe squinted. "Wait a minute. Hermoinie is about twelve, and you look about eighteen."

Draco snorted. "Scribe, this isn't just a fanfiction universe, it's a magical sectio a f a fanfiction universe. What did you expect?"

"I expect to get my behind out of here before your freakin' father or Voldemort shows up." She headed toward the doors back to the great hall.

The doors blew open. A tall, lean figure in flowing black robes, with long, dark hair and a long, pale, handsome face loomed over her, looking down at her with dark burning eyes. Scribe froze, rather like a plot bunny caught in a fanfic author's sights.

The long, mobile lips curled in an expression that was almost a sneer, but still managed to convey satisfaction, and Severus Snape hissed, "Misssss SSScriiiibe."

Scribe turned to Xander and lifted a finger as if making a point. "Quick Ichabod Crane impression."

*thud*
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