Disclaimer: The contents of this story concerning the Harry Potter books are the property of J.K Rowling, Warner brothers and Bloomsbury books. The contents concerning Buffy The Vampire Slayer is the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, W.B and other proprietors in league with these subjects.
The quote is from Vanilla Sky
Warning: Contains strong language, substance abuse and some themes some readers may find disturbing.
A/N: Hello everyone! This is to anyone who was reading Sincerity/Loyalty I have ceased to continue with the series because I have come to the conclusion that it was a load of Bollocks.
Basicaly my account stopped working but now it's working again! This story is in some ways completely different to Loyalty but in other ways there are some themes that may seem similar.
Please give me feedback, don't be shy I can handle criticism and I want to know what you all think.
Thanks!
Timeline: Set after HBP, midway through an imaginary book 7 and two years after Chosen.
Chapter One
Every passing moment is another chance to turn it all around
The clouds set charcoal shadows across the pink sun; already beginning it's descent into the murky depths of a long-forgotten sea. A flash of white lightning followed a pronouncing moan from the sky, illuminating the horrifying image of the west pier already half crumpled into that same fathomless sea.
Buffy ducked under a building's overhanging roof, taking refuge from the storm that was obviously about to rip apart a beach created on the same day as the same shitty world she was hiding from.
"Stupid rain. Why do they call it sunny Brighton? So far I'm thinking Mr Sunshine is a bit on the late side," Buffy muttered in an attempt to amuse herself.
She didn't exactly remember why she had run away when there were plenty of other none scaredy-cat-ish things she could have done, but the date hung over her head like someone had brandished her with a hot poker, the nineteenth of October 2004, exactly two years ago today. Perhaps that's why she felt like shit, the memories were too haunting, looming over her in one continuous, torturing laugh.
About a week after that she had flown from Rome (where Dawn and she had been living) and gone to live in Australia. Australia got boring, so Scotland soon found itself being infiltrated by her twenty-four-year-old self. There she had met Adam. He was older than her by a couple of years, with cheek bones like Spike's. He had a slender figure, maybe too thin, bleached yellowy-blond hair, though most of the blond was gone when she met him, and his eyes were green like the grass she'd sat on with him.
Adam had been a real screw-up; he was addicted to acid and continuously dragged Buffy into situations she would rather not have experienced. One day she came home to find one of his mates lying face down in a pool of his own sick. Buffy had enough after that, she grabbed her stuff and got the first train to England, and that's how she had found herself in Brighton.
As the rain pelted the pavement she was already planning out her next move. It wasn't as if she hadn't noticed what was happening to the world; more that she was trying to ignore it. Already a large percentage of England had been bombed. London had been putting on a good show until the Houses of Parliament were bombed. Camden High Road was a mere shell of what it had once been and the saddest of all was when Bluebell Woods were demolished by giants. Magic was flying around everywhere and not in a good way. It started off slowly, more and more disappearances, and then strange things began to happen.
The real shocker was when a whole street blew up of its own accord. After that the people responsible for it started to make themselves apparent. The Government was calling them terrorists, but soon it became obvious that they were not anything of the sort. They called themselves 'Death Eaters' and were run by a person called the 'Dark Lord'; it was soon clear that war had begun and they were winning.
She already knew that the new Slayers' Council had been trying to track her down, but she was too good for them. They wanted her to help them fight this, but to be frank she just didn't care anymore. What was done was done and she had saved the world enough times.
Buffy turned her denim collar up against the rain and, hunching her shoulders, she ducked out from underneath the roof to brave the elements. The friendly sign of a Holiday Inn swung in the wind. Buffy made her way towards it, already soaked through to the skin.
She was looking forwards to flopping down on the ghastly flowered bedspread after a long hot shower and flicking through channel after channel of Saturday night telly. She found her way through the dimly lit hallways, peeling wallpaper chuckling softly at her pitiful-ness, the smells of cheap wannabe D&G perfume mocking her, swatting out a sticky hand to drag her down into the plush red carpet where the fake perfume had started to decay.
The door to her 'I'm cheaper than Wal-Mart' room creaked as she pushed it open. It still smelt like cat piss and spunk and another foul odour she couldn't place, but it was the cheapest she could find. Buffy haphazardly flicked on the light switch upon contact with the circuit it began to buzz. Kicking the door shut behind her, she looked at the bed in front of her. A half–empty packing case still lay there, tempting her, just itching to be picked up and taken somewhere else. Buffy pushed it off her bed and sat down lazily. Just as she was about to turn on the T.V she suddenly heard a faint chuckle from the corner and a man came walking out of the shadows.