Title: Story of a Girl
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. At all. If I did, I'd have more money then God and would never have canceled BtVS and Angel.
Summary: A teenage girl is given an impossible destiny. She's taken away from everything she knows and everyone thinks she's dead. Eight years later, she's back, and in for one hell of a fight.
Distribution: Just ask if you want to use this.
Spoilers: All of Buffy and Angel. Through GoF, and some minor ones from OotP.
a/n: Again, please review, and also, thanks to everyone who already has! Alen Pitt, Dawn was never told about her sister's whole "witchiness" factor. Why? Because when Hermione went to Hogwarts, she was 5, and her parents kind of used the whole "Dumbledore" philosophy when it came to telling her. 6 is no better then 5, etc. etc. Then, they figured that if Dawn didn't/did get a letter from Hogwarts (and she would've thanks to the Key thing turning her into a living magical battery) she'd be old enough to know, one way or the other. Remember, boarding schools are fairly common in England. Oh, and you're right, it was frustrating for Hermione/Buffy, though no one will find out how much until way farther on in the story. And for the looks difference, I'm going for the book description, so her features are unclear, and Buffy's actual face could easily be anyone else's, plus, I'm operating on the assumption that her hair darkened as she got older (trust me when I say, you only have to look at both my pictures, and some of my friends' to tell just how easily that could happen) and it bleached in the California sun, top that with a little hair dye and you've got Buffy. Hope that clears things up for you.
"Professor, you should've seen them, they were incredible." Harry Potter insisted.
"How so?" the Headmaster asked.
"All of them were fighting the demons as easily as if they were flying," he explained, "and they actually seemed used to it, some of them were actually complaining about the blood on their clothes!"
Dumbledore looked intrigued.
"Can you tell if they might be useful allies?" he questioned.
"I think so, they definitely couldn't be working for Voldemort if they saved those two kids from monsters." Was the reply.
A couple of the Order's newest members flinched at hearing the Dark wizard's name said out loud.
"How d'you think they knew what was going on, anyway?" Ronald Weasley, Harry's best friend, asked.
"Yeah, they must've known somehow, how else would they have gotten the weapons? You said only one of them used magic." Fred Weasley, Ron's older brother, pondered.
"I don't know how they knew to be there," Harry said honestly, "and I don't think the witch used magic to conjure up the weapons. They were too detailed, and she didn't even have a wand."
"No wand?" Albus had a pensive expression on his face. "Are you sure?"
Harry nodded affirmative.
"Curious." The aging wizard murmured, and Harry was irresistibly reminded of Mr. Ollivander, the wand maker.
He looked up at them a few minutes later.
"What did you say the young man said at the end?" Dumbledore asked.
"Er, something like 'Get healed with Council money and salaries'?" he answered uncertainly.
"That's certainly an odd thing to say, even for a Muggle." Minerva McGonagall remarked.
Harry half-expected Snape to make some comment about how he'd gotten the words wrong, but he, too, had an expression of deep thought on his face. The Headmaster had gone back to thinking- well, whatever it was he had been thinking, you could never tell with Albus Dumbledore.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror, said,
"Could they be a threat to us? We don't really know much about them. Should we even approach these monster hunters? For all we know, they could want nothing to with us." He pointed out.
"We don't even know where to find these people," Remus reminded him. "All we know is that they're good people who obviously have some skills and could be useful allies against Voldemort."
"Maybe we should try to find them, set someone to follow them until we know enough to see if they want to help us." Ginny, really Ginevra, Weasley, and Ron's younger sister, suggested.
"That'd be a good idea, except we have no clue where to start, and we really don't have enough people to spare for the job. The Death Eaters are still attacking almost every night." Draco Malfoy, a one-time enemy, said.
Harry remembered a time when Draco wouldn't have been caught dead- literally, knowing his father- in the same room with the people he considered family now. That had all changed in fifth year. Granted, it had been a slow process, and neither party involved had wanted anything to do with each other, at first, but as he got older, and closer to becoming a Death Eater, the pale boy had grown disgusted with what that entailed. The Malfoy pride, alone, had been enough of a cause for him to balk at kissing anyone's robes, forget about the conscience he really did have. Now, he was actually one of Harry's best friends, and for the most part, his barbs weren't actually cruel, even if they were mildly insulting.
It felt like so long since those comparatively care-free days when he'd been part of Hogwarts' very own detective agency, and right and wring were so easily defined. There had been no puzzles then, no good Slytherins, or dead friends. Now, here he was, fighting a war only he could finally end. Once upon a time he would've been awed to be a part of the Order, filled with that subconscious childhood desire to help, feel grown up, respected, and useful. Now he fought to save lives, and possibly lose his own.
"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley's voice broke through his musings.
"Er, sorry," he apologized sheepishly, "I didn't hear you."
"That's obvious." Draco drawled.
Harry stuck his tongue out at the man and got a stomp on the foot in return.
"Ow!" he exclaimed.
"What you get for messing with me, you ponce." Draco retorted, but Harry could see the mischief dancing in his eyes.
"Wanker," he muttered.
"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said sternly, "Draco."
"Sorry," they both said immediately.
That seemed to satisfy Mrs. Weasley, for she continued with what she'd been saying before Harry had spaced out.
"I wanted to know if you found anything else out while you were at the warehouse." She repeated.
"No," Harry answered, "Wait, yes, I did."
He fished around in the pockets of his robes for a few moments before pulling out a clear glass vial filled with blood.
"I was hoping Snape could do that potion again, the one that helped us figure out who some of the new Death Eaters were." He explained.
Both Dumbledore and Snape looked up at this statement.
"Excellent idea, Harry." Dumbledore agreed.
"Yes, for once your plan makes sense." Snape said tersely, holding his hand out for the vial.
Harry had long ago learned that Snape was like that with just about everyone and simply handed the vial over to him. The second he did so, the Potions Master stood and walked out of the room without a word, robes billowing behind him in their usual melodramatic way. The all knew without being told that he was Flooing back to Hogwarts to get the potion supplies.
"While Severus is gone why don't we focus on the other items of importance?" Dumbledore proposed.
"The Death Eater activity still hasn't changed," Mr. Weasley reported. "There are several attacks each night, but it's never a lot of people at once."
"Fleur wants more wards put up around the house before the baby comes," Bill, the eldest Weasley child, said.
His wife, a beautiful woman by the name of Fleur, was currently nearing the end of her pregnancy, and therefore unable to make it to the Order meeting. With things the way they were, it was understandable that she'd want her newborn child to have more protection, especially since the Weasleys were among the most targeted members of the Order, and a new child would present the perfect opportunity for an attack.
"Of course," Dumbledore agreed, "I shall be along tomorrow. Is she doing well?"
Bill nodded.
"The Ministry is setting up more pointless measures in an effort to protect the public," Nymphadora Tonks, who threatened bodily harm to anyone who called her by her first name, snorted in derision. "They need more Aurors, and Fudge is at his wits' end trying to find them. He's putting recruits fresh out of Hogwarts on the field, with no training whatsoever."
Dorcas Meadows, an aging witch with a dry sense of humor, shook her head sadly.
"That will not turn out well," she said.
"No, it won't," Charlie Weasley, Ron's second-oldest brother, agreed.
"There are rumors of an attack on Hogwarts," Gemma Larson, a witch two years younger then Harry, offered.
"There are always rumors of an attack on Hogwarts." George, Fred's twin, said.
"I know that, but those were always circulating around the general public. This isn't some random scare, if anything, it's being kept quiet. The only reason I found out was through that Death Eater I captured last Monday. What was his name? Oh yeah, Goyle, thick as a troll, that one, but he was willing to blab it all to keep out of Azkaban. He said something about Voldemort wanting the school out of the way." Gemma recalled.
"That's not good." Allen Goodman, another relatively new recruit, stated the obvious.
"No, you think? Stupid git," Draco said under his breath.
Allen looked over at him, but seeing no evidence in the blonde's expression, decided he hadn't heard what he thought, and turned away. Harry, Ron, and Ginny stifled laughs. He'd heard exactly what he thought he had.
"That would be dangerous, indeed, we'll have to increase the security on the school considerably," Dumbledore said grimly. "Is there anything else of importance?"
Everyone shook their heads no.
"He's lying low again, just like he was after fourth- after he first came back." Ron said haltingly.
Despite the years, the two remaining members of the one-time trio still had trouble thinking of their dead friend. They avoided saying her name at all costs, and tried to avoid anything connected to Fourth Year in general. No one had ever found out what had happened to the Granger family. Most of the world thought that they had been murdered by Voldemort. The time frame certainly fit, he had just been resurrected, then, and had been trying to lie low. What better way stop Harry then kill one of his best friends? And Harry was more then willing to bet that Lucius Malfoy could've easily faked the Muggle records that said they died in, of all the irony, a car crash. They'd never found a car, a body, or any way to prove Voldemort as the culprit.
Snape came back into the room about ten minutes later, carrying his precious potion ingredients. He set the items out on the table and transfigured a cauldron out of a small matchbook from his pocket. He conjured a small portable flame, the kind that had once been Hermione's specialty. They all wisely chose to keep silent as he assembled the ingredients and put them into the cauldron, all in the exact order dictated by the rather complicate potion. He systematically stirred and poured for half an hour until it was time for the final stage. Snape carefully picked the vial up and uncorked it. He poured the young woman's blood into the potion carefully, there was so little that he couldn't afford to spill a drop of it. Finally, he did the last thing required for the revealing potion to work. Saying the simple spell was the least complex part of the potion.
"Revealo." He said, putting the tip of his wand into the potion.
The liquid began to swirl around the tip of Snape's wand, a large swirl that rose up the wand and into the air like a small, liquid tornado. After a few seconds the swirling stopped and the potion flattened out in the air. It was silvery in color, and hanging in the air, it looked like one of the new plasma televisions that the Muggles had. People seated at the farthest end of the table moved so they could see the "screen".
A moment's pause, and then the images began, flashes of the woman's life from when the blood had left her body to her birth. It was only the important ones, the memories that had left so much of an impact on her to leave an impression in her very blood. In most people, there were only two or three memories like that, if you were a Death Eater or an Auror, there were a few more. And the least strange thing about the results of the potion for the small blonde was that she had around a dozen.
The first flash appeared. It was the remains of what looked like a battle, and there was a man who looked almost exactly Draco. He had an amulet around his neck.
"I love you." She told him.
"No you don't," he answered, "but thanks for saying it."
Then he burned up.
The second flash involved a truly evil looking young woman. She had china pale skin with black veins showing through, and unnaturally dark hair and eyes.
Flash Number Three, was… well, it was odd. She was singing.
There was also another monster there, dressed in a suit, of all things.
"I think I was in heaven," the blonde sang in a mournful voice.
Flash Four, a hand shot out of the ground. The ground over a grave. Harry caught a sight of the headstone. Buffy Summers, 1981-2002 "She saved the world a lot", it read.
The woman clawed her way out of the ground, ripping and tearing her way to the surface with an almost animalistic savagery. She stood up and stared at the headstone uncomprehendingly for a moment.
Five, she was standing on top of something, they couldn't tell what.
"Dawn, the hardest thing in this world is to live in it." she said.
A teenage girl with numerous cuts all over her was sobbing. Then the blonde took a swan dive over the edge of whatever she was standing on.
Ginny and some others gasped.
Flash number six, she was looking down at the body of a woman on the floor.
"Mom?" she asked.
Flash Seven, she locked eyes with a handsome man for a moment, before he walked away.
Flash Eight, the girl was looking at a dark-haired teen about the same age. Then they were both staring at the body of a small man, clearly dead, with expressions of horror on their faces.
Flash Nine, she was with a tall, dark, and handsome, man, the same from before.
"I love you." She whispered, before stabbing him.
Ten, she's being brought back to life by a young man while the man from earlier looked on.
"In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer."
The eleventh flash, she's in a car with the dead woman from earlier and the girl who was there when she jumped.
"Welcome To Sunnydale," a sign reads.
Flash Twelve,
"Welcome to America," she whispers to herself as she gets off of a plane.
The voice was distinctly English, as opposed to the American accent from earlier, or later, depending on how you looked at it. Harry recoiled as he saw her face, memories flashing through his mind. She was young, midway through her teens, the hair straightened, but still light brown, almost dirty blonde, with little golden highlights running through it. The features hadn't changed over time, but she suddenly seemed so recognizable. For one thing, the girl was younger, still wearing the baggy clothes which she'd always felt comfortable in. For another, no one had ever pictured the studious, calm, plain, intelligent young girl as one of the Valley Girls that had been the stereotype of all blondes during their childhood. The voice was easy to place, the mature, solemn, innocent yet intelligent, tone that had once scolded and advised him for years. Hermione.
The next flash, a man in his early- to mid-thirties was speaking to her.
"Miss Granger, I can assure you that this is in your best interest. You'll be in grave danger should you continue to live here," he told her.
The words were polite enough, but the condescending tone was enough to make Hermione bristle.
"I don't why we have to move all the way to America!" Hermione protested hotly, 'or the need for an identity change, or why I can't tell my friends!"
"These methods have worked for the years, and they are for your own good, as well as the welfare of your friends. If some evil decides to target them because of you, magic would be powerless to stop it." he hissed angrily.
"How do you know that?" Hermione shot back. "You're a Muggle!"
"I know that anything that decides to target a potential Slayer- especially one with a high chance of being called, has to have a lot more power than any foe the Wizarding World has ever faced. And the identity change will protect your family, as well, for God's sake, think of someone besides yourself," he told her.
"Who are you to tell me what to do?" the bushy haired witch demanded.
"Someone who can have you shipped off to the Caribbean to train in isolation with no one but your Watcher, no outside communication, and no luxuries at all. Furthermore, I could have those precious friends of yours, through your Headmaster, that you chose to go to an exclusive boarding school with an excellent academics program." He threatened.
"My parents would never allow that." Hermione reminded him angrily.
"I think they would," the man said smoothly, his composure back, "especially if they were told that it was for your own safety, and that you could contact and visit them if you should so choose. Too bad that "you" will send them a letter a week later, telling them that your studies are amazing and you don't want to visit for a little while," Hermione gaped at him in horror, but he continued, "then, later on, "you" will be so engrossed by your lessons that you will just keep putting off those visits, until your family finally gives up, feeling as betrayed as those friends of yours. Would you like for that to happen?" he asked.
By now, all of the fight had gone out of the teenager, and frankly, no one could blame her. What could she do against threats like that, especially since they could come true in an instant. If Harry had his parents back, he would cling to them no matter what the cost. Around him, the others watching Hermione's life were having similar thoughts.
"No." she said softly.
"Good," he said before departing.
Flash fourteen, she was dropping down onto the Devil's Snare in the Trio's First Year. Harry and Ron were already entangled in the deadly plant's grasp, although they didn't know it.
Flash fifteen, the sorting hat called out Gryffindor.
Flash sixteen, Hermione was opening her Hogwarts letter.
Seventeen, a small blonde girl, with curly hair the same shade as her twenty-something self, and a few shades lighter than her fourteen year old self, was holding a small baby while her proud parents looked on proudly.
Then the image began to waver, the screen's original silver color seeping through the frozen color image. The screen began to wobble and shake. The writhing grew more and more violent, until little cracks began to appear in the molten liquid. The cracks deepened until little pieces of the screen, if it could still be called that, began to break off and hover in the air. The same thing that had happened to the screen was inflicted upon the individual pieces until, ten minutes later, the one-time screen had completely dissolved.
For a few minutes everyone, including Dumbledore, just stared in shock, their eyes fixed on the place where the silvery viewing screen had once been. Then Ron summed all of their collective emotions up with two carefully chosen words.
"Bloody hell."
Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon glasses, his vibrant blue eyes reflecting just about every emotion on the spectrum.
"Well said, Mr. Weasley, very well said."
