Buffy/HP Crossover
Author's first law: Forget book five. Just forget it. This fic takes place DURING Harry's fifth year, and as such, I shall be changing the parts that made me cry buckets (namely: a certain someone's death). Artistic license. Deal with it.
Author's second law: Forget Angel. I've only seen a few choice episodes, and this fic takes place BEFORE the last season. I'm not sure if I want to bring the characters into play, but now I have the option. Just covering my bases.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. At all. They belong to their respective owners (who, in case you didn't get it, are not me). I'm just playing with them for a bit. Do not sue me, as I have no money.
And now: Onto the fic!!
PROLOGUE
They stood there, the survivors, not saying anything. What did you say after you saved the world? After you changed an age-old magical system? After you stopped an evil army? After your town imploded? After you had exhausted all the jokes? What did you say to the rest of them: your friends, your allies? What did you say to yourself? Buffy wasn't sure. By the sounds of silence that reached her ears: she knew that the others didn't know either. Silence was, after all, golden.
"You haven't won yet," came a cold voice from behind them. A man, hooded and cloaked, stood behind them all, pointing at Buffy.
The blonde raised her eyebrows. "Really? Cause I kinda think I have," she replied, sounding rather cocky. "And I kinda think all these people agree with me."
"Well I kinda think you're wrong," the man answered, amusement and irritation lacing his words. "You have angered my master. You have crossed the wrong wizard, my dear. The First was a leader, but my master... my master is much, much worse." He muttered something, pointing what Buffy could only call a stick at her. Before anyone could react, there was a bright light, and Buffy was gone. Just gone. With an evil cackle, the man left, a small 'pop' resounding in the still air.
Faith was the first person to find her voice. "Fuck," she said decisively. She seemed torn. Every bone in her body, every fibre of her being screamed out KILL SOMETHING! She was sure she wasn't the only one - there was a bus-ful of new slayers who shared the same instincts. The only problem was, there was nothing to kill.
Willow's eyes teared up as she looked away from a hastily-drawn world map in the dirt. When she spoke, she sounded utterly broken. "Guys, I can't locate her," she said in barely more than a whisper. "She's gone. After all that... she's gone."
Buffy groaned, holding her head. The last thing she remembered was that blinding flash, and feeling like she was being sucked out of her body. Opening her eyes, she jumped. A creature that she could only classify as a demon was staring down at her, obviously perturbed. She didn't even stop to realize that her slayer-senses weren't reacting to the thing (as she could only call it); she only cast about for a weapon.
"Oh, don't worry about Buckbeak," came a voice. "He's just startled to see you. In fact, that makes two of us."
Buffy looked into the face of an older man, drawn and weathered; he'd been through a lot. His long black hair hung limply to about his shoulders in complete disarray. The only real spark of life in him at all were his eyes: they stared at Buffy with an oddly lively mixture of caution, confusion, and amusement.
"Sirius Black," he introduced himself, handing Buffy a bucket of water. "Here."
"Buffy Summers," she replied, taking the bucket. She dropped it as soon as she caught sight of her reflection. It had only been a glimpse, but there was no mistaking it.
She was 17 again.