Disclaimer: [Twirls around and throws petals in the air singing] "Not mine, not mine, not m-i-i-ne…"
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: For some freaking reason I can't move this fic into the Buffy crossover section. Does anybody know how to help me?! Please! I'm desperate!
Story Note: I'm making Willow bisexual. Deal with it. …Please.
Feedback: I'll give you a cookie! (…) Okay, not really, but it was worth a shot.
*******************************ShadowElfBard***************************************
10:27pm
On Flight 317 Bound To England
Willow's POV
I stare with half-interest at the rolling green fields and midnight blue lakes outside my window. Nothing really matters to me anymore. I can't appreciate the things that used to make my eyes go wide with wonder. Even the silvery moon hanging wraithlike amid the stars holds no beauty to me. Love seems a waste of time, music is a tuneless stream of garbled messages, and the simple splendor of nature is insignificant under my cold and detached gaze.
I suppose that's what comes from having tried to destroy it all.
Buffy didn't understand what was going on inside of me. I remember the look she gave me, the one full of confusion and hurt. Everyone else was a mirror image as well. They simply didn't understand. But, then again, how could they? Sometimes I'm not sure if I even understand myself. The Coven sure didn't. All the teachings, the sessions, and the lessons were pointless. None of them had ever met one with so much power, and they were foolish to think that they could teach me to fully control it.
I sigh and turn away from the small oval window, my jade eyes showing the burden I bare. I gaze around the modest airplane chairs, glancing from one sleeping face to another. There are a few who are still awake, workaholics who busily type away on their laptops, and a pre-teen who's reading an Anne Rice novel.
I snort softly at the irony and shake my head. Such ignorant people. With all that goes on in this world you'd think that one would have raised suspicions. That one person might have thought that perhaps things weren't as they seemed. But no, delusion and ignorance is too blissful to destroy with the truth. These poor and fragile humans must have stability, scientific fact, and a sturdy ground. Without them, they fall apart.
It amazes me sometimes how easily I am able to isolate myself from the title of homo sapien. I suppose it's because it is the truth. I am no longer one of them, and, as I found out while staying with the Coven, I never was. The truth was spoken during a meeting with the Coven Master. She'd asked me, assuming I already knew, about whom my magickal blood had come from.
Of course, I'd had no answer for her, though I'd had many questions. After all, I'd been led to believe that anyone could become a witch. It was one of the first rules of Wicca. But it seems I believed wrong. It had been explained to me that witches, warlocks, and wizards were a race of their own. Wicca was true magick, but it could only be performed by those who descended from true magickal beings. Pure humans were simply led to believe that they too could do the magick.
It still comes as a shock, the idea that I am not a human, and never was one. The idea that, perhaps, I find my place not among people, but among those whom Buffy might slay. It makes me question my lineage, and who I am. It's numbing and yet, partially expected. Once I'd started performing magick, deep down inside my core I'd begun to realize that it was my place to do so.
I remember the first major spell I'd done, restoring Angelus' soul. I remember how my spirit had soared and my blood sang as I'd drunk in the mystic forces. In that single moment, I'd truly been alive. I'd perceived what others couldn't, and I'd understood more than I'd have thought. Almost instinctively I'd known what magick was about, and I'd seen it's two halves. Perhaps somewhere, subliminally, I'd also known that throwing my inexperienced self into that world would be destructive. I hadn't learned how to balance the forces within me. I hadn't realized that I'd been slipping into the dark side of the magick I so craved.
I'm changed now. In more ways than my friends could possibly imagine. The happy and optimistic bookish girl who I once was is a mere shadow of my former self. A suffering and agonized woman who is bordering dangerously on depression has replaced her. Though, personally, I'm surprised I'm only bordering.
Suddenly interrupting my musings, and the dreams of others, is the pilot coming on the speaker.
"Hello this is your captain speaking, we are approaching London and will be on the ground in a few minutes. It is ten twenty-eight and it's approximately fifty degrees Fahrenheit with a wind chill of five. We ask at this time that you return to your seat and remain seated for the remainder of the trip and, as always, thank you for flying United Airlines."
Following the announcement, people began to shift in their seats and gather their things, nudging family members and those close to them awake. I too sit up straighter in preparation, but have no need to collect any personal items as the only thing I brought with me is a relatively large army green suitcase that I'll be getting at the luggage pick up.
So, for the moment at least, I allow myself to relax and sit back in my seat, watching out the window as the ground rises up to greet us.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Passing my suitcase from one hand to another, I scan my surroundings. I walked far enough from the airport that I've begun to enter a rather rural area, and I still can't figure out what I should do next. I decided to come to London because I needed to get away from the states, and go somewhere new and fresh to reflect and, hopefully, feel a little more whole. I hadn't made any specific plans upon where I'd stay, or what I'd do, and I'm beginning to realize that it probably was not the wisest decision that I've made.
After walking a block or so more, I catch sight of a bus stop and decide that unless I want to walk around until dawn, I should probably find some form of transportation. The bus is as good as anything else. Comfortable with my decision, I walk over to the bench and sit down, prepared to wait as long as needed in this empty and quiet neighborhood.
I zip up my black jacket and fold my arms against the chill of night, which is harsh despite the fact that it's autumn, and absently let my gaze wander. Then, unexpectedly, something catches my eye. It's a woman by the side of the road, who appears to be entering her forties, with curly brown hair and long nimble fingers. She's adorned in a strange robe-like garment, and has a small purse on her shoulder that's stuffed to the brim. The weirdest thing though, is that in her right hand is a straight and well-polished stick.
I watch with mild curiosity as she raises her right arm, and then brings it down with a whoosh. She then just stands there, shifting her wait impatiently from one foot to another with an air of expectance.
I realize that I'm staring and turn my head away from her, doing my best to ignore the questions that have arisen as a result of her strange and foreign manner.
BANG!
I snap my head around and look back at where the noise and light has come from, and see that a triple-decker bus painted a startlingly bright purple has just pulled to a stop in front of the lady. The doors open up and a man in a uniform the color of the bus jumps out and begins to talk loudly with her, though I'm unable to discern what he's saying. He then steps aside and lets the woman on, who's nodding her head in thanks, and after she's boarded he steps in as well.
Seeing the doors close, I snap out of the momentary trance I was put into and after grabbing my suitcase and standing up, begin running towards the bus and waving my hands wildly, yelling, "wait! Hold on please, wait!"
As I near the vehicle the doors open once more and a youth, a year or so younger than me, certainly no older than eighteen, and with pimples spread around his face, pokes his head out.
He gazes at me and furrows his brows as I slow to a stop in front of him, my heart racing from the sprint.
"I'd like to board as well," I manage to say, my voice a raspy whisper from it's lack of use over the past day. Afraid he didn't hear me, I clear my throat and repeat my request in a smoother tone.
Apparently I'm speaking his language, because he grins so widely that the corners of his mouth nearly reach his ears.
He begins talking, proclaiming this as The Knight Bus, but I'm concentrated on the strange design of the vehicle and miss quite a lot of what he's saying. I turn my attention back to him near the end of his little monologue.
"-Hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor this eve-"
He stops abruptly, perhaps recognizing the fatigue and exhaustion that so visibly etched on my features.
He smiles at me. "Woss you name then hm?"
"Willow."
He sticks out his hand. "Pleas'd to meet yah Willow. Where's it choo wanna go?"
I hadn't decided upon that, and shrug. "I'll go where the woman who boarded before me is going."
Stan nods. "Right then. You'll be 'eadin to Diagon Alley, and it'll be five sickles. But for eight you get 'ot chocolate, and for nine you get an 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in your choice of color."
I stare at him stupidly, not understanding the currency he's explaining. "I, I just flew in from the U.S. I only have dollars, and I um…" I trail off, my eyes pleading.
He frowns at me, but then sees the pain in my eyes, and his face softens. He seems to judge me scrupulously, but smiles. "Consider this an 'omplimentary ride then Willow."
For the first time in months, I give a small grin. Following Stan, I lift up my trunk and enter the bus, and my eyes go wide in surprise. There are no seats, only rows of beds, and the woman I saw before is resting upon one of them in the back. A little taken aback, I sit down upon a cot near the driver, an elderly man in thick glasses who smells a little of mint chocolate.
Stan points toward him. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Willow, Ern."
Ernie turns slightly, nods his head in greeting, and turns back around again.
Stan settles back in a seat near the driver. "Take 'er away, Ern."
There's another bang, and the Bus takes off with such a tremendous force that it throws me back onto the bed. Finding myself comfortable in this position though, I make no move to get up. Instead, I lay back, my head rested on the pillow, and stare up at the ceiling.
A few minutes later, there comes another loud bang, as I'm propelled into a sitting position once more. The bus has stopped, and looking out the window I see that we've reached a street called Diagon Alley, crowded with shops. Only one of which however, is lit up. A bar called The Leaky Cauldron.
I stand up and grab my suitcase again, and after thanking both men profusely, step off of the bus, their warm wishes following me and the woman from before onto the sidewalk. Before I know it the strange bus and its drivers are gone, and I'm alone with the robed lady. She, however, pays no attention to me and takes off at a steady trot towards the bar. I stare after her for a moment or so and then shrug.
She's led me right so far, I think to myself, and then head off after her toward the lit up tavern.
I run a hand through my short red hair, thoroughly in need of something wet to cool my throat and a chair to rest my muscles, and I open the doors and step inside.
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By accident and accident alone Willow is unknowingly wandering closer to the wizarding world. What will be her reaction? How will it affect her? Who will she find? And, more importantly, who will find her?
(In cheesy radio announcer voice) Tune in next time in the continuing adventures of: When Dark and Light are Struck Asunder!