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I Am
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost.
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
And e'en the dearest—that I loved the best—
Are strange—nay, rather stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil'd or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.
John Clare
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07. A Maelstrom of Petals
-
Buffy was pissed off, pissed off and bored.
It had been two whole days since she woke up in the infirmary, and she was still there! It was all that snarky Snake Professor's fault, too! If he hadn't been obstructing the forest path to conveniently escort her to the medical wing of unending stays, she'd be happily ensconced in her cozy bedroom suite right now—or become chow for a pack of wild dogs (or wild, freakishly large spiders in this case). But that was besides the point. Her gashes were little but light scars and fading fast. She was in perfect health really, but did Madam Pomfrey let her leave?
NO!
Instead, the mediwitch was now fluttering about checking up on the agitated blonde Slayer and clucking her tongue reproachfully every time Buffy so much as dared to move. The kindhearted school matron was starting to give her the mother of all migraines, not to mention how much she was irked by the sheer badness of having to stay in any place resembling a hospital. Finally, Madam Pomfrey left after imparting strict instructions to stay put and rest. Pfft. The veteran Slayer wasn't about to lie around like some invalid any longer.
Buffy had had enough. The blonde Slayer grabbed her mended clothes and changed, throwing aside the standard issue pajamas with a look of utter disdain. Quiet as a night thief, she slipped out to freedom.
-
It had been two days since he rescued Miss Elizabeth Ashbery from the Forbidden Forest, and he was still no closer to solving the mystery. Dumbledore was no help as usual. As for the girl herself, Snape thought her insolent as any good-for-nothing Gryffindor—more so. But there was something about her. Snape had sensed power—great power and darkness—radiating off her during her attack on the Headmaster as well as during their mini-spat. In addition to that, there was the obvious question of just how exactly she had managed to get the wizened wizard into a chokehold in the blink of an eye. Albus Dumbledore was certainly no weakling even for a wizard of his age.
Severus was determined to get to the bottom of it.
-
It had been six weeks since he had invited Buffy to stay at Hogwarts, and he was still unsure if the change in scenery had done her any real good. His dear Slayer had exceeded all his expectations in her self-studies, the magicks appeared to come to her as easily as slaying. With each visit, Buffy had recovered more of her old personality, but his experienced eyes saw through the facade. Her eyes still held profound sadness and something more—he had glimpsed it in the crazed glint just as she awoke from her nightmare.
Then, there was the matter of the new term. Would Buffy elect to stay if he insisted? Should he even want her to stay when the Wizarding world was at open war?
There was so much that Dumbledore wanted her to tell him, but he would be patient. Albus would do his best to help her recuperate. The rest could wait.
-
Buffy whipped around her head at the offending noise with a withering glare that would have buried anything alive six feet under. But the thing was not alive. A gleaming suit of armor was cackling... cackling at her! For a fleeting instant, Buffy entertained the notion that she had finally lost her tenuous grasp on sanity as the entire row of suits of armor lining the hallway began sniggering in unison at her plight. Brow furrowing, she rubbed her eyes and blinked furiously. They were still laughing, and if her eyes weren't deceiving her, some were pointing at her with their metallic gloved hands and guffawing even louder now.
The Slayer's eyes narrowed into twin hazel slits. "Just what do you think you're laughing at!" she hissed, her hands coming to rest on her hips.
"You of course! You've been in this corridor three times within the past hour. Did somebody lose their way?" snickered the suit closest to her.
Not only was she lost and cranky, but now she was also apparently playing the laughing stock to a bunch of enchanted pieces of scrap metal. That was the last straw. Being made fun of did not a happy Slayer make. Heads were going to roll! Helmets were going to roll! The consequences be damned. In a flash of movement, Buffy had withdrawn the dagger from her boot and enlarged it to the size of a nice broadsword, which she now wielded deftly in her hand. "Alright, you fellas wanna laugh some more?"
If anything, the suits of armor began whooping and howling even louder and some were bent over from the effort. One suit somewhere down the line crowed in between convulsive chortles, "What are you going to do with that, little girl?" it gestured to the sword held in her hand with incredulity. "Challenge us to a duel?"
His snooty remark left the blonde Slayer seething. "That's right! I'm gonna kick all of your rusty, metallic asses!" she retorted and lunged as the suits of armor shrieked in alarm, belatedly pulling out their own swords in defense.
-
The Slayer propped up on her elbows to face the wizened wizard, closing the novel-sized tome she had been reading. The day was easily shaping up to be one of the best of her entire summer. Nothing got her blood going like a good rough and tumble, and putting the fear of god into those decidedly unchivalrous suits of armor had done just the trick. As if by a stroke of luck, she had found her way back up to the sixth floor almost immediately after the out-and-out brawl. Buffy felt a slight twinge of guilt as her mind flashed back to the scene of the piles of tangled metallic bodies lying scattered along the stone floor of the corridor, groaning and whimpering pathetically. Except, the utter ridiculousness of the situation prevented any true sense of remorse. Maybe they'll think Peeves the pesky poltergeist did it, Buffy thought hopefully.
"What on earth are you wearing?" the Headmaster asked, but the sparkle in his eyes told her he was only teasing.
"It's called a bikini, Mr. Snazzy Dress Wearer," she returned, arching a golden eyebrow at his midnight blue robes embroidered with moons and stars in challenge.
"Robes, my dear girl. Robes," Albus corrected on reflex. He was amazed that she still found wizarding robes highly amusing even after three years of acquaintance.
Buffy studied the Headmaster's face carefully from her vantage point, "Okay, you have 'something face'. What's the what, Gandalf?"
"Poppy has just kindly brought it to my attention that you snuck out prematurely from her care."
"Snuck out?" Buffy parroted back in feigned innocence. "Those are such strong words. My choice would've been 'took a stroll and couldn't find the way back' or 'had to get a breath of fresh air after being unjustly cooped up like a prisoner', something like that. She's not mad is she?"
Dumbledore chuckled good-naturedly. The girl had such a way with words. She really was such delightful company. "Oh, no. Poppy was simply beside herself with worry, but I managed to talk some sense into her."
"Oh, that's good, I guess," the petite blonde replied a little sheepishly.
"What's that you're reading?" the Headmaster inquired curiously as he picked up the small book sitting by her side. "Death Omens: What To Do When You Know The Worst Is Coming," he read the cover before letting out an amused chuckle. "I can't believe you're reading this rubbish!"
"Oh, it's just for fun. I'm using it as a reference for when I start writing Deaths: What To Do When You Realize The Worst Is Already Here," Buffy quipped with a wry smirk. "I think it's got New York Times bestseller potential."
At that, the Headmaster bubbled over with soft chuckles. "I assume you are aware that the new term commences tomorrow?" Dumbledore asked as soon as he'd caught his breath, gazing at the blonde Slayer with overflowing affection.
Buffy nodded. "Yeah, Minnie told me about a week ago."
"Will you continue your stay?" he inquired tentatively. "You know that I'd love nothing more than to have you here indefinitely, and I am certain Minerva feels the same way."
The Slayer sighed and laid her head down on her folded arms, relishing the way the brilliant rays of sunshine warmed her exposed skin and the gentle breeze carried the fragrant scent of wildflowers and fresh pine all around her. Shifting her gaze onto the glittering surface of the lake, Buffy caught sight of an enormous tentacle rising out of the rippling waters for a brief moment before it retreated back into the murky depths. The Hogwarts School of Magic was truly magical, the very air was buzzing with it. It was unsettling how content she felt within its ancient stone walls and battalions of protective wards. More and more, the veteran Slayer had been wondering when the other shoe would drop. But who was she to ruin a good thing?
"I want to stay."
Albus's lips curled into a relieved smile. "Splendid! Now then, how are your studies faring?"
"I'm almost done with the Sixth-year books."
"Excellent, I couldn't have planned it better myself," he grinned, his eyes gleaming with pride at her commendable progress. "I sincerely hope you will take this opportunity to attend some offered classes. I assure you that most of the subjects are not as dull as you would suspect."
Buffy quirked a brow at him. "Promise?"
"Pinky swear," he replied in a completely serious voice.
She giggled, cuffing the Headmaster very lightly on the arm. "Okay, as long as I don't have to turn in any homework or papers."
"Of course you don't. That would be cruel and unusual punishment. Here," said Albus, handing her a wand which she took with a look of confusion.
"Rosewood, eleven inches, phoenix feather core. This used to belong to my mother."
"It's not my birthday but thanks?" Buffy frowned.
"I'm well aware of that, my dear," he grinned. "This is merely a part of your guise. It would appear awfully suspicious for a regular witch to be without one," he explained.
"Oh yeah... I'm secret identity girl again."
-
"Hey Harry, do you know who's going to be the DADA professor this year?" Ron asked, patting his stretched stomach.
Harry grinned. He finally knew something non-Voldemort related that his two best friends did not. "Lupin's teaching again, he told me yesterday right before he left," Harry answered happily.
"Blimey, how did Dumbledore pull that off?" Ron asked.
"Well, with Fudge out of the picture, there couldn't have been nearly as much opposition. Thank Merlin!" Hermione reasoned.
Harry grinned again, "At least for our last year, we won't be getting any mysterious, potentially evil newcomers at Hogwarts."
Ron and Hermione answered in agreement.
-
"I merely thought you'd enjoy some mingling time with the staff, not all of us are geriatrics, mind you. Besides, I promise the meeting will be quite brief," Albus placated.
Rolling her eyes, Buffy entered the long paneled lounge after the Headmaster. She saw Professor McGonagall chatting with a very tall wizard with graying brown hair, amber eyes, and rather shabby robes. At once, the Slayer sensed something not altogether human about him, something familiar... Werewolf. She shrugged imperceptibly at the revelation and approached the pair.
"Hey Minnie, what's the up?" Buffy greeted.
The Transfiguration professor turned toward the blonde girl and glared disapprovingly, but the overall effect was ruined by a slight upward twitch of her lips. "Miss Ashbery, do please desist from calling me that once term begins," she requested.
"Nice to see you again, too," Buffy replied while moving to stand next to them.
Remus looked at the young blonde in surprise. Who is this, a new professor perhaps? But she's so young, he pondered and quickly held out his right hand.
"Remus Lupin, reinstated professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts. And you are?"
Buffy shook his hand and smiled, "Eliza Ashbery."
Remus was startled by her firm grip. Before she could say more, the Headmaster clapped his hands together to all the meeting to order.
"Welcome back everyone! I hope you have all put the summer hiatus to good use. Alas, another year begins. I have several announcements. First, I'm very pleased to have Remus back at his Defense Against the Dark Arts post and Severus as resident Potions Master, seeing as how Horace's resignation had put us at a shortage—"
Several faculty members clapped while most smiled or nodded approvingly. Buffy saw that only one person who seemed unhappy about this, Mr. Dour and Glower himself, who looked ready to murder at the drop of a pin and was at present nastily glaring daggers at anyone brave enough to glance in his direction.
"—Second, with the increasing threat, I have strengthened the protection spells and wards on the school. The Ministry has also been promised the backup of stationed Aurors in the event of any disturbances."
Buffy frowned, she was sure the 'threat' concerned Moldywart, the big bad dark wizard she had read about from The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and various newspaper archives she had skimmed. But puzzlingly enough, Albus hadn't mentioned anything about him or the war to her.
Just then, the door to the Staff Room banged open with a heavy thud. Buffy thought there was something oddly malicious about the way the scrawny, old wizard with stringy shoulder-length hair stood framed in the doorway before the cantankerous Caretaker swept in with a harassed scowl contorting his harsh features, followed closely behind by Mrs. Norris and a tired-looking Professor Flitwick.
The Headmaster paused, turning to offer a warm greeting to the latecomers. "Ah, Argus, Filius, so good of you to join us." At the Filch's sourer than usual expression, he inquired, "Is something wrong, gentlemen?"
"Some hoodlum's fouled up a whole dozen suits of armor on the third floor," wheezed the Caretaker. "It looked like a bloody war zone up there."
Crap. Buffy's eyes darted nervously around the room. The petite blonde expelled a relieved breath when she realized that no one was staring suspiciously at her. Note to self: reserve homicidal tendencies for strictly demons next time. Biting her lip, Buffy tried very hard to not appear guilty as charged.
"I've been assisting Argus in restoring the suits since morning," the Charms professor interjected helpfully. "Unfortunately, some of the sustained damages were fairly serious."
"What do you mean?" Minerva inquired curiously.
"Severed limbs, punctures through the torso, and some missing helmets. But, nothing that couldn't be fixed," replied Flitwick as he eased himself into an unoccupied dark, wooden chair.
"Was it Peeves?" Lupin asked, joining the conversation. "The students aren't due to arrive for another half hour."
At that, Filch's scowl grew even more prominent. "I don't bloody well know! The mangy suits were too scared to say anything. A fat load of help they were!"
"Calm yourself, Argus," Dumbledore soothed serenely. "I'm said everything on my agenda for the meeting. Why don't you show me the scene of the crime and I shall try my best to be of service?"
To Buffy's immense relief, Filch nodded and stalked out of the lounge after the Headmaster. A deep frown pulled at her lips as the veteran Slayer awaited the inevitable.
-
Harry felt his breath catch as he glimpsed the girl in question. She sat in between Dumbledore and McGonagall's vacant chair, speaking with the wizened wizard. In contrast to the sea of black robes in the Great Hall, she wore a summery white tube dress and strappy sandals. Glossy blonde hair spilled down her bare shoulders and the golden skin on her slender form glowed. She was in a word: stunning.
Apparently, Ron was thinking the same thing. "Bloody hell, she's gorgeous!" he blurted out.
"Don't swear, Ron!" Hermione admonished automatically. For some reason, his comment had infuriated her. After critically eyeing the blonde girl for several lengthy seconds, Hermione conceded sourly, "I suppose she is rather pretty."
"Pretty! She's even better looking than Phlegm!" Ron exclaimed.
Hermione crossed her arms in exasperation, "Ronald Weasley, you are the shallowest boy I have ever had the displeasure of knowing!"
Ron shrugged dismissively and kept staring at the blonde, completely oblivious to Hermione's mounting jealousy. Harry couldn't help but smile at his two best friends' antics, Ron was really dense sometimes. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back on the unfamiliar blonde who was now howling with laughter along with the Headmaster. Wonder why she's dressed like a Muggle.
-
The Headmaster turned to regard her, his clear blue eyes were swimming under the candlelight. "If this is about the—roughhousing incident," he leveled her a reproving glare.
"Yeah, about that, I'm sorry. You can kick me out now if you want," she said with a grimace, pausing briefly, she glanced at his impassive face as if mentally bracing herself for his imminent pronouncement of doom.
Albus stared levelly at the timid Slayer, his expression unreadable as Buffy turned away in embarrassment. Without warning, he burst out laughing in uncontained merriment, causing everyone at the staff table to turn in his direction. He covered his mouth with his good hand as Buffy shot him an annoyed glare. "Sorry," he croaked out before dissolving into another fit of guffaws, at which the Slayer rolled her eyes. Gradually, she became infected by his mirth and joined in the uproarious laughter until Professor McGonagall led the First-years to the front of the Great Hall to begin the Sorting Ceremony.
Still chuckling lightly, Dumbledore took a draught from his gem-encrusted, golden goblet and then grinned at his dear Slayer as the Sorting Hat began its annual song. "All's forgiven, my dear. I daresay the poor sods have been long overdue for a lesson in manners. Although, I'd expected your first victim to be Peeves, personally."
A smile slowly lifted the corners of Buffy's lips upward. "I'm still working on that." She raised an eyebrow at the wizened wizard, "You're really not mad at me for going postal?"
"Only in the dashing, mad genius sense of the word," he replied with a wink.
Buffy snorted in response.
All was well again as the Transfiguration professor returned to her seat.
Professor McGonagall inspected the young Slayer seated at her left closely, "How are you feeling, Eliza?"
Buffy grinned at the witch. "If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me that, I'd be rich- er." At the witch's confused expression, Buffy clarified, "nickels are American Muggle money, kind of like Nuts and Gallons-"
"Knuts and Galleons," Minerva corrected, gently shaking her head. The girl was entirely hopeless with new vocabulary, a category which unfortunately included almost all wizarding terminology and professors' names.
"Same diff," Buffy shrugged.
Minerva, deciding that she was fighting a losing battle, changed the subject. "Why are you not wearing robes?" she asked, eyeing Buffy's sparse dress in blatant disapproval.
"I have nothing that goes with them in the way of shoes," she answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Before Professor McGonagall could give the girl a proper lesson on appropriate school attire, Dumbledore clinked his fork on his goblet and proceeded to deliver his annual Start of Term Feast announcements. Buffy dutifully tuned out.
Buffy rummaged absently through another pair of jeans. Where was that damned lip gloss? Her fingers enclosed around something rectangular, brow furrowing she pulled her hand out.
The Zippo clattered noisily unto the floor.
For a seemingly endless minute, Buffy couldn't breathe. The walls of defense she had meticulously erected in the past few weeks instantly crashed down. She pivoted on her heel and ran blindly out of her room.
Minerva practically fell over as someone forcibly plowed past her, moving so fast that she only glimpsed a blur of blond hair. The Transfiguration professor deduced that it could only be Albus' young guest she had been introduced to several days ago. A worried Professor McGonagall moved quickly to follow the girl as she disappeared down the corridor.
The bright sunlight shown harsh and unforgiving, the vastness of the Great Lake and mountains stretched ad infinitum. For all the beauty around her, Buffy felt utterly alone. An oppressive weight pressed down from all directions. She felt so heavy.
Blood-curdling screams pierced the tranquil morning air. Minerva hastened her step.
The warm summer breeze caressed the weary Slayer in a mockery of a lover's embrace. In eleven long years of being the Chosen One, Buffy thought she had fully grasped that 'in the end the Slayer is always alone'. But she was wrong, because now she truly was.
She would never again see Giles cleaning his glasses, never hear Willow's breathless babble, never laugh at Xander's god awful pirate jokes, never spar with Faith when she visited Cleveland, never roll her eyes at Angel's brooding. She would never again feel Spike's strong arms wrapped around her, making the rest of the world fade away. Her soul felt like it was shattering.
The wind suddenly picked up, the wildflowers around her feet thrashed violently in the onslaught. Ominous storm clouds loomed out of nowhere, but Buffy was lost to the world. Minerva stopped to catch her breath in the doorway of the castle. Hundreds of yards away, knelt a lone figure caught in a violent maelstrom of petals. Professor McGonagall gathered the hem of her robes and ran as the sky released its ruthless deluge.
"WHY DID THEY HAVE TO DIE? HAVEN'T I SACRIFICED ENOUGH FOR YOU POWERS THAT FUCKING BE!" Buffy screamed to no one in particular, her voice muffled as thunder clapped and lightning flashed dangerously low.
Buffy climbed to her feet, the sharp pain from the pelting raindrops confirmed that she was regrettable still alive.
"Why couldn't I stay dead?" she finished in a defeated whisper.
Professor McGonagall was greatly distressed to catch Buffy's last words, surely the girl had not been dead, that's impossible! Maternal instinct suddenly kicking in, the normally stoic witch engulfed Buffy in an awkward hug. Buffy was surprised that she had let someone sneak up on her again, but found herself too drained to care. It felt good to not be alone, even if she were with a perfect stranger.
Minerva rubbed Buffy's back soothingly, "Shh, it'll be alright, child. It'll be alright."
Buffy pulled back quickly enough but gave the professor a grateful half-grin, even as she thought it would never be alright again. The Transfiguration Professor noted shrewdly that the storm abated at the exact same moment.
"May I suggest retiring to my office and perhaps a cup of hot cocoa?" Minerva offered, gracing the girl with an uncharacteristic smile.
"Minnie, can I sit in on your Seventh-Year class?" Buffy asked.
"Certainly! You are most welcome," Professor McGonagall answered, her delight evident.
"Even if I can't do wand magic?" she added tentatively.
"Don't worry about that, Eliza. The subject of Transfiguration entails mental concentration more so than wand work and pronunciation, and since Sixth and Seventh-Years are now learning to perform all spells nonverbally, you'll fit right in. In fact, it would make excellent exercise for focus with wandless magic. As long as you remember to point in the right direction, your classmates should be none the wiser," the Transfiguration professor explained.
"Very cool," Buffy gave her a rare smile and dug back into her dinner with more enthusiasm than before.
Minerva fondly watched the girl she had come to regard as a surrogate daughter in the past few weeks. The young Slayer had finally divulged her identity two weeks prior. Professor McGonagall had been floored by Buffy's incredible tale. After the admission, she had developed a fierce protectiveness over the battle-worn Slayer, whose life was in her opinion what nightmares were made of. The Gryffindor Head of House felt a twinge of disappointment at her decision to not enroll. She had secretly hoped that Buffy would be sorted into Gryffindor.
Sighing, she looked over the student tables and noticed an inordinate number of the male students furtively and not so furtively staring at the blonde Slayer, especially one Mr. Potter, Weasley, and Malfoy. She heaved another sigh.
It was going to be a long year.