London, England
Platform 9 3/4
Beginning of term for Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Harry Potter stared at the bright, red train marked "Hogwarts Express." Behind him, a plump red haired woman was asking loudly if they had all remembered to bring their heavy coats. There was a chorus of exasperated "yes mom's!" in response and a flurry of movement as the motley crew moved collectively towards the train. Holding back, Harry felt his heart sink. So this was it. His sixth year at Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was about to begin and instead of the usual excitement he felt whenever he stood on platform nine and three quarters, he now felt only stale acceptance.
"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked gently.
Shaking himself out of his stupor, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nodded, forcing a smile.
"'Course. You ready?"
Looking unconvinced, Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile and helped him pick up his trunk. Mrs. Weasly had managed to get Ginny and Ron to stand next to each other long enough for her to give them both kisses. When she turned and saw Harry and Hermione, she reached out and hugged them both, her eyes suspiciously glassy.
Taking a long look at Harry, she said simply, "Be careful."
Managing a small smile, Harry nodded and said, somewhat sarcastically, "Always."
Together the three teens boarded the train, followed soon after by Ginny. They made their way through the cramped halls and found an empty compartment towards the back. Settling down comfortably, Harry watched with very little interest as the train lurched forward and scenery began to blur past them. He could hear Ron, Hermione, and Ginny talking, but for the life of him, he just couldn't force himself to join the conversation. It seemed like much too great of an effort.
XXXXX
They didn't notice her until they were already sitting. Strange, because she looked entirely out of place at the Gryffindor table and not just because she wasn't in uniform. Her blonde hair tumbled down her back in waves and the low cut shirt she wore was definitely not regulation. Her skin had a deep tan as if she had spent hours laying out in the sun. She was, in a word, beautiful.
And familiar. Very familiar, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't seem to—
"Blimey," Ron said before he could stop himself and then reddened when she looked up at them, green eyes taking in the new comers with slight interest. Her eyes lingered on Harry or, more specifically, Harry's forehead. After a moment she looked away, seemingly unimpressed with both them and the hoards of chattering kids sitting down all around her. Through no fault of her own, she was soon monopolizing all the conversation in the room and it was only when the first years entered the hall that people finally stopped staring.
The hat sang. Names were called out. Boys and girls were placed in their respective houses. Dumbledore said a few words about vigilance and keeping out of the forbidden forest. His hand was curiously withered and he looked older somehow. Harry wondered what had happened that summer. He shared a look with Ron and Hermione, the same thought running through their heads. What had been strong enough to hurt Dumbledore so severely and why hadn't the hand healed yet? Harry felt his heartbeat pick up and made a mental note to talk to Dumbledore as soon as possible. If it involved Voldemort, as he was sure it did, then he deserved to know just what was going on. And soon. But meantime…
The feast began, food of all assortments covering the tables. Ron dug in almost immediately. Through a mouthful of turkey potpie he mumbled, "I love this bloody place."
Hermione eyed him with no small amount of exasperation. "Ron, slow down. You'll choke."
Ron glared at her. "Yes, mum."
Ignoring them both, Harry turned to his friends with more curiosity then he had showed in anything for weeks. "So, who do you think the girl is?"
Naturally inquisitive, Hermione immediately turned toward the blonde, eyeing her with open curiosity. The girl in question was playing with the food on her plate and appeared very uncomfortable.
"I'm not sure," she said finally. "It's strange though, isn't it? I mean, she's certainly not a first year…"
Ron snorted. "Definitely not."
Hermione glared at him, but refrained from saying anything.
"I suppose we could ask."
But at that moment she stood up from the table and began gathering her things. Harry felt himself blushing as he took in her short skirt and knee high black boots. Yup, definitely not a first year. The entire school seemed to watch (none too subtly) as she walked out of the room and in her wake there was a flurry of conversation.
"I guess we're not the only ones who are curious."
XXXXXXX
Okay, so she wasn't going to win any popularity contests with the masses. It wasn't that she didn't want to meet new people. It was just…
Well. Fine. If she were honest with herself, all she really wanted to do was curl up in a dark corner. Alone.
She took a shaky breath. This was too much, too soon.
Dumbledore had convinced her to come down to the feast, something that was in no way an easy feet. Buffy had been more then reluctant. She had no desire to become the subject of gossip and countless rumors. No stranger to being the new student, she knew what to expect and she wasn't looking forward to it. It had been hard enough spending the summer at the school under the watchful eyes of a full staff of professors, but step by step, she had gradually grown comfortable in the castle, grown to accept the people, the moving paintings and staircases, the ghosts, and Dumbledore's peculiar love of lemon drops. She could now smile at Snape's scowling and Professor McGonagall's blatant disapproval of her wardrobe. Things were falling into a routine here – a routine that was proving to be a step towards recovery.
And now it was changing. The walls of protection she had built around herself were about to be demolished.
Sighing softly, Buffy walked determinedly down one of the many halls in Hogwarts until she stood outside the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Mumbling, "Tootsie Roll" under her breath (and yes, that had been her influence), she trotted up the stairs and entered the one room she had learned to feel perfectly safe in. Dumbledore himself wasn't there of course, but she was content to curl up in a chair in the corner and flip idly through Hogwarts: A History while she waited for his return.
The first time she had entered this room had been shortly after her much protested leave from the hospital wing. Giles had been with her and Buffy remembered feeling the warmth radiating from both the wizened wizard sitting behind the massive desk and the general disarray of the office.
It had been so unlike…before…before with Him where everything had been cold and wet and hard and every sound had made her jump and every smell had made her sick. Here she was safe, but there…
Her mind drifted, even as she clenched her eyes shut and willed the images to go away.
She was in hell. That was simply the only explanation.
She felt weak. Her limbs were limp and tired. When was the last time they had fed her? Had they ever fed her? Days had blurred together a long time ago. Time had lost all meaning.
The room (was it a room?) was pitch black, but she could hear everything and that was almost worse than the all-consuming darkness. Every drip of water and every shuffle of movement from some unfortunate rat (for even rats didn't deserve to live with Him) left her trembling.
She remembered the pain.
The surface she was lying on was hard. They had her strapped down, not that it would matter one way or another. She was far too weak to run. He must have known that. He knew everything.
A door opened. Light flooded in. Buffy was left blinking rapidly as her eyes tried to adjust to the sudden absence of darkness. A man walked in. He had long pale hair and he was holding a knife. Instinctively, Buffy began to struggle.
Forcing words past chapped lips, she said desperately, "Please don't." She was crying, but for once she didn't care. The Slayer was tired of being strong. For just a moment, she wanted to be a sixteen-year-old girl.
He seemed to enjoy her obvious fear and played with the knife for a moment before slicing the leather that bound her arms and legs. Confused, Buffy pushed herself into a sitting position. "What…?"
"The Dark Lord has a present for you," the man said and his voice was cruel and hard and…smug. Reaching behind him, he pulled a long wooden stake from inside his robes and handed it to her. Taking the weapon with trepidation, she watched as the man turned and left. For a moment she was alone and then there was something in the doorway. No, not something. Somebody. A person…
Oh god. Not a person. Not a person. Not a—
"Hello, sweetie."
Nobody could be this cruel. Nobody with a soul could possibly…Her dad smiled at her.
Buffy opened her mouth to scream.
"I thought you would come here."
Buffy's head jerked up. She hadn't heard him enter. He was looking at her with obvious concern and Buffy wiped angrily at the tears staining her cheeks.
"Yeah, well, it was this or the dorms with the many British students and their questions."
Dumbledore smiled gently at her and walked around his desk to sit heavily down in his chair. He pulled out a box of lemon drops and held them up to her. "Would you like one?"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "How many of those do you think you eat a day?"
Looking thoughtful for a moment, Dumbledore finally said in all seriousness, "Well, I'm fairly sure the maker of these fine candies will be able to buy his children Firebolts this Christmas." Off Buffy's blank look, he elaborated, "Very nice brooms."
"Brooms?"
"To fly on." Buffy blinked.
"Are you serious?"
"Quite."
"How come nobody told me about this?"
"We thought you knew," Dumbledore said innocently.
"That you guys are channeling the television show Bewitched? Not so much."
"Well, we'll have to get Mr. Potter to take you for a spin."
Buffy closed Hogwarts: A History and gave her full attention to the headmaster. "The infamous boy-who-needs-a-new-nickname can fly?"
"He's the best there's been in a hundred years," Dumbledore said with a small prideful smile.
"Kudos to him."
"Indeed."
There was a rare moment of silence between them as Buffy fiddled with the hem of her skirt. "How long can I hide up here?" she finally asked.
Dumbledore watched her kindly as she avoided his eyes. "For as long as you wish," he assured her.
Buffy waited. "But…?"
He smiled gently. "But the longer you put this off, I imagine the harder it will become."
Buffy scowled. "Leave it to you to be all insightful."
"It's the hat," Dumbledore said seriously, pointing to his very flamboyant purple wizard's hat with stars and moons on it. "It's not just for looks, you know."
"Color me stunned," Buffy said dryly.
"Many are," he said seriously. "And speaking of fashion…"
Heaving a drawn out sigh, Buffy hastily said, "Yeah, yeah. Wear a uniform because," adopting a bad British, she continued, "there are certain rules and regulations at this school that must be followed and one of them is to look like a boring, stuffy, cliché British person."
"Am I to assume you've been talking to Minerva then?"
"You are."
"Very good."
Buffy quirked an eyebrow at him. "We're going to have to agree to disagree on that."
He smiled. "Your outfit caused quite a stir today."
"Yeah, what's up with that? I mean, are there not H&M's in the wizarding world?" Off his blank look, Buffy's eyes grew wide. "I've changed my mind. Get me out of here."
"I suppose I should have warned you."
"Damn straight!"
Relaxing for a moment, Buffy reluctantly looked towards the door. "Alright. Time to go make nice with the other kiddies."
"They're all very friendly," Dumbledore said helpfully.
Brow furrowing, Buffy said, "Clearly you have not spent ample time around sixteen year old girls."
"Not ample, no."
"Nice is not a word we generally use to describe them. Now, manipulative, gossipy, self-involved…"
"You're stalling and, may I point out, sixteen yourself."
A pause. "Well…yes." When Dumbledore failed to respond, Buffy stood up from her chair and began to walk towards the door. "Alright, alright. I'm going…"
"Buffy?" Dumbledore called to her before she reached the door. Hand on the knob she turned back to him curiously. "You're welcome to come back at any time."
Ducking her head, she said, "Thanks." Then, with a final look at the headmaster, she began her walk to the Gryffindor common room.
XXXXXX
As it turned out, this was a more difficult task then she had originally anticipated due to the fact that Peeves decided it was a brilliant time for him to throw water balloons at Buffy. Therefore, it was a very irate and wet Slayer who entered the common room, much to the surprise of everybody present.
Not bothering to pretend to be in a mood to socialize, she marched directly to the sixth year sleeping quarters and slammed the door. She would make friends tomorrow. As for tonight…
Flopping down on her bed, she closed her eyes for a moment and took a long breath. "Why can't this day just end?" she groaned.
"Um…hello," a voice said from across the room.
Buffy jerked up, startled to find herself staring at a bushy haired girl looking rather alarmed at the sudden appearance of her new roommate.
"Hi," Buffy said, somewhat embarrassedly. "Sorry, I didn't realize anybody else was in here."
The girl nodded, looking thoughtful. "That's okay." Silence. Painfully, awkward silence. Buffy closed her eyes again. When she opened them, the girl was holding a towel in front of her face. "Here, it looks like you could use this."
Buffy accepted the towel gratefully and began a somewhat futile attempt to dry her hair. "Thanks. I had a not so pleasant run in with a pain in my ass."
"Peeves?"
"Stupid ghost," Buffy grumbled.
The girl nodded sympathetically.
"I'm Hermione Granger."
"Buffy Summers."
"Are you…American?" Hermione asked, somewhat hesitantly, but clearly too curious to keep her mouth shut.
"Yeah," Buffy said, looking tired. "I'm from California.'
Looking all the more intrigued (much to Buffy's dismay), Hermione quickly asked, "Are you…I mean…will you be attending Hogwarts?"
Buffy looked down at her bedspread and fiddled with a loose thread. "More or less," Buffy answered vaguely.
Walking to the bed directly across from Buffy, Hermione sat down, plainly impressed with this latest bit of information. "So are you a transfer?"
"No. Not exactly."
Her brow furrowed. "You went to a muggle school?"
Buffy nodded.
"Then how—
"Dumbledore asked me to come," Buffy jumped in, clearly wanting to end this line of questioning and hoping that bringing up the much revered headmaster would be enough to curb Hermione's curiosity. Hermione, as if sensing Buffy's discomfort, showed an uncharacteristic amount of tact and allowed the subject to drop.
"Well, um, welcome to Hogwarts," she said sincerely.
Looking up, Buffy gave her a genuine smile. "Thanks."
"This must be a bit overwhelming."
Buffy smirked. "A bit, but it's getting easier and I mean, next to Snape, how bad can five hundred teenagers be?"
Hermione laughed. "Not too bad, I suppose." She glanced towards the door. "I was going to…well, my friends are out there. I could introduce you if you'd like…?"
"Thanks, but I think I'm just gonna crash. It's been…a long day."
Hermione nodded. "Alright. I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Count on it."
"Goodnight Buffy."
Buffy smiled. "Night."
Hermione closed the door gently behind her and Buffy quickly changed into pajamas. Climbing into bed she switched off the light and crawled under the covers, not bothering to brush her teeth or wash her face. For a moment, she lay perfectly still in the darkness, idly wondering if any other Slayers had been afraid of the dark.
She doubted it.
To be continued…
Well, that's chapter three. Please review. I crave your feedback.