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The Mind of A Slayer

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Summary: End of S7. Buffy receives a letter from Dumbledore requesting her help. This is my take on what it could have been like if the Slayer had been in the Order of the Phoenix (her part in the book).

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Buffy-CenteredmagicharmFR152649,933515744,50419 Jul 038 Aug 04No

The Mind of A Slayer

Disclaimer: Do not own characters depicted in this story.

I’ve been staring at the water stain on the ceiling for God knows how long. My mind feels numb, and for the past two weeks, I have not found my usual Slayer strength or effort to rise from this pathetic position that I’m in. My eyes feel like they have glazed over, but how can I tell? I haven’t left this satin-clothed bed since…

I can remember it so clearly, the destruction of my home. Sunnydale. The Hellmouth. La Boca del Inferno. Whatever. The urge to roll my eyes arises, but a stubborn part of my brain pushes it down. The Scooby Gang trooped off to the City of Angels, leaving behind a crater in the earth – remnants of our lives for the past few years. The souled vampire that I knew so well took us in with no hesitation, everyone settling in with the A.I. team perfectly. Except for me. Buffy, the resident Vampire Slayer whose life is so screwed up that she locked herself in a room, and is currently staring blankly at a wall.

Maybe I’m depressed. Scratch that, I am depressed. And I know exactly when it started.

Dawnie’s gone. My, literal, flesh and blood was stolen from me. And despite years of protecting her from demons, vampires and hell-goddesses, even dying for her, my own goddamned father comes along, after seven years of neglect, and steals her, claiming custodial rights. He walked into the Hyperion last week, a skank on his arm and slapped down a wad of legal papers, yelling at Dawnie to pack her stuff.

Of course I wouldn’t give my sister up without a fight. Neither would the rest of the gang.

It didn’t help that he had recruited Wolfram and Hart, of all lawyers, to defend him. And had the police to back him up, in case I turned ‘violent, as she has before’.

I couldn’t do anything as I watched my own father cart Dawn off to his apartment, and suddenly, as he slammed the doors shut behind him, everything became too much. I remember Angel’s worried gaze on me and the nervous reassurances from the others on getting Dawn back as I slowly ascended the stairs to my room.

I didn’t turn back. And I haven’t left this stale room since.

So far, I’ve only let Angel in. I know that Willow and Xander will try their best to get me out of this rumpled bed. And I’m afraid that they’ll succeed. It feels so easy, lying here, for once not being the one in charge, the decision-maker… the sacrifice.

I can sense Angel lingering outside the door; my skin still prickles when he’s near, still throwing me off. I hear the doorknob turn slightly, but don’t shift my gaze from the ceiling. He sits on the bed next to me and after a minute, I turn to him.

“Ready yet?”

I give a slight shake of my head. He asks me the same question every time he comes in. Doesn’t he know that I’ll never be ready? Never be okay without my sister next to me, knowing that she’s safe? Of course he knows this, he’s the vampire-with-a-soul, damned to relive his sins. Of course he knows every worst feeling in the world. Bitter thoughts whirl in my head, and I don’t try to stop this resentful plunge.

Angel takes my hand, his cold fingers clasping mine. It registers faintly that my fingers are as cold as his. He lifts my hand to his lips and places a feather-soft kiss on it. He knows he can rouse me this way – we both still crave each other, the innocence of my birthday. Both doomed to a star-crossed relationship. Another chapter in the book of Buffy Summers – Screwed Up Vampire Slayer.

I can feel a shudder forming at the base of my spine, and cold anger fills me as I try to suppress it, hide it from him. I hate the way he can do this to me. I hate how I still want him, after four years – still yearn for his touch. Angel pulls his cool lips away from my hand when I don’t respond, letting it drop softly onto the bed again. I don’t move my stare from the water stain.

He rises with one swift move, his trademark duster flowing behind him as he leaves the room silently. I wonder how long it’ll be until he comes back to check on me again. I wonder if it’s killing him, seeing me lie uselessly in this bed. And a tiny part of me hopes it is – torturing him to see his beloved so devastated in his own hotel.

Time passed. I don’t know how long it’s been since Angel’s left, but something is tapping loudly on one of the windows across the room. The curtains are drawn, dark, heavy drapes that cut off all light. I’m trying to ignore it, trying to continue just lying here. But the tapping’s not stopping, and it’s starting to annoy the hell out of me.

The Slayer part of me wants to jump up, crawl out of the worthless skin lying in the bed and rush over to the window. The other part just wants to lie there and waste away as the world continues to turn. But my Slayer’s curiousity is peaking, and the other hopeless part is beginning to get pissed off.

I slowly rise from the bed, wincing slightly as my sore muscles are stretched. I swing my legs over the bed, feeling the cool timber under my feet and try to stand. Swaying slightly, I can feel the fighter inside me regain its bearings as I slowly walk over to the window that the tapping is coming from.

Drawing the curtains aside slightly, I squint in the bright light that floods my eyes.

Sunlight bad.

Once my eyes are open again, I peer out the window and see a chocolate-coloured owl perched on the ledge, inquisitive eyes gazing back at me. Pulling the windows open, the bird gives a hoot as it steps inside, and I notice a roll of paper tied securely to one of its legs. I looked at the bird. What the hell?

It gives another hoot and extends its leg out slightly. I’ve never encountered demon birds before, and my Slayer sense isn’t tingling. So, cautiously, I pick the paper out from the twine tying it and roll it open. Elegant, flowing script greets me, reading:

Miss Elizabeth Summers
Hyperion Hotel
Third Guest Bedroom, Second Floor
25 Hyperion Street
Los Angeles, California

Dear Miss Summers,

It has come to my attention that you have successfully closed the Hellmouth that resided in Sunnydale, California. I offer my congratulations and best wishes to you and your friends on your victory.

I also write to you to request your aid in defeating an evil that currently plagues the Wizarding world. You may not have heard about this ’realm’ before, and more explanations can be given if you accept, and agree to come to England.

There is an order that has been valiantly trying to repress this evil and protect the boy who he seeks. The Order of the Phoenix needs as much support as it can attain during this time. Your reputation precedes you, and I have been well informed of your achievements while residing on the Hellmouth.

Please consider this urgent request, and send a reply back with Syrup, the owl that delivered this message.


Albus Dumbledore

This is too weird.

Wizarding world? Order of the Phoenix? My reputation? I should feel suspicious, but somehow, it feels strangely right.

The owl is perched on one of the gracefully carved wooden chairs in the corner, apparently asleep. And how does this Dumbledore guy know so much about me anyway? Looks like a chat with Giles is calling.

Oh God.

I’ll have to leave this damn room. Finally wake up and say, ‘hi everyone! Did anything happen in the two weeks that I was feeling particularly depressed and worthless? No? That’s great!’

Oh God.

I tentatively sit back down on the bed again, staring at the letter in my hand. What if all this was true? Would I leave everyone here? Leave the fact that Dawnie could come back? Just leave?

And the answer is what scares me. I already know what it is.

Oh God.
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