Prologue - Only the Beginning
I'm really quite sorry to say, but I don't own either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Harry Potter, and because of that I don't own their characters. I'd love to - I mean, who wouldn't want to be as brilliant as the people behind the real stories? But, i'm not. Note:
I'm new to fanfiction. If anyone would like to beta my work, please contact me -- I generally use my friends, but actually posting this stuff makes me nervous. :| So, i'd love to have some help. Pairings:
Uh, well, as to pairings . . . i'm not quite sure, yet. This fanfiction is intended to be darker than the general one, with more graphic details. Of course, since i'm a hopeless romantic, there's got to be SOME romance. I just don't know between who.
And there she was; the picture of the most magnificent maelstrom one could ever see, the hatred and fury pulsing from her in powerful waves. Her blonde hair trailed behind her in a whirlwind as it sought to catch up to her body, but her movements never slowed. The curved knife she clutched in her hands was an extension of her body, almost like the claws of a most feral cat, and moved so fast it was only a silver blur. There was little emotion on her face, save for a determined expression, but her eyes blazed as she unleashed her inner beast.
Duck. Slash. Curl. Launch. Hit. Twist. Roll. All to kill what had hurt her most, and he savored the beautiful dance that flowed with her despair. A muted scream came from her next victim as its head was neatly cleaved, thereafter crumbling to dust before it even hit the ground. A snarl of fury came from her right side as another vampire attacked her, but it never stood a chance. Of course, he didn’t think that it would have – this was all a test, and she was doing marvelously. A smile curled at the edges of his thin, almost nonexistent, lips, which rendered him even more hideous than before. “Stop her.”
It was those two words that caused the battle to stop abruptly, as his many followers immediately raised their wands and sent dozens of curses and spells towards her. Just one would have done nothing, for she was far superior than a human would have been. The blonde warrior fell onto her knees, eyes glassy with anger, fear, and loathing. The knives in each of her hands quivered as she pushed against their spells, trying to regain her movement, but she proved to be failing miserably. Her claws sparkled like rubies in the moonlight, for blood dripped in a steady flow onto the ground below them. She refused to let them go, even with the strain of dozens of spells beating down on her.
Ah, she truly was something magnificent. Pleased, he waved one pale hand to the side. Most of his cloaked followers shifted backwards immediately, but the few that remained held bodies between them. A redhead, a man that looked little more than a boy, and an older man: just three of the people that the warrior loved above all else. Fixing the blonde with his own red-eyed stare, black pupils sliding closer together like those of a snake, he bent down and grasped her chin. Forcing her to look up at him, he finally spoke, “And here we have you, my pet. I will have your obedience yet.” He said the words as not only a threat, but a most definite promise. He would have her, he would break her, he would make her impervious and invincible, and he would make her his.
“I … will never …” whispered her trembling and bloody lips, “… be your bitch.” And then she spat, surprising him, a foamy pink-tinged wad of saliva. It landed on his face, and he couldn’t help but curl his nose in disgust. However, he let it stay. The fingers that grasped her chin clenched into a tighter hold, producing bruises on her face, and abruptly threw her head to the side. His long nails put gashes into her cheek, but he cared little; she would heal, he knew.
He wiped her spittle off of his cheek and raised a hand in an obvious signal. Two cloaked men drew a just-conscious body towards their lord and the cowed warrior. Instantly recognizing who was being held between the groupies, the blonde warriors eyes blazed and widened. “Mom . . .” she gasped, fear causing her to tremble. Her reaction caused the leader to grin. “No, no, nonononono—”
“Ah, yes. Your mother,” he droned. “You, my dear girl, have far too many weaknesses. I will show you what insolence will get you – these people mean nothing to me, and I will expect you to realize that.” The underlying meaning of cruel death did not escape the girl. “I am not known for forgiveness.” His hand twitched, another signal, and the warrior screamed and cried with fear – she pleaded with him, begged him, and broke before him. “Nor am I known for second chances.”
A cloaked follower drew his wand and sent a curse towards the limp body, causing her to twist and turn in agony. “Look away, baby. Oh god, baby, just look away. Buffy, just look away!” The mother cried to her daughter, but the warrior could not wrench her gaze from the scene. Blood oozed from the cracks in the skin that appeared, the flesh that lined the wounds shriveling black and wasting away, accompanied by terrific screams. Buffy looked on in silence, horror plastered on her tearful face. It was not long before her mother was dead.
“Do not displease me again, Slayer.” Lord Voldemort said as he looked down at his pet, sounding bemused. “There are many more that are just as fragile as she was.”