The Pull of the ChainSummary:
Luna Lovegood feels the tug . . . Disclaimer
: Joss made Buffy the Vampire Slayer
, JKR made Harry Potter
, and all legal rights belong to them. This fanfiction is written for fun, not profit. Content Warnings
: Violence, profanity, and references to same-sex relationships/attraction (and sex in general), but nothing graphic or explicit. Continuity
: This story is set immediately after Half-Blood Prince
for Harry Potter and Season 7 of Buffy. In addition, there will be massive spoilers for Deathly Hallows, and ideas and characters may be borrowed from the “Season 8” comics for Buffy. However, this story is decidedly AU compared to comic canon. I make no promises of full Deathly Hallows
compliance either. There may also be a few passing allusions to the events of Angel’s 5th season. All continuity errors, editorial goofs, and wayward Americanisms are my own. Prologue
“In every generation there is a Chosen One . . .”
She clutches a round metal weight in her cold, dry palm and enters the Come and Go Room for the very first time . . .
“If the apocalypse comes, beep me.”
. . . Riding a Thestral bareback through the night on a secret mission like she’d always dreamed, and even dying would be alright, because then her friends could see the Thestrals too and wouldn’t be so terrified . . .
“Death is your gift.”
. . . Bellatrix Lestrange’s mad laughter pursues them, the corridors lit blue in the eerie glow of prophecy . . .
“I walk, I talk, I shop, I sneeze; I’m gonna be a fireman when the flood rolls back.”
. . . Hermione Granger floats lifelessly in murky black water, weird tentacles wrap themselves around Ron Weasley’s arms as he starts to scream, bloodstained feathers stick to Ginny Weasley’s trembling hands . . .
“So here’s where you make a choice . . . .”
. . . Pale hands force a burning crown onto Neville Longbottom’s brow, in the dark wood Harry Potter’s silhouette is framed against a flash of sickly green light . . .
“. . . Between what is right and what is easy . . .”
. . . And then there are girls, thousands of girls, girls fighting monsters, always different, yet always the same: fighting, killing, dying, and always . . .
“There’s room in this one, there’s only Loony Lovegood in here . . . .”
. . . And there’s no point in screaming because Daddy won’t be home for hours and the Weasleys and Diggories live too far to hear her and the body is still steaming on the floor and it’s too late because Mummy’s gone and Luna is . . .
“There’s that word again. What you are, how you’ll die.”
. . . Alone.
“I’m Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. And you are?”
Luna Lovegood’s eyes snapped open, her heart pounding like a drum. For a few terrifying seconds she could have sworn she was still underground, for the bare stone above her bore no traces of the florid mural she’d painted on her bedroom ceiling over the summer: Friends
. Only then did Luna remember she was still at school, and that the ceiling above her belonged to the Fifth Year girls’ dormitory in the Ravenclaw Tower, not a sweltering cavern below the earth. It was only a dream, then, if not a very nice one.
She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, the way her mother had taught her all those years ago, and her pulse slowly settled into a steadier rhythm. Sitting up, she checked to see if she had disturbed anyone else, but even at this late hour the other beds were empty. Fifth Year Ravenclaws took their O.W.L.s extremely seriously, and her roommates were doubtless still down in the common room revising. Luna did her own studying in the early morning, when it was quieter and she was less likely to have ink pots emptied over her notes by rambunctious First Years. She was mildly surprised to have woken so soon, bad dreams or not. Then again, it had been a long time since she’d had a truly terrifying nightmare. Recently her dreams had been much happier, although she could never remember much about them beyond a vague impression of freckles and the musty scent of broom polish.
Tonight, though . . . it was as if she’d wandered into someone else’s Dreamspace by mistake, filled with faces and voices that seemed familiar, but weren't. Did Harry Potter feel like this all the time? She resolved to give him a hug the next time she saw him, just in case.
Of course, nocturnal possession by Nobody Knows Who seemed an unlikely explanation for her own nightmare, but none of her other hypotheses were very satisfying either. Nargles had been known to cause hallucinations, but this wasn’t the right season for acute Nargle infestation. Nor was she showing the other telltale symptoms of extreme sexual arousal or superfluous feline appendages. Besides, the idea that she’d been hallucinating while already dreaming seemed rather unlikely; even Wrackspurts couldn’t addle the brain that
much. Had the Rotfang Conspiracy progressed from the subversion of dental hygiene to the manipulation of dreams? No, that didn’t seem like the sort of thing a vampire could do without her sensing it. Luna couldn’t explain why
she felt so certain of this, as she’d only ever met a vampire once, and Count Sanguini had been on his best behavior during Professor Slughorn’s Solstice Feast, not even murdering a single guest. “I’ve got a theory; That it’s a Demon; A Dancing Demon—no something isn’t right there.”
Luna shut her eyes again, wondering where that
idea had come from. As she began to drift back to sleep, she decided she would just have to write her father in the morning. He was quite knowledgeable on the subject of dream interpretation, and of course he’d done a great deal of research on vampires for his exposé on the Minister of Magic. If only she could remember the dream more clearly, so she could explain . . . “If the apocalypse comes, beep me.”
Luna jolted into wakefulness again, her strange dream instantly forgotten. Throwing the covers off, she leapt lightly from her bed and sprinted across the room to her school trunk. She wrenched the lid open with a loud crack, not even noticing that she’d ripped the lid from its hinges with her bare hands, too focused on the task of rooting through her belongings, looking for her coin. She quickly retrieved the charmed D.A. Galleon from its hiding place, wrapped in one of her rainbow tube socks. Sure enough, instead of the usual arcane symbols of Goblin Unsecured Loan Masonry, the coin displayed a short message written in a hand she immediately recognized as Hermione Granger’s: “Emergency Meeting at Gryffindor Tower: come now!”
Luna grabbed her wand and rushed from the room without bothering to change out of her pajamas into proper robes, or even to put on her fluffy camelopard slippers. She could run faster barefoot. She barreled down the dormitory stairs and sprinted across the common room in record time, although she nearly tripped over poor Marietta Edgecombe, who was splayed out on the floor amid a pile of books. Her bizarre appearance and sudden exit provoked shocked gasps and mocking catcalls from her housemates, and as the entryway portrait swung shut behind her Luna heard Marietta loudly grumble, “Just who does that Loony think she is, anyway?”
Luna ignored them. Her friends needed her.
Still, she couldn’t shake the odd feeling that her wand ought to be . . . pointier