*checks* Nope, not mine.Written for: August Fic A Day Challenge
’ ChallengeSummary: It was everything she’d ever wanted; to be happy, her friends beside her, her family complete, her love restored, to just be
I’ve messed with the timelines a bit, please forgive me. Set after season two of BtVS and during “Philosopher’s Stone” of HP.
She was standing between her loving parents, her mother’s arms thrown around her neck as her father’s hand patted her bare shoulder proudly. Her cheerleading uniform still fit perfectly as it had at Hemery, and she could see all of her old friends arrayed behind her, her former teammates cheering her on even. To one side, Xander and Willow were laughing, the former giving her a big thumbs up as the latter grinned. On the other, standing opposite her father, Giles was smiling at her as he polished his glasses, clearly proud of everything she’d accomplished.
And there, between her mother and Giles, he
stood. It was impossible, but true; he was whole, smiling, laughing even as the sunlight played through his hair and glinted cheerfully in his eyes. There was no menace, no anger, just pure- Angel
It was everything she’d ever wanted; to be happy, her friends beside her, her family complete, her love restored, to just be normal
Then, with a sudden move, she spun, her leg flying out as the heel of her boot shattered the silver glass. The faces in the mirror gave her one last horrified look before falling away in broken slivers, tinkling merrily as they hit the ground, and Buffy turned to face her enemy, her fists held before her in a defensive position.
“You know, I don’t need the mirror to know that I’m the fairest one in the room. Because really? That turban is so last century.”
“You foolish girl! That was the key to finding the stone!”
“Oops?” A shrug followed. “Oh well. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to trust something when you can’t see its brains anyway?”
And she was off, darting for the supposed ‘professor’ standing across the room. Harry, his expression awestruck at her speed, stumbled in the opposite direction, his hands gripping one of his pockets desperately. Even as she pulled her sword from its sheath on her back, swinging it deftly at her opponent, she winked at him in reassurance. With her here, he was safe. Then her attention was back on Quirrell, dodging to one side as a nasty curse flew through the air she had just occupied.
The battle was swift; Quirrell was a very gifted wizard, but even with his magic he was no challenge for the Slayer. In addition to her physical prowess, her time at Hogwarts had seen a powerful swell in her own magical abilities, and she could counter or dodge almost anything he threw at her. The fact that Voldemort himself fled when the battle began to turn against them made it even worse for the man. The look of shock was still on his face as her blade slid easily through his neck.
Later, lying upon a bed in the hospital wing under strict orders from Madame Pomfrey not to move, Buffy finally broke down. God, how she wished it could have been true, that she could have that life- but it had been lost forever long ago, torn from her forcibly by a destiny she had never wanted. Her destiny had forced her from her life at Hemery, had torn her parents apart, had hurt the people she cared about, and had even murdered her lover. Seeing it all there, reunited, waiting for her, in that mirror, had shattered her heart just as she’d shattered the mirror itself.
The tiny piece of metal clutched desperately in one hand was hardly any better. Biting her lip, she pulled her balled fist to her chest as she struggled to keep the tears from falling. She hadn’t even known it was there, couldn’t have known, until Harry had pressed it into her fingers hours ago, right before the mediwitch had dragged him away for his own evaluation. It didn’t make sense… The last time she had seen it had been on the floor of the mansion, in the same spot where its twin had been dragged into hell upon the finger of her lover. Why
had it been in the mirror, hidden alongside the stone?
The small blonde angrily swung the covers from her legs, sliding them over the side and standing. Forced bed rest or not, even Madame Pomfrey couldn’t keep her from going to the bathroom. There, she stood before the sink and splashed cold water across her face before looking up, almost trembling, to face the mirror. Nothing but her own pale and tear streaked face stared back at her. She was alone.