Fan Fiction ❯ Harry Potter and the Student of Memories ❯ prologue ( Prologue )

I do not own harry potter, or buffy the vampire slayer. I cannot tell the future. I cannot read minds. Feel free to flame me though, as long as you realize I'm a pyromaniac.

 

Please, enjoy.

 

 

 

This was wrong…. No matter how many times she visited this place, it just felt wrong.

 

Tara Maclay

Born January 8, 1980

Died May 7, 2002

I am nothing without you…

 

Even with Kennedy…. This felt wrong.

 

After all the trouble she went through to get her back into her life….

 

After convincing her she was, in fact, quite human….

 

She had lost a good piece of her soul, and that wasn't counting her brief angst filled rampage as Darth Willow.

 

Gently, she ran her hand along the headstone, trying to hold back the tears.

 

“May you find the peace in death, that is rarely found in life.” A male voice said from her side.

 

A dozen yellow lilies were laid in front of the grave.

 

Yellow lilies. Tara always loved yellow lilies. And they had been sent on the day of her funeral……

 

While she normally made an effort to push that part of her into a tiny ball, she didn't now.

 

It never hurt to bring it out.

 

While she rarely did, she needed to learn control. So she let the darkness cover her.

 

And with white less eyes, she turned to stare at the person next to her.

 

Only to find herself looking at a creature almost like herself.

 

“It's easy to release the demon inside of you. As for controlling it…” he turned away from her, lining himself up with another tombstone. Within a matter of two seconds, the object in question was a pile of rubble, the man's fists bloody. “it takes much pain to get a handle on things.”

 

“Who are you?” she asked, looking at him with curiosity. It was taking more then she expected to maintain a sober frame of mind. So simple to relax into a drunken stupor.

 

The black slowly faded from his hair, revealing a shade of green, almost neon. Eyes of cobalt blue. Wearing a simple jean jacket, and black army pants.

 

Vaguely familiar, but she couldn't really say who this was.

 

“You can call me Blank for now.” His grin had been lecherous before, but now it seemed to be pained. “You'll find out who I am later.”

 

“Now.” She said, clearly, leaving no room for argument.

 

“I'm sorry, but no. Not yet.”

 

“Then how did you know about the flowers?”

 

“You're Willow, yes?”

 

She nodded, wishing she had decided to tell someone, anyone else she was coming here.

 

“She loved you. Dearly.”

 

“If your going to tell me, she told you to come here, even though she's dead-“

 

“Conversing with the dead like that can.. lead to certain problems with one's sanity that I would just as easily avoid right now. As should you.”

 

“I'm not some rookie you little-“

 

Little… he was about an inch taller then her. But he couldn't be more then fifteen years old.

 

“I'm not saying you're a rookie. Just trying to tell something I know from…..”

 

Pulling a black walking stick from where it had been resting, he turned, leaving.

 

“How did you know Tara?!?!”

 

He stopped. Fishing through his back pocket, he turned in her direction, making his way back to her.

 

When he was within reach, he deposited two small envelopes her hand.

 

Looking down, she read the labels.

 

Willow Rosenberg

HM Cleveland, USA

The other was addressed to Buffy. Likewise, without actual street address.

 

“I'm not saying you shouldn't take everything you hear, read, or see without salt, but you might wish to open yours.”

 

It was his voice again, but this time, it sounded like it came from all directions at once.

 

Willow looked around, finding herself in an empty graveyard.

 

Okay… I still have the letters… There are still flowers in front of Tara's empty grave…. I really shouldn't have put that on top of another hell mouth. It would probably have been better somewhere else, without all the demons and undead walking around, and-

 

Okay, Willow, focus. Who was that guy…. And how did he know Tara?