Harry Potter and the Guardians of the Origin

Ch. 3- Arrivals and Departures

Harry woke up feeling groggy. He sat up on the couch and went to rub his eyes, feeling that his glasses were still on. Weird, he thought. But then he looked around. It was not their apartment. At all. It looked like some sort of a hotel room. The carpet and couch were rich in color and all the furniture seemed to be antiques. Harry was confused. He got up to find Buffy and walked in to the next room.

The sight that met his eyes arrested all his thoughts. Buffy lay in an extravagant four poster bed, her lower half covered by a silky maroon sheet and dressed otherwise in a matching maroon, lacey nightgown with thin straps and a low cut v-neck. Harry leaned against the doorjamb and just looked at her. He suddenly noticed that there was soft, jazzy music playing--where was it coming from? But then Buffy opened her eyes. Sitting up groggily, she looked around confusedly.

"Buffy, there's something really weird--"

"WHAT the hell?" Buffy had looked down and seen what she was wearing and immediately gathered the covers around her embarrassingly. "Were you just staring at me while I was sleeping?"

"I, uh," were the only words that would come out of Harry's mouth as his face began to turn the color of Buffy's nightgown. Then he said, "There was music. It, uh, stopped now." Real smooth, you prat, thought Harry to himself..

Buffy looked at him like he had grown an arm out of his head and then, covers still wrapped around her, walked to the window, and yanked the curtains open with a strong jerk. If they had been surprised a moment ago, it was nothing compared to the shock that they felt now.

Evidently they weren't in New York anymore. Outside the window vibrant, colorful buildings with cone-shaped towers blended with old, gothic looking ones, and on the street crowds of old antique cars bustled along without any hint of abnormality.

Both Harry and Buffy thought the same thing, but no one said it--magic. It was the only explanation for the fact that Harry next pointed out.

"We're in the movie." Neither of them would have known they were in Moscow had they not been watching the movie two minutes ago, but as they looked around now they realized that this was in fact the hotel room that Elissa and Sam had been staying in while planning their heist of the text.

Staring out the window, dumbfounded, they slowly let the realization sink in. Suddenly, Buffy turned to Harry and smacked him in the face.

"OW! Bloody hell! What did you do that for?" Harry yelled indignantly.

Looking disappointed, Buffy said, "I thought one of us might be dreaming this up. Apparently, it's not you. I don't think it's me either. Crap. What do we do now?"

"We need to get back home," Harry said.

"Really? I didn't know that. I thought we'd just stay here the rest of our lives living it up with black and white TV and nine month winters," Buffy answered.

"Oh, yes, your sarcasm is really going to help us now."

"Well maybe your supreme dishwashing skills can get us a ticket out of the movie. That's about all your good for isn't it?" replied Buffy acidly. She had to figure a way out of this mess while dragging Harry along, who would most definitely hinder instead of help her. She knew nothing about him, about his past, or about how he could possibly be helpful right now. And she resented it.

Harry surged with anger at her ignorance. "Who the hell are you to say that? You have no idea who I am! What I've done! You're just a waitress who cries a lot. I guess the most I can ask from you is try to keep the waterworks to a minimum while I get us out of this."

"I have no idea who you are?" Buffy laughed darkly. "If you had the slightest idea, if you knew half the things that I know, seen half the things that I've seen, done half the things that I've done, you'd know how much of a real ass you are. Go to hell."

With that, Buffy stormed out of the room, slamming the door, leaving Harry seething in his own righteous anger. She has no idea.

He has no idea, thought Buffy as she sat angrily on the couch.

* * *

The sun shone brightly down on the crowded lane of Diagon Alley; the summer heat gave it a hazy, sticky feel. Dust flew up as wizards and witches bustled along the streets. Outside of Flourish and Blotts, Ron Weasley leaned against the storefront staring at nothing. He was thinking.

Something had changed. He was not the Ron Weasley who had entered the Department of Mysteries. The scars on his arm told him that. He had barely any memory of what had happened, but he could feel the difference. A brain had attacked him. What the fuck? Who gets attacked by a brain? He was angry. Mostly because he--and everyone else--had no idea what had happened to him. He was quieter now. He learned that silence was often a more powerful weapon than words. The problem, however, was that the world was much louder. It seemed that every second his senses were bombarded with intense sounds, sights, scents. Everything had become much more sensitive.

Most remarkable, though, he remembered it all. It was as if his memory just absorbed everything and neatly stored it away in an infinite space. He could picture entire pages from spellbooks and read every line. He could recite exactly what each of his family members was wearing that day, and the day before that, and the day before that. Everything he had eaten for the last week and exactly what it tasted like. Et cetera.

He told no one. There was obviously something wrong. He was abnormal. A freak. He imagined the names Fred and George would come up with for him. His mother would have him put in some hospital under observation. He finally had something that made him special, but he was afraid of it.

Frustration never suited Ron. It ignited his temper; he looked around Diagon Alley for something to lash out at. Suddenly he caught a familiar scent of cologne. He looked to his right and saw Draco Malfoy walking towards him, his eyes fixed on the front of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ron's eyes narrowed as he took a step forward and grabbed Draco roughly by the arm.

"Malfoy," spat Ron.

"Weasel." Draco removed Ron's hand from his arm as if it were a disgusting slug and brushed off his clothes. "It's nice to see that your manners have not improved. Understandable, though. How many people live in that hut of yours?" he replied.

Ron's face reddened. "I just wanted to let you know," said Ron through gritted teeth, "you're screwed."

"I know sex is a foreign concept to you Weasley, but you really shouldn't dwell on my success. Very depressing for you," said Malfoy.

Ron ignored him and continued, "You're father may have escaped, but I don't know if you understand the world of trouble that brings you. You're going to be watched--followed--as if any instant you could lead us right to him. All your little pranks you like to pull? Won't seem so funny to the aurors breathing down your neck. The things you always seem to know about? Not going to be so valuable when they are tortured out of you." Ron stepped closer to Draco, speaking quietly into his ear. "And I plan to be there every step of the way, to make sure I do my part," he paused briefly, "in helping catch that murderer you call a father."

Ron stepped back to survey the damage. By that time, Malfoy had hidden the anger and fear that had passed across his face and was able to look at Ron coolly. "How's Potter been, Weasley? I'm sure he's been there doing his part as well?" Ron glared. Draco went on, "Or maybe not. I did hear his dog died. Maybe magnificent poofter Potter went a little crazy and ran off on you? Decided it wasn't worth the trouble of sticking around trying to protect you and Granger? If I were him, the gods forbid, I'd get out of the Dark Lord's way too. Perhaps your brave, courageous Potter isn't as much a Gryffindor as you so dearly believe." Malfoy smiled with the satisfaction of his icy revenge.

Ron burned with anger and hurt. He lunged at Malfoy, grabbed the front of his robe, and slammed him up against the glass of the storefront. He put his face right in front of Malfoy's, gritted his teeth, and spat, "You know nothing of friendship you pathetic little rodent. You don't have one true friend on the face of this earth and everyone knows it. You're too horrible to ever be anything but alone. You wish you were Harry."

Ron dropped him and Malfoy sank quickly to the ground. As Ron walked away, Malfoy called out, "Why would I want to be a deadman?"

* * *

"Did you hear that?"

"Uh, no. What are you talking about Xander?" Cordelia answered her boyfriend as they patrolled the graveyard.

"Uh, yeah. I heard something inside that crypt. We should go check it out, you know, find the bad guy?" Xander said as he nodded his head towards the adjacent crypt.

"Are you kidding me? There is no way I'm going in there with, ew, dead guys and a possible vampire. If he wants to get staked so badly he can just come out and get us."

"Yeah. Ok." Xander grabbed her by her wrist and pulled her through the crypt door impatiently and shut it behind him. His hands on her hips, he backed her up to the wall and kissed her hungrily.

He started to kiss her neck and her eyes flew open with the pleasure. "Oh, ok," she paused to take a breath, "I get it now. You could have, mmph, just asked you know."

Xander lifted his head and said, "Yeah, well, I thought for once I would try subtlety. Excuse me for assuming you'd like that sort of thing." He was mildly annoyed, but Cordelia pulled him in for a long slow kiss before he could say anything else.

"You're excused," she said after gently pulling away. But then she screamed. A vampire was standing a few feet behind Xander, baring his teeth in a predatory grin. Xander turned around, holding up his cross, but the vampire's hand was already swung towards him, and Xander was promptly knocked out.

"Oh great, so much for a manly protector," said Cordelia as she stood against the wall, staring at the menacing vampire. She held up the large wooden cross around her neck. "Listen buddy, I'm not gonna be your dinner tonight. So you can just go feed on someone else." The vampire advanced on her, knocking the cross out of her hand and throwing her to the ground. She screamed and squirmed while the vamp pinned her down.

Then the door to the crypt burst open. Another girl with dark hair stood there for a moment before running over and punching the vamp in the face. It flew into the wall. Then she staked it. Oz and Willow ran into the crypt shortly afterward. Thinking she was the vamp, Oz shot her with the tranquilizer gun. The girl looked down at her abdomen where the dart had stuck and said, "Dick!" angrily before dropping to the ground.

"Oz, no!" yelled Cordelia from the ground, but it was too late. "Idiot! She just saved me! God!" Cordelia ran over to the girl and shook her saying, "Hey, wake up," but the girl was obviously deeply unconscious.

"Uh, I guess I missed that part," said Oz apologetically.

"What happened?" asked Willow.

Cordelia answered, "I don't know. The vamp knocked Xander out and was after me and then this girl just came in and threw the vamp against the wall and staked it."

"Who is she?" Willow asked curiously.

"Well we'd know that if Oz hadn't gone all Mr. Happy Guns!" Cordelia said.

"Sorry. Thought she was a vamp," Oz replied guiltily.

"Urrrrggggh," came from the ground. Xander had begun to stir.

Cordelia helped him up. "Had a nice nap? Cuz while you were sleeping I almost got killed."

Xander twisted his neck with a painful expression on his face while answering, "Gee I'm so glad you're still here. I would have been upset if you weren't here to--uh, who's that?"

"We sorta don't know," said Willow.

"She saved me and then Oz decided to shoot her," Cordelia elaborated.

"Ah, Oz, smart man. That vampire was about to do a valuable service to the community," quipped Xander. Cordelia shot him a look.

"What were you guys doing down here anyway?" asked Willow.

Xander and Cordelia went red and looked at each other guiltily. "Yeah, you know, we thought we heard something down here," said Xander clumsily.

"So you just decided to lock yourselves in a crypt with a vampire, huh?" said Willow doubtfully.

Neither Cordelia nor Xander answered. Willow went on, "Well that's just great. We're supposed to be keeping the vamp population down, but you guys go and make yourselves food. Can't you grope on your own time?" she said, irritated.

"So we should get mystery girl somewhere safe," Xander evaded. He did not fail to notice how attractive the unconscious girl was. "My place is probably best."

Willow ignored him and declared, "We're taking her to Giles'. It's closest and he gave me the key before he left for Houston."

"Right. Good plan, Will. You're the smartest," Xander hugged her with one arm buddy-like but stopped after she gave him the 'Not working' look.

"I'll get her," aid Oz as he lifted her off the ground and carried her out. Willow couldn't help but feel a pang of jealously to see her boyfriend holding another girl. She followed him silently out of the crypt.

Xander looked like he was about to say something to Cordelia, but before he could, she said, "Great idea, horntoad. Let's go."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had a lot on his mind. Snape had just returned from a Death Eater meeting with minimal helpful information, because he had lately only been trusted with menial duties and insignificant schemes. He was relegated mostly to helping pull off financial schemes to amass money for Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Dumbledore thought interfering was not worth the risk of blowing Snape's cover. Remus seemed to have taken Sirius' death much harder than anyone anticipated, as he did not leave his room in Grimmauld Place except for meetings and occasional meals. Ron Weasley had developed glowing scars on his arm and not one doctor, not one ministry official, could identify their meaning.

But most of his thoughts were taken up by Harry Potter. Snape had gleaned that Voldemort was also looking for Harry, so Dumbledore knew at least that Harry had not been kidnapped. But not much else. He was just about to make for his pensieve when there was a knock on his office door.

"Come in Minerva."

Professor McGonagall walked in then, looking concerned. "Albus, you've been up here all day. I really think you need to eat and take a rest. You've done everything you can."

"Minerva, my dear, I'm quite fine. The only way I can stay that way is to keep busy." His eyes twinkled, but there was sadness there too.

"At least have some tea with me, Albus. You need to take your mind off of all this," said McGonagall resignedly.

As she sat down and conjured up a tray with two cups, a steaming kettle, and some biscuits, Dumbledore sighed, "We are running out of time. Voldemort is looking for him with equal fervor. I'm feeling rather helpless."

"Did you ever consider the fact that that could be precisely what Harry wants?" McGonagall said cautiously. At Dumbledore's indignant expression, she continued quickly, "Not to hurt you, Albus, not at all. But perhaps he wanted control for once. You have always been there, watching over him one way or another, always able to protect him. But after last summer and the events of this year, the boy might have needed to be in control. Surely you could understand that."

"He is not ready," answered Dumbledore with a hint of fear in his eyes.

"I believe what you are feeling, Albus, is something you share with every parent who sees their child grow up," said McGonagall with compassion.

Dumbledore did not reply. There was a rapping on the window and both professors looked over to see a large, snowy white owl outside, looking weather-worn and impatient. Dumbledore got up and opened the window. Hedwig flew inside and onto his desk, where McGonagall removed a worn letter from the owl's leg.

"I'm sorry Albus. It's the letter you sent with her. I don't think she found him," said McGonagall.

"Harry's owl is one of the best I've ever seen. She has been gone for weeks. There is one way in which she could not have reached him. He's across the Atlantic," declared Dumbledore with both hope and anxiety.

There was a loud bang on the door. They exchanged a worried look and then Dumbledore said, "Come in."

Kingsley Shacklebolt burst into the room. "I'm sorry Albus, but I have terrible news," he said. "Hermione Granger is dead."

* * *

Harry sat thinking. Could this be a trick of Voldemort's? Had he found Harry and drummed up some new scheme to kill him? Why an old movie? It didn't make sense. His thoughts were broken, however, by a very old fashioned ringing coming from the other side of the room. Harry hesitated, then walked swiftly over to the phone and answered.

"Uh, hello?" Harry said uncertainly.

"Sam," came a crackly voice from the other end, "It's Blockwich. Where are you? You were supposed to be out here supervising the dig an hour ago. Does this have anything to do with that lady-friend you've got visiting?"

"Uh," Harry said. He had no clue what to--wait, he did. He replied with an air of authority, "Well, Neil, if it did have anything to do with her, it would not be your business. And since technically I am your boss, you might want to watch your tone with me. I'll be there soon enough. And have two lunches ready for me." Harry hung up the phone. "Bloody hell. I know my lines."

He went into the other room. Buffy was walking around, looking at different things around the room. Harry said excitedly, "Buffy, you aren't going to believe this."

"Yes, because unbelievable things haven't been happening. Like us being in Moscow fifty years ago or you being a total jerk."

Harry's excitement deflated. He saw the hurt in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.

Buffy looked down and said, "Me too." She then walked over to him, pulled him into a hug, and started talking very fast. "That was the first time we ever fought and, ok, we both have pasts, and we keep them to ourselves and I think we need to but you're the one person right now who I can trust and I don't think I can lose that and the past is the past and we can keep it in the past..."

Harry was moved, but he could also see that she was going to go in circles if he didn't say something. Thinking about the phone call, Harry pulled out of the hug while Buffy was still talking and put a finger on her lips to quiet her. She looked confused. Instead of launching into a lengthy explanation he said, "Elissa, while I'd love to sit and chat all day, we have some spy planning to do."

Buffy gave him a WTF look, but then a look of shock came across her face and she said slowly, "You've got a lot to learn, hun. It's not called spy planning. It's called reconnaissance. And give me five minutes to get ready."

"I would have tried to explain it to you, but I don't think I could have," said Harry. "Right now I think our only option is to go along with the movie."

"Oh my god. I know my lines. Great, it's Halloween all over again," Buffy said exasperatedly.

"Uh, what?"

Buffy continued on to herself, "But we still know who we are." She looked up at Harry. "I think you're right. I mean, we just have to make it to the end of the movie. I mean, something has to happen then, right? We're not going to just dissolve into the credits or something."

They both exchanged a dark look. Harry answered, "Well, I guess we'll just have to see."

Buffy looked equally disturbed by the thought. "Yeah, I guess. So, I'm guessing we have nifty fifties clothes to wear to the dig."

Ten minutes later, Harry and Buffy had found outfits for the day and met up again in the living room. Buffy was in a long woolen skirt and sweater with a jacket and hat, and Harry had on a many-pocketed, tough-looking pair of loose khaki pants and a wrinkled-looking white shirt with a heavy brown leather jacket. Harry had mimicked the way the Sam onscreen had slicked his hair backwards, and perhaps it was the movie-reality at work, but it actually stayed tidy for once.

Buffy stifled a laugh. "Hel-lo British Indiana Jones. Where's your hat and whip?" In the back of her head, though, she couldn't help noticing how completely hot Harry looked.

Harry had never seen the movies, but he got he reference. "Not funny. And Sam Eastly doesn't have a hat and a whip."

Together they went to the archaeology site and had lunch, Harry introducing her as "Mary Humphreys" to his colleagues. Eventually he got over the extremely queer feeling of know people's names and spouting off lines that weren't his. Then, on the pretext of giving her a tour of the site, Harry took Buffy to the small building nearby where the artifacts were being kept.

"Good day, Claude, I'm just giving my friend here a tour of the site. I wouldn't mind signing her in, it's just, you know," he leaned in and said in a confiding tone, "my boss doesn't really know she's here."

The guard hesitated, but then smiled and said in a thick Russian accent, "Ah, Mr. Eastly, you have good time with lady friend. I say nothing. Oh, and be sure to show her the text, the army will move it tomorrow."

"Sure thing, old chap. Thanks a lot," Harry replied, slapping the guard on the back. He opened the door for Buffy and followed her in.

As soon as the door was closed, Buffy said laughingly, "Old chap? Who says that?"

"Well I suppose the same kind of person who tells Mr. Blockwich that her family has 'a quaint little house in the countryside," Harry retorted.

"I'm trying to block that from my memory. Can't we just steal the text thingy now?" Buffy asked.

"You're right, Elissa, if they plan on moving the text tonight, we have to steal it now," Harry said in his Sam-tone-of-voice.

"Then again, I don't have my gear with me, and you just logged yourself in," returned Elissa. Buffy added, "This movie is so predictable!"

"Well, little lady, I guess you're going to have to show how much of a spy you really are, because we don't have a choice," said Harry, grimacing at his lines. "Pretend I didn't just call you little lady."

"Gladly," replied Buffy before she continued on with the dialogue, "I'm always up for a challenge. Give me a minute to think." She paused, looking around. "Does this place have any other ways in?"

"A guarded back door and a cellar exit, but the door to the cellar in here is locked," replied Harry.

"Not a problem," replied Buffy automatically.

As Harry led Buffy down to the cellar door, Buffy realized that she was supposed to pick the lock. Unfortunately, unlike the script, the lock-picking knowledge did not come to her. She did, however, know how to break a door open.

"Stand guard over by the stairs," she told Harry. When he was out of sight, she grabbed the door knob and twisted hard.

Harry stood at the foot of the stairs just around the corner from Buffy and was confused. He had the weirdest feeling of being out of place, as if they had departed from the script.

"Got it," said Buffy. She ran up the stairs swiftly and Harry had only time to glance back towards the cellar confusedly before they were back in the swing of the script. They left right after that, saying a long goodbye to Claude to make sure he remembered them leaving. They walked off, then back around to the side of the building, and stealthily climbed into the cellar door that they had just left slightly ajar.

Harry began to say something but Buffy put her finger to his lips and shook her head. Inwardly they both felt a slight shock at the effect of this physical contact; it was as if a slack rope inside their stomach had just been pulled taut, and their eyes met for a second longer because of this.

They crept up the stairs and out into the little nook where the door to the cellar stood on the first floor. After looking around each corner, Buffy motioned for him to follow her to the room that contained the text. It sat on a wooden podium, and its cover seemed to be made of some kind of animal hide; it had a sun branded blackish-brown on the front. Buffy was about to grab the text, but Harry heard voices near the door and quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her to the wall next to the door just as it opened. He stood in front of her, but as the door opened wider he was obliged to press up against her so that the opened door would hide them both. Each of their heads was over the other's shoulder, albeit with Buffy on her tiptoes. The two men who walked in were talking in Russian and probably looking at the text. Neither Buffy nor Harry could pay attention, though: they were too busy trying not to breathe heavily or look each other in the eye.

Don't get a boner don't get a boner don't get a boner, Harry recited in his head as he tried to ignore the sensation of her warm body on his.

Oh my god, he's going to get a boner. And I'm going to want to jump it, thought Buffy in a panic, as she tried not to notice how amazing he smelled or how kissable his neck looked.

The Russians left not a moment too soon, and Buffy and Harry separated immediately as the door shut. "Sorry, I didn't know what else to do," said Harry, thankful that the line gave him something to say.

Buffy looked over to him as she approached the book and said, "That was quick thinking. You may be a spy yet. You've certainly got the moves." Buffy felt like that line did nothing to help the sexual tension, so she added blandly, "Can you say cheesy?" She grabbed the book, put it in her satchel, and said, "Let's go."

They were able to make it back to the cellar without interruption, and exited the building covertly through the cellar exit. They made sure to return to the main area of the dig from a different direction than the building, said their goodbyes to Sam's co-workers, and left.

"I'd say that was a success," said Harry as he drove Sam's buggy back to their hotel. "After that little job I bet the gentlemen at the CIA are going to want me on all their missions."

"That's my role, dear. I'm afraid I'm just that good," Buffy said suggestively.

Harry glanced over to her fleetingly. "I guess I'll have to learn from the best."

Buffy did not like where this conversation was going, and she interrupted the dialogue with, "So, what now? Shouldn't the movie end now that we've got away with the text?"

"I don't think so," replied Harry. "Wasn't there something about your government wanting to kill us once we had the book?"

"Oh. Right. Yay," returned Buffy.

Sure enough, when they got back to their hotel room, the phone rang, and it was the CIA. Her and Sam were to attend a ball at the Grand Hotel and then go up to a room reserved under their names where they would meet Elissa's boss and exchange the text. No other information was given, and when Buffy hung up the phone, she turned to Harry and stated, "All I can say is this movie better not violate the ultimate movie rule that the main characters don't die."

"Agreed," replied Harry.

There was a loud bang, and the door burst open. Four robed figures filed in, and immediately they were upon Harry and Buffy. Buffy instinctively started fighting, and Harry tried to follow suit instead of drawing his wand and revealing himself. He was able to punch one, but another knocked him down hard. For a split second, he saw Buffy furiously kicking and punching two of them at the same time before he had to roll over to evade getting hit over the head with a chair.

Harry decided this was no way to fight, so he stood up, drew the attacks of the two that were on him, and led them into the other room. Drawing his wand as soon as he entered, he yelled, "Stupefy!" twice and thus dispatched the two men. He ran back out into the other room only to see Buffy standing over two more unconscious robed figures.

"I think we have a problem," said Harry.

"I know. This isn't in the script," replied Buffy. They both had realized it. The complete shock felt at the abrupt appearance of the men and the lack of any kind of lines or direction in the fight had told them so.

"But how did you...fight like that?" Harry asked in amazement, staring at the bodies on the floor.

"I guess it's just more movie mojo," Buffy lied. "Spies are like, ninjas. You didn't do too bad yourself, you know." In her head, Buffy wondered how Harry, not much different in build than Xander, had taken on two grown, trained men and knocked them out. She had heard him yell something at the men, too. Maybe that's just how he fights, like a karate yell or something, she thought, looking at him confusedly.

"You're bleeding," said Harry, approaching Buffy and examining the gash on her forehead concernedly.

"I'm fine. I'll let you clean it up after we get these guys tied up. I have no idea what's going on but I bet if we beat them to a bloody pulp they'll tell us," Buffy said.

"Uh, ok," replied Harry, not used to Buffy being violent. He looked at her as she scanned the room for a binding and there was a glow to her, a sort of tangible power emanating from her. He felt as though she was following some other script that he did not know; it seemed she knew exactly what she was doing.

They managed to find enough binding materials in the room to securely tie up the four men. Now that they were able to get a better look at them, Harry and Buffy saw that each man had a sun branded onto the palms of their hands--the same sun that was on the text.

"I don't get it. If these guys aren't from this movie how can they have the tattoo from a book that only exists in this movie?" Buffy said.

"Dunno. I guess your, er, beat-them-up plan might answer that," said Harry, "But for now let's clean up that cut."

"Sure."

Harry walked out of the living room and returned with a wet rag and some peroxide, and had Buffy sit in a chair, and with one hand under her chin, he carefully ran the cloth over the wound and gently cleaned away the blood. "You know, I remember not too long ago when you were doing the same thing for me," Harry said, smiling at her. "What's with us and getting into these kinds of situations?"

Buffy laughed nervously and said "Yeah, funny thing, right?" She wanted to change the subject and said, "So can I officially join the scar on the forehead club?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said uncomfortably.

He was just about finished, and he bent down to look closely at the cut. "I think you're good, maybe you won't even be getting that scar." He shifted his gaze from her forehead to her eyes. Their faces were inches apart, Harry's one hand still under Buffy's chin. It was the perfect time; it was the perfect excuse. There was an invisible wall between their faces, though, and each was too scared to cross.

There was a rustling sound that came from the floor where the men were. Buffy and Harry both turned their heads to see the men, still tied up, join hands and chant, "Denaxi hakuum, Denaxi hakuum, Denaxi hakuum." Then they were gone.

"Dammit!" Yelled Buffy, running over to the floor that had lately been occupied by the men. "We should have been watching them. God, can we just get out of this movie?" she said angrily. Harry felt as though she were blaming him, and felt a swell of anger mixed with guilt.

"I would gladly do so. Got any ideas of your own?" Harry said spitefully. I didn't enervate them, thought Harry, distracted by his anger at Buffy.

Buffy shot him a threatening look. "Can we not start this again?" she said acidly.

"Start what? You're the one that thinks you know everything, just because you know how to handle yourself in sticky situations," Harry said, advancing on Buffy so that he was standing right in front of her.

She looked up at him defiantly. "I never said I knew everything. But when it comes to things like this, yes, I know a hell of a lot more than you."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," replied Harry. The room was charged almost electrically as the two stood there, staring furiously at one another, breathing heavily from the anger coursing through their veins. "I don't care what your orders are, I'm going to see that text."

Somewhere inside, they both knew most of their anger was coming from the movie, but the manifestation of their hidden frustrations with one another allowed them to get lost in the script they were now following.

Buffy stood between Harry and the door to the next room, where the text lay on the bed. "Elissa, get out of my way," Sam said.

"That book is government property. There's a reason we stole it, and it's not for either one of us to know," said Elissa.

"Oh yeah? Well without me, you would have no book, so you can just consider this payment for my services," Sam said challengingly, as he stepped agilely around Elissa and towards the door. Before he could make a second step, she had grabbed his arm and twisted it around his back, pinning him face-first against the door.

"Give it up," said Elissa breathlessly.

"Not likely." Sam pushed backwards with his free arm from the door, knocking both him and Elissa backwards. They ended up on the floor, Elissa trying to grab hold of Sam while he struggled to get free. He made a quick roll and at once had pinned her down, his knees on either side of her hips, his hands firmly pressing hers into the ground above her head. He stared down at her, frozen in his anger mixed with lust. She returned the gaze, somehow powerless to throw him off of her though she knew very well she could at any moment.

In that pause they crossed back over the murky line between Sam and Elissa and Harry and Buffy. Through the haze of their eye-lock rational thoughts formed, and Harry rolled off of Buffy and to her side, still panting, staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry. I...I don't know what happened," said Harry quietly, glancing at Buffy.

"Yeah," she returned, turning her head towards his, "Neither do I." She looked back at the ceiling. "But this movie definitely would not have flown in the fifties," she added, thinking about the sexual undertones that had just come to a climax.

Harry sat up abruptly. "I know why Sam wanted to get to the text so badly."

"Huh?" asked Buffy

"Elissa, you have to know something about that text. This is bigger than you and I both," said Harry, launching into the script.

Going through the scene, Sam explained that he was part of a very small group of archaeologists studying a mysterious nomadic tribe called the Panhabes. Artifacts from this tribe showed up in many different places on earth and all dated back to relatively the same ancient time period. Most archaeologists regarded these untraceable artifacts as random anomalies, but Sam and his colleagues connected them back to this tribe. Moscow had yielded an unusually large number of them, and it was believed that the city might have been the original home of the Panhabes. The text, Sam said, might hold the secrets to the origins and powers of the Panhabes.

"The only reason I agreed to help you steal the text was so that I could get a closer look at it. I'm one of the few people that might be able to read it, and I think your government knows that." Sam finished.

"So why don't you just wait until they ask you to?" asked Elissa.

"You don't understand. The powers that the Panhabes were believed to have--it's like they would move their entire town from one side of the earth to another in a day. With information like that a government could take over entire countries. Think about it; an army suddenly materializes in all the major cities of France, defying all defenses and boundaries. The United States would virtually have an all-access pass to the world. Do you trust your government that much?" asked Sam.

"So what? I should trust you instead?" she replied. Buffy herself chimed in, commenting, "At least you're not plotting on killing me by the end of the movie." After a pause she turned to Harry and added, "Right?"

Harry shrugged. "Not that I know of."

"Comforting."

"I try." Harry smirked. "So, I guess I have to read this book now."

About ten minutes later, they had gotten through the next scene, in which Sam explained that the text revealed certain mathematical equations that described the nature of place and space, and how the Panhabes manipulated those equations to basically teleport from one region to another. Eerie background music played as Harry poured over the book and gave his monologue. In truth, Harry couldn't read the book at all, but went along with whatever lines came to him.

After that, Sam convinced Elissa that they couldn't turn the book over to the government, and instead to bring a different text to the exchange the next day. Exiting the script, Harry and Buffy sank down onto the couch, exhausted from their day.

"You know how old people say everything moved so much slower in the old days? Total. Crap," said Buffy as she stared into space. She yawned. "I feel like I've been patrolling a whole day."

"Patrolling?" Harry asked mildly as he yawned contagiously.

Buffy snapped her head over to Harry and was relieved to find he looked sleepy instead of suspicious of her. "Payrolling. I meant payrolling. Hate those damn office jobs," replied Buffy.

Harry's eyes were closed. He mumbled, "Yeah, me too."

Buffy sat there for a while, trying to understand what was going on. This is a Giles thing, she thought. When she started to drift off to sleep, she woke herself and stood up. Harry had slumped down onto his side and was fast asleep. After lifting his legs up onto the couch, she covered him with a blanket and watched him sleep for a few seconds. He curled himself up in a ball, looking like he was trying to protect himself more than getting comfortable. Buffy wondered about him.

She walked to the bedroom. Trying to find pajamas that didn't look like fifties lingerie, she found an exquisite pale green gown in one of Elissa's suitcases. "Not bad," she said to herself. "Last time I put something like this on I was almost eaten. Tommorrow's just gonna be great," said Buffy with equal sarcasm and apprehension. She finally got changed and went to bed, her last thoughts before sleep being about Harry and, as always, Angel.