Harry Potter and the Guardians of the Origin

Chapter Four- Identity Crisis

Of all the things he would remember from that day, the scent of the grass stuck in his memory like a blade forever stuck in his side. He stood there, in a black muggle suit, pretending to listen to the words of the parson, blankly staring off into the distance. It was like the grass was bleeding. The grave dug, the earth torn apart, the grass bleeding.

Ron wished he could have been that person who sheds a single poetic tear. He wanted to hold himself together, to stand there and pretend that he didn't hate everyone else there because not one of them loved her as he did. But when he walked up to the casket and placed his single white rose on it, his eyes burned and then he had his head in his hands and he was sobbing like an infant, unable to be soothed by anyone around because no one could understand his pain.

He shook off the arms that had been placed around him, knowing only by scent that they were Ginny's, and walked away from the casket, away from the funeral, away from the cemetery. When he started thinking again, he thought of Harry. If he knew. If he cared. It was then that Ron exploded, turning to the cement building on his right and throwing his fists at it relentlessly. He did not stop until the wall was red. He watched it drip, slowly making its way to the ground.

* * *

Draco absently ran his fingers along the rough stone wall as he walked down the castle corridor, thinking of his unfortunate upcoming date with Pansy Parkinson. He had tried to dispose of her several times, but every time he insulted her, every time he told her to leave him alone, she would just laugh and tell him how much he couldn't live without her. He usually would stop paying attention, assuming she was about to leave, and then she would find a way to get her hands on him. It was not as if he, Draco Malfoy, was going to deny himself a good bout of sex just because he loathed the bint.

A scream cut through his thoughts, and he stopped and looked around. He had been on his way to do some mixing in the potions lab, but his curiosity quickly made him forget that. Guessing that the screams were coming from the floor above, he went through a small door on his left that led to a small winding staircase. The screams subsided as he exited the staircase through another door. He was in a very narrow hallway now, lit by one torch a little ways down. This was obviously one of the areas of the castle where junior death eaters were forbidden, and his pulse quickened because of it.

He chose the middle of the three doors in the hallway, and found that it was locked. Waiting until the screams started again, he whispered the extricus alohomora charm, made to break through advanced door locks, and the door swung open a crack. Now he could hear the voice of Wormtail, calm and clear, asking questions.

"Whom do you swear allegiance to?"

"The Dark Lord. Voldemort," answered a toneless, expressionless, yet familiar female voice.

"What will you do for him?"

"Anything he asks," she replied plainly.

"Do you love him?"

"Yes, more than anything."

"Why?"

"Because he is my father," she replied in the same empty voice.

Draco's jaw dropped. Voldemort had a daughter? Her voice was so familiar. Wait, no. It couldn't be...

"What is your true name?" Wormtail asked.

"Hermione Granger."

"Crucio!" came Lucius Malfoy's voice. Draco would have known it anywhere. Her screams were so loud now that Draco had to put his hands over his ears to avoid pain. Then they stopped.

Wormtail's question came again.

"What is your true name?"

"Sephissa."

Then Voldemort spoke. "Good," he said, "You're learning so quickly your true identity. Soon you shall help me get what I desire, and I, in turn will give you everything you desire."

"I only desire your happiness, my Lord," came Hermione's voice, this time full of loyalty and devotion.

Draco's mouth was still open. Granger was being brainwashed. She wasn't dead after all, he thought. Holy--the door was jerked open, and his father stood there, glaring at him. "Shit."

Before he could move, his father shoved him across the corridor where he hit the wall, bounced off, and fell to the ground.

"Idiot boy. You should die for this. Just because you can sneak out of doing your duties as a junior, you think you are entitled to the dealings of The Dark Lords proven servants? Cluso Laryn!" Lucius Malfoy bellowed.

Draco clutched at his throat as he gasped for air. He stared up at his father, unable to ask him to stop. The edges of his vision began to blur. Lucius' glare of satisfaction was the last thing he dimly saw before everything went black.

The next thing he knew, he was being kicked in the ribs as he lay on the ground. "Get up, boy!" yelled his father. As he got up painfully, he realized he was in the same corridor, and the door that he had unlocked was now open and the room beyond empty.

"I have discussed your situation with the Dark Lord. He has not decided to kill you now. You should thank him for his mercy," said Lucius.

"I will, Father," said Draco, looking his father in the eye.

"But you will have to earn the continuation of his mercy. Instead of modifying your memory immediately, you will help us with Sephissa, formerly Ms. Granger. Sephissa is now invaluable to the Dark Lord. The experimental charm that Dolohov created has worked as planned. However, there seems to be a regressive stage once every twenty four hours when she becomes her former self regardless of any torture we apply. In order to minimize damage to Sephissa, we are leaving her alone during this time, which we expect to get shorter and shorter until the mudblood Granger finally disappears," lectured Lucius.

Draco processed this. "What exactly did the charm do?" he asked.

"That is none of your concern," his father replied, 'What you will be doing requires no knowledge of the sort. Instead, you will be monitoring the girl during her regressions. You will record their length and try to make them shorter by torturing her at different intervals. I assume you have no objections?"

"No, sir," said Draco.

At that, Lucius turned and walked down the hallway without a word. Draco followed him immediately.

After a few minutes walk through the twists and turns of the castle, they stopped outside a door at which Voldemort stood. Draco got on his knees, bowed his head, and said, "My Lord, I appreciate your mercy."

"Lucius, kill him," said Voldemort, looking down at the prostrated figure of Draco Malfoy. Draco shot his head up, looking first at Voldemort and then at his father. It took a few seconds for Lucius to hide his incredulous expression, but he drew himself up straight and pointed his wand at his son. Draco looked into his father's eyes, trying to hide the hope that sparked behind his cold stare.

"For you, my Lord," Lucius declared. "Avada--"

"Stop!" Voldemort yelled over Lucius' incantation. Silence. Voldemort smiled. "Just kidding," he said mockingly. "I do enjoy the old classics. Now you really appreciate my mercy, don't you, boy?" he asked Draco.

"Yes, my Lord," said Draco. Fucking nutter.

"Good. Now, I assume your father has informed you of your duty. The girl's regression started exactly 11 minutes ago. You will record the length of this period, inflicting torture every half hour in an attempt to halt it. You shall do a demonstration," said Voldemort. He opened the door and went inside, Draco and Lucius following.

Across the room stood Hermione, hands cuffed with chains attached to the walls. She did not look the role of prisoner. Her hair was sleek and brushed and hung lightly on her shoulders that wore a fine deep blue robe over a quite revealing black dress. She glared at them silently through the flickering light of the single torch that lighted the room.

"Hello again, my dear," Voldemort said, lacking any of the affection that usually accompanied such a greeting. "Somehow you've managed to stick around longer than anticipated, an unwanted guest in my home. I should tell you now: there is no hope for you. Soon you will fade away from all existence. No one is coming to save you; no one is missing you. All you are to your friends now is a corpse in the ground. There is no point in holding on." He then turned to Draco. "Now, the Cruciatus curse is far too damaging to be used regularly on such a valuable specimen. No, you'll have to get...creative. Something that causes minimum damage and maximum pain. That is, if you have such talent."

Draco looked at him defiantly, stepped around him as to get a clear path to Hermione, and drew his wand. "Conflago carnis!" he yelled, and a bright orange streak jetted from his wand to Hermione, who immediately fell to the ground screaming, rolling wildly.

When Draco lifted the curse and Hemione's screams halted, Voldemort's high, cold laugh echoed throughout the empty room. "Excellent. I think you two will get along very nicely. Lucius, your boy certainly does have talent. There may be hope for him yet," Voldemort said, pleased. "I think that's all for now. Ah, yes, Draco, the girl is not to know a thing about her situation. Tell her, and I will feed you limb by limb to Nagini. Have a lovely time."

Lucius turned to Draco after Voldemort had left and said, "The Dark Lord is trusting you with his most prized possession. Do not disappoint me, boy."

"I won't, father," replied Draco respectfully.

Lucius left the room, the door slamming behind him. Draco looked Hermione up and down from across the room and raised an eyebrow. "Well, Granger, don't you look impressive. If only Potter could see you now, you might finally get him to notice you," he said, amused.

"If Harry was here now, he would curse you into a form much less recognizable than a ferret. As would I, if I had my wand. You would run like the coward you are," Hermione spat, full of utter hatred.

"I may be a coward, but you're the one chained to a bloody wall fading out of existence. I'm sitting over here, perfectly safe and content, save me being a bit peckish. Now, you tell me who made the right choice. Oh, and do watch your language. I wouldn't want to have to torture you into propriety, mudblood." Draco said.

"You know, at first I was disappointed when I saw that your father was out of Azkaban," said Hermione, eyes burning with anger. "Now I see how scared you are of him, and it's almost worth it to see you squirm in his presence. Scared little Draco, afraid his Daddy might torture him--"

"Crucio!" Draco had jumped to his feet, and stood over Hermione as she screamed with abandon. He lifted the curse. He was out of breath, and a wave of shame hit him as Hermione shook uncontrollably on the ground. He turned away and walked back over to the other side of the room.

Hermione spoke with satisfaction through her ragged breathing. "Hit a nerve did I? Just remember, your father's the one you really wish you could do that to."

Draco had his back to her, and said quietly, "I think it's best if you shut the bloody hell up, Granger." His tone was dangerous.

Not eager to endure more agonizing pain, Hermione decided to take his advice. They sat in silence for another half hour. Then Draco stood up and pointed his wand at her. She braced herself. "Clamo voce!" he shouted.

Hermione found herself screaming uncontrollably, and in such pain that her body was numb to it. But when Draco lifted the curse, clarity hit her. There was no pain. Just screaming. She looked up at Draco with confusion.

"A word from you, and I'll have you wishing you were dead," Draco said. Again they sat in silence, until a half hour later he repeated the same curse. It was a few minutes after this when Draco heard Hermione's voice from across the room.

"Draco Malfoy. I see they have you babysitting the mudblood. Tell me, what does it feel like to be your father's little bitch?" she said, her voice full of malice and amusement. Draco looked up, completely confused. Hermione stood across the room, leaning against the wall luxuriously. "Allow me to introduce myself. Sephissa. Care to unchain me, Draco?" She put out her wrists pleadingly. Draco hesitated. "Or you know," she continued, clasping her hands and placing them over her head against the wall, "We could just take advantage of the situation. You could take everything but the chains off me instead."

Draco stood in shock for about thirty seconds, unable to form words. The he walked over to her and asked, "How do I know you're not Granger?"

She rolled her eyes, swung her arms down around Draco, jerking him against her body, and whispered in his ear, "Because Granger couldn't make you want this body like you do now." She drew her head back, smiling with gratification as Draco ducked under her arms and released her chains with the alohomora charm. "Point made," was all that he could think to say.

"See you tomorrow," she said as she sauntered out of the room. Draco watched her go, still holding the chain, flushed and trying to sort out what had just happened.

* * *

"You are quite the dancer, Mr. Eastly," recited Buffy. She looked up at him and smiled as they moved in a brisk waltz around the dance floor. They were in an elaborately adorned ballroom, full of Moscow's top bureaucrats, the Nomeklatura, as they called them.

Harry tried not to look down past her face as he replied, "Why thank--"

"OW!" interrupted Buffy. "Can't you at least pretend to be able to dance?" They had stopped dancing, and Harry pulled Buffy off the dance floor.

"Look. I have had nothing but bad experiences with dancing. I think if we just sit this one out the movie will move right along. And even if it doesn't," Harry said petulantly, "I am not getting back out there."

"You know you're a real Don Juan, Harry. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet." Buffy sank down into a nearby chair. "Are we gonna get this over with or what?"

"Are you forgetting that you told me we had to wait until a contact approaches you?" Harry said, annoyed.

At that moment, a tall, handsome man with slicked back blonde hair approached their table, and addressed Buffy, "Excuse me, miss, may I have this dance? The stars have foretold it."

"Are you serious?" Harry muttered, registering the resemblance of the man to his least favorite person in the world. "Unbelievable."

Ignoring Harry, Buffy replied happily, "If it's in the stars, then it must come true." She got up and he whisked her to the dance floor. They soon were gliding gracefully around the dance floor, and Harry watched her laugh at something the Draco look-alike whispered in her ear. If there had been a close-up shot of Harry then, the camera would have caught his jaw involuntarily clenching.

Buffy came back over to the table by herself after the dance, flushed and out of breath. "Enjoy your dance?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised.

"If the movie calls for me to dance with my incredibly good-looking CIA cohort, then I have no choice, do I?" Buffy said, feigning resignation.

"Obviously a huge sacrifice on your part. If you're done having at it with imaginary movie men, I think we should get on with the script," said Harry dryly.

"I was not having at anyone," Buffy replied defensively, unsure if that was the movie line or her own.

"Whatever you say, sweet cheeks. Now, can we go up to the room and meet your boss now? I'd like to get this whole thing over with," Harry said, wincing at Sam's horrible taste in epithets.

"Sure thing, sugar muffin," Buffy said mockingly. Harry glowered. His eyes drifted beyond Buffy, falling instead upon four robed men who had just walked into the ball.

"We've got trouble," he said quickly.

Buffy turned her head slowly, and when she saw them, she grabbed Harry and pulled him down under the table with her as covertly as possible. She whispered, "We need to get up to that room without them seeing us to get through the movie. Did you notice how no one else in the room paid any attention?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "They'll be guarding all the doors, though."

"There's got to be a way. Okay, think. What do the spies do in all the movies?" Buffy asked.

"They shoot gadgets at the ceiling, grab the girl, and swing up to the next floor," Harry answered.

"Are you calling me 'the girl'?" Buffy asked indignantly.

"Uh, I think the real problem here," Harry said evasively, "is that this isn't in the movie." He was beginning to think magic was the only way he and Buffy were going to get out of this movie alive.

"I've gotten out of worse situations than this. Gimme a minute to think," Buffy said.

Harry's frustration at having the solution at his hip and having not the ability to use it overcame him. "Look, Buffy, there's something I've got to tell you. About me. In real life. It's going to be hard to believe, but I--"

"Have to go to the bathroom!" Buffy looked over at him excitedly. She had obviously not been paying attention.

"Er, no," Harry said.

"No, look, in all the movies, the people always escape through the bathroom window! We'll just climb out and go back through the lobby," Buffy explained triumphantly.

"Oh. I suppose that would work," Harry replied, deflated.

Harry and Buffy's heads soon popped up over the edge of the table, scanning to see the location of the robed men. They ducked back under the table. "It's like we thought. Two of them at each door. The ladies bathroom looks like our best bet. Otherwise we'd have to cross the dancefloor," Buffy said. Then she added, "Okay, that might have sounded more strategic if it didn't rhyme."

"Lovely. The girl's bathroom," Harry muttered. "Not like I haven't used them for other purposes before." Buffy raised an eyebrow as Harry realized how that sounded. "Not like that!" he exclaimed. He turned and peeked out from under the tablecloth. "There are three women heading this way from across the dance floor."

"Women in packs equals bathroom. We're following them." With that, Buffy grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him out from under the table to join the group of women heading to the restroom. They had to smile nonchalantly at the strange looks they received from the women, but escaped the notice of the robed men. Harry tried to stay behind as Buffy followed them into the bathroom, but she reached her hand out of the door and yanked him inside.

"Sorry ladies, me and my man have to have lots of sex right here, right now. Out!" Buffy proclaimed. The women looked at her and Harry confusedly, turning to each other and questioning each other in Russian.

Buffy looked at Harry, whose crimson-tinted face stared back at her with strangled shock. Making her decision, she walked behind him slowly and stared pointedly at the women, reaching around his chest, caressing it, peeling Harry's jacket off, and tossing it at the women. Erupting into scandalized Russian tirades, the women ran towards and out of the door.

"Did you have to do that?" was the question Harry asked in exasperation as Buffy locked the door.

"Calm down, it was the first thing that came to mind," Buffy said, amused. "I'm not the one who has used the girl's bathroom for other purposes before."

"I was brewing a--" Harry stopped short. With his most sarcastic voice, he then went on, "Actually, you're right. I shagged tons of girls in bathrooms. So what do you say, shall we have a go at it here?"

"I was just kidding," Buffy exclaimed, suddenly flustered. "Can we just climb out the window already?"

"After you," Harry replied, gesturing to the window.

A few minutes later, Harry and Buffy had picked the grass off of each other from their tumbles out the window and reentered the hotel, this time heading upstairs. Taking the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, they quickly found their room, unlocked the door, and strode into a dark, empty luxury suite. Harry turned on the light. Both him and Buffy started, as six grown men were sitting silently in the living room area.

"Evening, Agent Prichet," one of them said.

"Evening, Agent Newport," said Buffy. The air had an electrical charge. "This is Sam Eastly."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Eastly. So glad you could join us." The man wore a smile that held no hospitality in it. "Can I see the text?"

"Here it is," said Harry, pulling a book out of his inner jacket pocket. As the book changed hands from Harry to Newport, the other men all stood up and pulled out pistols.

"What the hell? On whose orders--"

"On the Director's orders, Agent Prichet, I am to obtain detailed knowledge of how to read and operate this book before either of you step outside this room," interrupted Newport.

"And then what, after we give you our one bargaining piece you let us go free with the knowledge we possess?" Elissa questioned.

"I suppose, Elissa, you will just have to trust the agency and your country as you have for the past eight years. Surely, a few days with this...civilian," his tone contemptuous, "has not spun your mind so much that you have completely lost confidence in us?"

"No, it's probably the first few scenes of the movie when you were plotting my death," Buffy replied sarcastically. The agents stared at her as if she had said nothing. Buffy sighed, and impatiently spoke her line, "Last I heard, pulling a weapon on a fellow agent wasn't protocol."

"This is a special situation," Newport said briskly. "Now, Mr. Eastly, if you would be so kind as to tell us all about the Panhabe tribe's transportation methods, as I'm sure you have somehow managed to persuade our colleague into letting you study the text."

"Well," said Harry in a mocking tone, "I'm afraid my stupidity as a civilian has caused a slight hitch in your plan. It seems that I somehow grabbed the wrong text to bring here. Closer inspection will reveal that text is, in fact, in Latin."

Newport threw the book down, infuriated. "Why you sneaking..." Newport trailed off as he advanced on Harry and pistol-whipped him. Harry let out something halfway between a yelp and a growl, and tried to retaliate but his reared fists had nothing to aim at but the barrels of the guns still pointed at him.

"Are you alright Harry?" Buffy asked, standing in place so as to not interrupt the scene.

"Fine," Harry muttered. He wiped blood from where it was streaming down his cheek. He continued on with the script by saying, "Looks like we've got our bargaining piece after all, Elissa."

"On the contrary, your idiot ruse will cost both you're worthless lives," Newport spat, his calm manner having evaporated. He now wore a sneer that reminded Harry very much of Snape. "Kill her now, we'll take him back to their apartment and torture the text's location out of him."

The men facing Buffy cocked their guns. Buffy shot a panicked look at Harry, who then leaped between Buffy and the pistols pointed at her. "Wait!" he said with defeat. "I have the real text here. Let her alone, I'll give you what you want," he said, reaching for the back of his coat and removing the real text from a slit in the inner fabric.

"Sam! You can't!" Elissa yelled, but Harry was already handing over the text. Buffy added, "Why didn't you tell me you brought the real thing?"

"It was the script; It called for me not to tell you. I didn't want to mess it up!" Harry answered in a whisper despite the other characters' oblivion. Newport was in the middle of making some threatening, triumphant speech.

"Well what now?" Buffy asked. "We can't just let them have the book."

"Dunno," Harry said. "The plot should just work itself out through the script, right?" There was a sudden banging on the door. "Unless of course there are non-movie people trying to kill us too. Brilliant."

"Next, line, next line... you don't think I'm just going to let you have that text, do you?" Buffy said breathlessly as she glanced at the shaking door, not listening to the answer Newport gave her.

"Right, well, I was always a better agent than you!" Buffy said as she lunged forward, grabbing the man directly in front of her and turning his gun on him. "Stay down, Sam." Harry had jumped behind the couch a few yards away on cue.

"If the agency was willing to kill you, do you really think anyone's life here is worth this book?" Newport said, pointing his gun at the man now acting as a shield for Buffy. His shot rang out, and the room erupted into chaos. Buffy shot two of the other henchmen, diving behind the couch to join Harry. Harry slid the adjacent coffee table towards him, picked it up, and hurtled it at the three advancing agents. Buffy took this opportunity to shoot one more, and Sam ran over to the counter where he picked up the real text. The door burst open.

Four robed men, now wielding swords, stood blocking the door. Newport and the other agent had just managed to extricate themselves from the remnants of the coffee table. Harry had barely time to register this before he was jerked violently by Buffy's arm pulling him towards a door that led to the bedroom of the suite. A shot narrowly missed Buffy's head as she slammed the bedroom door shut.

"Buffy, door," Harry said quickly as he pointed to another door on the other side of the room that presumably led into an adjacent suite.

Locking the first door, Buffy ran to the second door and kicked it open. Harry gave her an appraising look, and she muttered something about following the script.

"We're supposed to be running for the car, right?" Harry asked as he ran down the flights of stairs behind Buffy.

"Yeah. No clue why," Buffy called back.

"Right."

They made it down to the lobby before being surrounded by the same four robed men.

"Are there like energizer bunnies under those robes or something?" Buffy quipped. Harry and Buffy stood, back to back, eyeing the waiting figures and their swords warily. Harry's mind raced. Gripping his wand in his jacket, he no longer cared if Buffy knew.

"Buffy, just stay behind me--"

"Run, Harry! I can take them!" Buffy interrupted him as she pushed off of him, launching herself at the two men facing her. Harry had just turned his head back from witnessing this to see a shining blade swipe at his head. He ducked into a roll, pulling out his wand at the same time. From the ground he realized the two men had not pursued him, but instead went to attack Buffy all at once. Swords flashed and clanged; Buffy was inexplicably now wielding one of the men's swords, and the group of them moved around in feverish dance that made it impossible for Harry to take aim without the possibility of hitting her.

"Get away from her!" Harry shouted. He jumped up and ran towards them.

It all happened in about three seconds. Seeing him out of the corner of her eye, Buffy yelled, "Harry, no--aggh!" Buffy's sword fell to the ground noisily. One of the opponent's swords had gone through her right shoulder, now streaming with blood. The unarmed man came at her from behind, picked up her slim body, and threw her powerfully against one of the marble columns flanking the lobby. She slid to the ground, unconscious. Harry was sure she was dead.

"STUPEFY! STUPEFY!" bellowed Harry at the swordsmen now advancing on him. They fell unconscious to the ground. Harry did not have time to cast another jinx before the remaining attackers had uttered an incantation and disappeared into thin air. Harry let out a roar of frustration.

He ran to Buffy, now lying in a pool of dark crimson. His face was twisted in anguish as he lifted her head and shoulders into his lap. But when he placed a desperate hand on her neck, he found an undeniable pulse. "Buffy," he breathed, as waves of relief washed over him. He immediately tended to her shoulder, whispering the few healing incantations he had gleaned from his first few weeks of study in New York.

Buffy awoke groggily, feeling a sharp pain in her right shoulder and a dull one on the back of her head. Images seemed to rush past, and she struggled to lift herself upright. She had been lying in the backseat of a car; a car that Harry was now driving very poorly.

"Feeling alright?" Harry said softly.

Buffy rubbed the back of her head as she asked foggily, "What happened?"

"Well," Harry spoke now with a twinge of annoyance, "Contrary to your assurances, four on one battle did not leave you the victor. Can't imagine why. After I took them out, I gathered you up and took you to the car. We're still in this hell of a movie." Buffy was thrown to the side of the car as Harry made a clumsy right turn.

As she hoisted herself upright once again, Buffy's head seemed to clear. "Wait. Are....are you telling me that you saved me?"

"From a certain death at the hands of our favorite disappearing friends? Yes," Harry replied, trying to keep the anger at her disbelief out of his voice.

"Oh. Wait How?" she asked genuinely perplexed. Buffy flew forward as Harry slammed on the brake, coming to a stop right in front of the hotel where they had awoke confusedly the previous morning.

"I know that you're unable to comprehend the idea that I could have accomplished anything," Harry said acidly, "But seeing as we're still stuck in Moscow in the past, I think we have more important things to worry about."

"No, Harry, I didn't-- agh!" She had climbed out of the backseat, but standing up straight proved difficult; her knees buckled and Harry, walking around the side of the car, had just time to throw his arms out to catch her.

Buffy winced as a piercing pain went through her shoulder and then slowly stood herself up straight. "Thanks. God I am such a girl."

"You lost a lot of blood. Lets get you upstairs."

A mixture of confusion and comfort spread through Buffy as Harry led her through the hotel. She had always seen Harry as a sort of Owen, someone who would never survive in her world. Now, however, all the vague notions and strange feelings of communion she had felt with him came back to her. How had he beat off those four men whom she, the Slayer, couldn't? She looked at him furtively as they walked the corridor to their room. His eyes gazed down the hallway cautiously as he walked a little ahead of her with his arm extended backward for her to steady herself. He indeed looked poised for battle.

They entered their hotel room without incident. Buffy lay gingerly on the couch as she and Harry went through Elissa and Sam's dialogue.

"You're CIA friends seem to have abandoned their manners, dear. They tried to kill us."

"I'm aware of that! Do you have to be snide at a time like this? These are probably our last few moments alive. They must be on their way right now!"

"It looks like it's my turn to save our skins. We've got something they don't." Harry pulled the tattered book from his jacket and opened it on the table. "A ticket to anywhere in the world."

"Are you insane? You have no idea how to use that! It will never work!"

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

Elissa did not answer. Buffy, however, did. "WHAT? We're going to Star Wars ourselves out of Moscow with a book?"

"It's Star Trek that they can teleport in." Buffy raised her eyebrows at him as Harry continued, "Anyway, yeah, er, I guess so. It's not such a big deal." He, of course, was not troubled by the concept of disappearing from one place and appearing at another.

"You're insane," said Buffy in agreement with Elissa's line.

"Right. Well, I better get started if we are going to get out of here before they get here." Harry peered at the book, but discerned nothing from the scribbles on the page. He relied on the script as he pressed on, "Well if we are traveling together, we need to be encircled with the skin of an animal. Hmm, a couple of belts should work."

Minutes later, Buffy and Harry were standing in the middle of the room facing each other with two belts surrounding them, forcing them to stand up against one another. Harry's voice was a bit higher as he said, "Ready, Elissa?"

"As much as I'll ever be," said Buffy, whose eyes suddenly refused to meet Harry's.

Harry started to rattle off some kind of incantation. A wind suddenly blew around them, circling them and making Harry shout the words he was uttering as he held the book open over Buffy's shoulder. Above the howl of the wind there was a banging sound. The door burst open, and Newport ran in with at least five other agents, guns drawn. Buffy and Harry had just time to see their amazed faces before the wind completely obscured their view of the room, of everything.

The world was black and howling for about a second, and then it stopped completely. Buffy became aware that her arms were tightly locked around Harry's chest and her face pressed against it, eyes shut. She let go slowly and opened her eyes to look around. They were standing on a small, empty bridge extending over a black canal illuminated by a full moon. On either side of the bridge ancient-looking buildings lined streets that led to yet more bridges. Violins somewhere in the distance played a slow, entrancing song.

"We're in--"

"Venice." Harry finished Buffy's sentence. "I was aiming for Florence, but I guess I mixed up its celestial coordinates in my calculations."

"I didn't think it would actually work," Buffy said amazedly.

"Well, Elissa," Harry said as he undid the belts holding them together, "It looks like your friends aren't going to be able to catch up with us. However, we have a problem."

"And what is that, Sam?" Buffy and Harry were still standing very close to one another.

"Well, this book is your ticket to freedom isn't it? But I'm the one that can read it. You seem to be stuck with me."

Buffy stepped closer to Harry, raising her eyes to his with a smile as she said, "I think I can live with that."

"I am very glad to hear that." The music rose in a crescendo as Harry leaned his face down to hers.

For the rest of his life, whenever Harry had a particularly great kiss, he would always find himself comparing it to this one, and, somehow, he always found the latter to have been superior. Perhaps it was the location, or the music, or the soft moonlight, or the beautiful dress she still wore that felt cool and smooth on his fingers as her wrapped his arm around her. Most likely, it was all these things that made him completely forget who and where he was as his lips met hers.

Buffy was not a stranger to this kind of all-consuming liplock; however, she was not accustomed to the airy, giddy feeling that accompanied this one. Her passion for Angel had always a tinge of darkness in it, a knowledge in the back of her mind that every surrender brought her closer to doom. This night, however, as her lips met his again and again and her hands wove into his warm black hair, despair never came. She knew the hands that slid gently over her back had never been stained with the blood of the innocent.

As though their unawareness of the world around them could make it insubstantial, their surroundings fell away into blackness. Though they did not notice, they were then standing at the front of the movie theatre, just under the screen.

Their lips separated, and their eyes opened. They looked up to see two words written on the screen.

The End.