Chapter 7: From Bad to Worse and the Breakfast of Champions

It was though someone had taken a hot poker and had jabbed it into Harry's brain, twisting it around to prolong his agony. His eyes were shut tight against the pain but bright lights danced in front of them nonetheless. Beneath him the floor became unsteady and his knees buckled under him, tossing him to the ground. His stomach roiled and threatened to let loose his recent lunch.

He'd felt this pain before but only once. On the night that Sirius had died, Voldemort had entered Harry's mind in an attempt to get Dumbledore to kill Harry in order to save the world from Voldemort. It was the link he carried with Voldemort, the other part of the prophecy that the dark wizard had missed. By attempting to kill Harry he had marked that young child as his equal and had bestowed upon him a measure of his own abilities. It had sealed the doubt of the prophecy and had made Harry the target of a mad man.

A shiver raked through him, an effect of the pain, and he curled up inside himself clutching his knees and digging fingernails into skin. He could not hear the cries that he sent echoing through the tiny flat, but he felt Uncle Rupert drop down next to him. Arms wrapped around his trembling body and though they did not cause him any more pain they could not protect him from it.

"Remus, what's happening?" Uncle Rupert's voice tore through the din of fiery agony.

"It's his connection to Voldemort," Hermione answered in a shaking voice.

The arms tightened around him. "Connection! You never mentioned a connection."

Harry felt knives drive through his skull, the pain was going to kill him. Was this Voldemort's newest weapon? Would he kill Harry without ever having to raise a hand against him?

"How are they bound?" Uncle Rupert changed his questioning.

"I..I..," for the first time, Hermione could not answer.

Professor Lupin had no other choice. "When Voldemort went to kill Harry it was a part of the prophecy, that scar marked him as his equal. Now neither of them can live fully while the other survives."

Uncle Rupert was rocking Harry in his arms. "Voldemort is doing this?" he asked softly and Ron gasped at the name.

"He's trying to take over Harry's mind. He's done it before. When Sirius was killed," Lupin answered hurriedly. "I do not know how to block him out."

"You cannot block me out," Harry's lips moved but he could not recall making the sound. "I am inside of him. Soon we will be one." The voice was cold and slurred. Not at all like Harry's changing voice that was attempting to settle into manhood.

That's when bile rose in Harry's throat and he heaved, spilling the contents of his stomach all over Uncle Rupert's tweed suit. His eyes fluttered in their sockets and he felt his once pounding heart begin to slow.

"Harry can you hear me?" Uncle Rupert's voice commanded. "Listen to me Harry. He's possessing you. Possessions are unnatural. Voldemort does not belong in your mind, you can force him out."

"H...ho...how?" Harry stuttered out against the pain and this time it sounded like his voice, tremulous, but his.

"Shut up, Potter," his mouth moved again of it's own accord.

Uncle Rupert shifted Harry in his arms. "Remus hand me that knife."

"What?" Professor Lupin asked surprised.

"Just do it," Uncle Rupert snapped.

There was only silence now and Harry reached for any memory from that night Sirius had died for how he had been able to force Voldemort from his mind. But the pain made concentrating unbearable. Tears were trailing down his face and he tasted their salt on his lips as Uncle Rupert hiked him up.

There was a grunting sound and a moment later a sickly sweat smell filled Harry's nostrils, causing his already queasy stomach to roil even more.

"Blood of my blood," Uncle Rupert intoned in a ritualistic tone.

Something viscous and warm dripped onto Harry's forehead. The liquid was like a balm to his aching head and the snakelike creature pursuing through his mind shifted.

"Heart of my heart," his uncle continued. "By the blessing of Filla I command thy enemy to depart."

A scream tore through Harry's mind and from his already raw throat. Whatever Uncle Rupert was doing it was causing Voldemort pain or distress. "What power is this?" Voldemort's words mimed out of Harry. "You cannot defeat me."

"Blood of my blood," came his uncle's words again, this time stronger and full of frightening depth. "Heart of my heart. By the blessing of Filla I command thy enemy to depart."

"Depart!" Uncle Rupert roared.

"Noooooo!" Another scream curdled the air. It echoed off, however, as though whoever had uttered it had been torn away by a swift wind.

Harry was freed. The pain simmering to a memory. His heart, which moments ago had been beating faintly, was now building up to its usual staccato. The cold sweat that clung to him had mingled with his bile and a wretched stench turned his stomach. He shivered, spent from his recent ordeal.

What had Uncle Rupert done to rid him of Voldemort?

His hand went up to brush his forehead and to clear it of the sticky liquid, but Uncle Rupert's calloused one stopped him. "Our blood must remain mixed, Harry," his voice gave the enigmatic explanation.

"Ron take Hermione outside. You should be safe until dusk, but I doubt it will take that long for Remus and I to clean him up," Uncle Rupert was telling his friends.

"Vampires," Harry said softly.

Uncle Rupert sounded as though his amusement was forced. "It's still day light outside Harry," he reassured. "They'll be safe. Just worry about getting better."

"Will he be alright?" Hermione asked, tears in her voice.

Harry cracked open his eyes and saw that Uncle Rupert, Professor Lupin, Ron and Hermione were all gathered around him with concern written on ever inch of their faces. "Go on, 'Mione."

"Ron and I will be just outside if you need anything," Hermione told him, looking as though she wanted to be as motherly as Mrs. Weasley.

Ron looked pale, but he'd been through this many times having shared a dorm with Harry for five years. But neither Hermione nor Ron had been there with him when Voldemort had taken over his mind on the night Sirius died. "Yeah, mate. Just shout if you need anything."

The door opened and closed, the two young wizards leaving Uncle Rupert and Professor Lupin alone with Harry. He suddenly felt as foolish as a young child who'd wet his sheets. Especially since he'd emptied his stomach all over his uncle. However the Watcher didn't seem to notice, his green-brown eyes fixed on Harry's forehead.

"Can you sit up, Harry?" Professor Lupin asked.

Painstakingly, Harry levered himself to a sitting position. "How?" he asked unable to get his mind around what Uncle Rupert just did.

His old professor and his uncle exchanged a quick look. "Let's worry about that later, shall we?" Lupin said.

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Harry was cleaned up and sleeping quietly in Rupert's bed and the Watcher's hand bandaged when Remus dragged the older man downstairs. He was livid, more angry then he could ever remember being save for the day he thought Sirius had betrayed James and Lily.

"What in the bloody hell did you just do?" he hissed with a dangerous growl in his voice. "What I had to," Rupert answered simply, walking to the couch and pulling the Codex on to his lap. He pulled his glasses off his face with a violent tug and pretended to be intrigued with the text that was still giving them a problem. "Perhaps you ought to tell Ron and Hermione that it's alright to come in."

Remus was not to be daunted by Rupert's supposed facade of calm. "If you've used dark magic on him, so help me, Rupert."

"What would you have of me, Remus? Filla is the goddess of blood, she binds the family together. When I called upon her, I made it so that I could use her power to push Voldemort out of Harry's mind. Without her, Harry would have died. You want to tell me that was wrong. Be my guest, I've heard the recriminations before. But if forced to do so again, I wouldn't hesitate." He put the book aside and replaced his glasses. "While we're on recriminations. Why didn't you tell me about Harry's connection to Voldemort?"

"Rupert..." Remus started.

"Don't feed me the company line. I wary of these games, Remus. Dear Lord, don't you people understand what's at stake here?" Rupert's face was screwed up in a maddening expression of absolute understanding and rage of the fact that no one else seemed to see it as he did. "You are hiding in the shadows as Voldemort is and he's better at it."

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Outside on the flats garden patio, Hermione and Ron sat on the stone bench outside of Mr. Giles' door. Hermione doing her best not to overhear the argument between Harry's uncle and Professor Lupin, Ron cocking his ear with an anxious look in his eyes.

"Reckon we should stay out here for a little longer," he suggested.

Hermione nodded. "You don't think they'll hurt one another do you? After what Mr. Giles did to Professor Snape."

"The git deserved it, if you ask me?"

"That's not the point, Ron."

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Remus knew that Rupert wasn't sharing everything. They were both playing at subterfuge. "What do you mean? 'He's better at it'."

"I may not have been in the wizarding world for years but I do have contacts Remus. As soon as I found out Harry was going to be staying here, I checked up on the previous war against him," he looked down at his clutched hands. "I needed to know specifically how James died and why. No word of a prophecy but they did tell me of Sirius' betrayal."

"It was Peter. They switched Secret-Keepers right before the spell was acted out. Sirius didn't betray James," Remus supplied, having a deep desire to defend his old friend to Rupert.

Rupert could only sigh long-suffering. "That's exactly my point, Remus. You've been playing covert games with a man who breeds them. He knows what he's doing and he isn't going to be tripped up by the likes of a rag-tag allotment of wizards. Harry stopped him the first time by a miracle. They rarely happen twice."

"I don't understand what you expect me to do," Remus fumed softly. "You can't come into the tail end of this horror and start telling everyone how to act. This isn't your business, Rupert."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Remus regretted them. Perhaps out of all the Marauders, he had understood Rupert Giles the best and knew how keenly he had feared his destiny. Remus at the time had been afraid of his own, a werewolf so ill-treated by the wizarding society. To see Rupert so well put together astonished him and he knew that the Watcher would do everything in his ability to keep Harry safe.

"Harry is every bit my business. I will not make the same mistake that I made with James. It should have been me who was Secret-Keeper. It would have been, if not for my idol stupidity," Rupert growled out. "Now either you're with me in this Remus, and I'd say you'd fare a great deal better here then you would in the wizarding community, or you go back to your Order and tag after Snape."

Remus smiled at this last statement. He had been surprised to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione backing him up to protect Rupert from Snape. But apparently their collective dislike towards Snape had overruled any sort of trepidation regarding the Watcher.

"I'd rather face the unpredictability of your Hellmouth," Remus said wryly. "James wasn't the only one who couldn't stand the berk."

"Good. I'm not sure how long the barrier I created will last," Rupert started again, his mind strategically working out loud. "In theory the mixture of our blood, as long as it remains on the assaulted area should seal the spell. But there are always counter spells and I wouldn't put it past Voldemort to find a way around a goddess."

"Nor would I," Remus said, slumping into the nearest chair. "However, it will take him time. I wouldn't be surprised if only a percentage of our world knew the entire truth of magic. That Muggle's can access a great amount of power. Certainly the Ministry wouldn't be entirely comfortably and Fudge would be in a right snit."

"I think the first thing that needs to be done, is you tell me everything that you know about Harry and Voldemort, everything you suspect," Rupert said.

"What about your prophecy?" asked the werewolf. For a long moment he had forgotten that Rupert had a job to do. "Won't Buffy be in later to see how the translation is going?"

"Damn and blast, I do need to return to that," Rupert said, removing his glasses and running a tired hand down his face. "This isn't exactly my finest hour is it?"

"You saved Harry's life. Despite my previous words, I'm thankful for what you did and I know James would have been," Remus answered.

Rupert's rugged face softened. "I appreciate that."

"I'll give you a hand. I'm not much on translating, but anything in English you need referencing, I'd be happy to help."

"But first," Rupert said rising.

"First?"

"You'd better get Ron and Hermione home."

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It was early in the morning when Giles finally found the text that he'd been looking for. His eyebrows hiked up on his forehead as his head jerked from book to book. "This is it," he announced proudly though there was no one to hear his triumph. Remus had fallen asleep hours ago.

He had left his flat so as not to accidently wake either Remus or Harry, leaving instructions with Remus to not let Harry wash away the blood from his forehead. The school library had become his retreat of late and he was thankful that he had retired to his place of employment for it was here that he had found the code for translate the text.

Overhead, through his office's skylight, the first rays of morning light fell upon him in an ironic parody of his newfound epiphany. It also lit up the now cold cup of tea that had remained untouched through his long hours of studying. His suit, which he had exchanged for the soiled one the previous afternoon was now rumpled and there were dark circles lying under his eyes from lack of sleep.

"The Master will rise...." he translated, his head moving to the Oracle of Tibbier to check the translation. "Yes, yes, that's it." He nodded, feeling overly pleased with himself at this moment. "And the Slayer..." he trailed off, that breath of contentment being knocked from him with a gut-wrenching punch. His mind wouldn't allow him to accept what the Codex was telling him. The Oracle of Tibbier must be wrong, this couldn't be the fate of his Slayer. But his mental objections were quietly thwarted by the tiny bit of common sense still left to him.

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Good Lord."

Reaching for his tea, not caring its temperature, his hand paused as the floor beneath him trembled ominously. Staggering to his feet, he rushed to press himself against a door jamb.

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The Master stood before the magical barrier keeping him entombed in the holy prison, his hand pressed against its invisible wall. He could feel it weakening, it would only be a matter of time now for the Anointed One to lead the Slayer into Hell. His head was swimming with the power that he felt rushing through him.

"My time has come. Glory! Glory," he cried. The rattling earth stopped and he turned to his Anointed. "What do you think? 6.4?

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With a jolt, Buffy rocketed from her bed. A residual cloud hung over her, the barest whispers of a dream she could not remember.

"Buffy?" Mom called rushing into her room. It was only then that she noticed the shaking walls and the trinkets sitting on her desk edging closer to the lip.

Mom grabbed her sleep slackened body from the bed and pulled her to her bedrooms door jamb, covering her with her taller form. Huddled under her mother, Buffy waited out the earthquake and struggled to clear the cobwebs from her mind. She would have to call and check up on Xander and Willow, Giles would be at the library; he was always at the library lately. Probably with Harry and Lupin in tow.

As the quaking earth settle, Mom moved away from her. Joyce's long swan-like neck craning up to see if there was any structural damage. "I think it's safe. We should probably call the power and light companies before we turn anything on."

"I'd better go check on Giles," Buffy muttered.

"Mr. Giles?" her other asked questioningly. How Buffy had managed to keep Mom's suspicions of Giles from blaring out to accusations of child abuse, Buffy could never know. Her mother was usually so cautious about the people Buffy hung out with. The Slayer supposed that it had to do with Giles being an authority figure, a librarian nonetheless.

"Yeah, um, he said he'd be there early, you know with the book cataloging thingy and someone should really make sure he's safe," Buffy stuttered out an explanation.

Her mother gave her a proud look and gently caressed her cheek. "Alright, honey. I'm so glad that Mr. Giles is such a good influence on you. Do you want some breakfast before you leave."

"No thanks. I'll just do the breakfast of champions. Or for the people really too busy for breakfast," Buffy said with a smile.

"Coffee," Joyce said knowingly.

"Coffee."