Prompt: Stargate Multiverse, Any, they put an address in the DHD, but that's not where they ended up
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/712125.html?thread=94083773#t94083773
“You know what I’m looking forward to?” Rodney asked.
“What?” John scanned the horizon, P-90 at the ready. Even though their first contact with the natives had gone well, a soldier could never be too careful. The natives reported that they hadn’t been culled by the Wraith in a long time. Given how small their population was, that was understandable. Even if they were technologically primitive, their planet could be useful as an evacuation site in case of an emergency.
“Brownies,” Rodney said. “It’s brownie day in the mess hall. Daedalus came by with real cocoa powder. I heard Lorne talking about it.” He smiled dreamily. “Lorne’s such an amazing baker. He’s going to make a real great wife for someone one day.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” John said. “Lorne is also the champion of the SGC USAF annual boxing tournament four years running.”
Ronon raised his eyebrows. “Really? Whenever I spar with him -”
“You’d probably kick Bruce Lee’s ass,” John said.
Ronon looked confused.
“Never mind.” John checked their surroundings once more, then he, Ronon, and Teyla fell into formation to guard Rodney while he dialed Atlantis.
The gate fired up, no problems, and Rodney sent his IDC through. Since no one was chasing them, they waited three seconds for the gate shield to come down, and then they stepped through.
...And into some kind of medieval prom that was definitely not the Atlantis gate room.
The music came to a screeching halt, and all of the kids - some as young as fourteen, the oldest maybe nineteen - turned to stare at them.
“Rodney,” John said out of the corner of his mouth, feigning a smile, “what did you do?”
“I dialed Atlantis,” Rodney hissed back.
A tall man dressed like, no kidding, Merlin the wizard, complete with bright purple robes and a long white beard full of bells, stepped toward them.
“Hello, travelers,” he said.
“Hi.” John raised one hand in greeting. “I’m Major John Sheppard. This is Dr. Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, and Ronon Dex. We’re peaceful explorers from the City of Atlantis.”
“Atlantis,” the old man said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Welcome to the Yule Ball.”
“I think we might have hit a wrong button and ended up...here, instead of Atlantis,” John said. “So if we could just have access to your DHD, we’ll let you get back to your party and be on our way.”
“DHD?” Dumbledore inquired.
Rodney shaped a mushroom-like device with his hands in the air. “About yea high. Covered with the same symbols as on the gate behind us.”
“Gate?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
“Ring of the Ancestors,” Teyla suggested.
“Some mirrors are gates,” Dumbledore said, “but I am unfamiliar with this Ring of the Ancestors.”
John spun around. Behind them was a massive stone wall, rising to a gothic arch, decorated with silvery icicles and shining snowflakes, and also a full-length mirror with a fancy wrought-brass frame. It looked like something antique from Earth, but not Ancient.
Rodney made a low sound of distress. “But it’s brownie day!”
“We do have brownies,” Dumbledore said. “Please, I am much intrigued by news of Atlantis. Let us speak, and perhaps I can help you find your way home.”
And that was how they found themselves in a dungeon, surrounded by house elves who were plying Rodney with brownies while he argued with a black-haired, hook-nosed man named Severus Snape over teleportation, portkeys, and other traveling magic, and John was thinking things on for Dumbledore over and over and over again.
“These are pretty good brownies,” Ronon said, taking another one from a tiny elf. “Thanks,” he said, and the thing promptly burst into tears.
Teyla shot him a look and tried to console it, and it cried more.
Showing posts with label HP. Show all posts
Showing posts with label HP. Show all posts
Monday, April 18, 2016
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
No. 111
Prompt: Harry Potter, Harry Potter, he decided that Hogwarts was too dangerous and switched schools after 1st or 2nd year.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699131.html?thread=92188923#t92188923
When the Triwizard Tournament comes around, Ron is admittedly dazzled by the beautiful, pale-haired part-Veela girl when the Beauxbatons students enter the Great Hall. He doesn't pay much attention to the other students who come along with her, because they all speak French. There's one boy who looks too small, too young to be eligible to put his name into the cup. If anything, he appears to be some sort of hired companion for another girl, a smaller version of the beautiful part-Veela girl, likely her little sister.
So Ron is surprised when he bumps into the bloke – sleek black hair, bright green eyes, just as pretty as the rest of the Beauxbatons students – and he speaks perfect English.
"Sorry, mate."
"'S all right," Ron says, and then the boy blinks at him.
"Ron? Ron Weasley?"
It's Ron's turn to blink. "Do I know you?"
And then the boy grins, and his smile is so familiar, and he pushes his hair up over his forehead, and Ron sees the lightning-bolt scar.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699131.html?thread=92188923#t92188923
When the Triwizard Tournament comes around, Ron is admittedly dazzled by the beautiful, pale-haired part-Veela girl when the Beauxbatons students enter the Great Hall. He doesn't pay much attention to the other students who come along with her, because they all speak French. There's one boy who looks too small, too young to be eligible to put his name into the cup. If anything, he appears to be some sort of hired companion for another girl, a smaller version of the beautiful part-Veela girl, likely her little sister.
So Ron is surprised when he bumps into the bloke – sleek black hair, bright green eyes, just as pretty as the rest of the Beauxbatons students – and he speaks perfect English.
"Sorry, mate."
"'S all right," Ron says, and then the boy blinks at him.
"Ron? Ron Weasley?"
It's Ron's turn to blink. "Do I know you?"
And then the boy grins, and his smile is so familiar, and he pushes his hair up over his forehead, and Ron sees the lightning-bolt scar.
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
No. 90
Prompt: Highlander/Harry Potter, Methos + Bloody Baron, no one understands why the newest Muggle Studies teacher is respected by the scariest ghost in the castle (or why they sometimes speak in what sounds like gibberish but is actually how the Baron spoke in life)
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/693535.html?thread=91319327#t91319327
Draco Malfoy knows that just because the Dark Lord was defeated by a half-blood doesn't mean that everything he values about being a pure blood is absolute rubbish. Whatever victory the masses imagine for themselves, they are wrong. His way of life, his history and culture are not all evil, and they will never go away. So he skulks through his real seventh year (eighth year, the professors are calling it, the students in it exempt from prefect duty or sports teams or really anything except class and searching for job opportunities for the future) with his Slytherine pride and pure blood pride burning in his heart. He will not make the same mistakes his father made. He will bring honor to the Malfoy name.
There is a new Muggle Studies teacher (what happened to the old one gives him nightmares still, though he will never admit it). The man is young and handsome and utterly refuses to wear proper robes, instead parading about the school in purely muggle clothes - trousers, shirtsleeves, waistcoat, jacket, bow-tie. Judging by the way the mudblood and half-blood students react to him, his clothing is professional and appropriate for a muggle, so Draco keeps his opinion to himself, but he thinks maybe if there were a similar class for incoming mudbloods to learn about pureblood ways, maybe things wouldn't have gone so wrong...before.
Draco steers clear of the muggle studies teacher - and scoffs at any of his turncoat classmates who take his class in the hopes of currying favor with Potter and his crowd. Best as he can tell, the man is a muggle. What was that mad old cat thinking, allowing an actual muggle into the castle, to know about their world?
Or was he a squib?
Draco wonders if there's something he can do, with magic, to persuade the muggle that his has no place in the magical world. Draco isn't a weak wizard, and he's not a stupid one either. His father would never have tolerated it, even if he was constantly battling Granger for the academic recognition he deserved.
So he plotted, and he researched (curses, hexes, pranks from the Weasley shop), and he scouted (where the professor's living quarters were) and one night he was ready. Gathered up his implements, cast a disillusionment charm on himself, and crept up the north tower.
He was just outside the professor's door when he heard it – a musical, rolling babble, like someone was speaking nonsense. Was the professor insane? Someone ought to notify McGonagall immediately.
Draco crept closer, and the professor's door swung open – perfect, he wouldn't have to use the password finding charm, one less clue to lead back to him – and the Bloody Baron drifted out of the room.
Draco froze. He was a Slytherin and even he knew to respect the Baron. And then his heart leapt. The Bloody Baron, a true Slytherin, had come to do Draco's work for him, to purge the castle of the unworthy.
Only the Baron was...laughing? And then the professor emerged from the room, books tucked under one arm, and he was laughing too, and then he spoke that musical babble again, and the Baron responded in – the same language. An old language. One so old Draco had never heard it before (and no Malfoy properly educated in the dark arts could get away without knowing at least Greek and Latin).
Draco flattened himself against the wall as they passed by, sure they'd hear his heart pounding. But they kept chatting and laughing, and the Baron angry was far less terrifying than the Baron happy.
Whoever the Muggle Studies professor was, he wasn't one to be trifled with after all.
Draco waited till they were well out of earshot, and then he took himself off to bed.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/693535.html?thread=91319327#t91319327
Draco Malfoy knows that just because the Dark Lord was defeated by a half-blood doesn't mean that everything he values about being a pure blood is absolute rubbish. Whatever victory the masses imagine for themselves, they are wrong. His way of life, his history and culture are not all evil, and they will never go away. So he skulks through his real seventh year (eighth year, the professors are calling it, the students in it exempt from prefect duty or sports teams or really anything except class and searching for job opportunities for the future) with his Slytherine pride and pure blood pride burning in his heart. He will not make the same mistakes his father made. He will bring honor to the Malfoy name.
There is a new Muggle Studies teacher (what happened to the old one gives him nightmares still, though he will never admit it). The man is young and handsome and utterly refuses to wear proper robes, instead parading about the school in purely muggle clothes - trousers, shirtsleeves, waistcoat, jacket, bow-tie. Judging by the way the mudblood and half-blood students react to him, his clothing is professional and appropriate for a muggle, so Draco keeps his opinion to himself, but he thinks maybe if there were a similar class for incoming mudbloods to learn about pureblood ways, maybe things wouldn't have gone so wrong...before.
Draco steers clear of the muggle studies teacher - and scoffs at any of his turncoat classmates who take his class in the hopes of currying favor with Potter and his crowd. Best as he can tell, the man is a muggle. What was that mad old cat thinking, allowing an actual muggle into the castle, to know about their world?
Or was he a squib?
Draco wonders if there's something he can do, with magic, to persuade the muggle that his has no place in the magical world. Draco isn't a weak wizard, and he's not a stupid one either. His father would never have tolerated it, even if he was constantly battling Granger for the academic recognition he deserved.
So he plotted, and he researched (curses, hexes, pranks from the Weasley shop), and he scouted (where the professor's living quarters were) and one night he was ready. Gathered up his implements, cast a disillusionment charm on himself, and crept up the north tower.
He was just outside the professor's door when he heard it – a musical, rolling babble, like someone was speaking nonsense. Was the professor insane? Someone ought to notify McGonagall immediately.
Draco crept closer, and the professor's door swung open – perfect, he wouldn't have to use the password finding charm, one less clue to lead back to him – and the Bloody Baron drifted out of the room.
Draco froze. He was a Slytherin and even he knew to respect the Baron. And then his heart leapt. The Bloody Baron, a true Slytherin, had come to do Draco's work for him, to purge the castle of the unworthy.
Only the Baron was...laughing? And then the professor emerged from the room, books tucked under one arm, and he was laughing too, and then he spoke that musical babble again, and the Baron responded in – the same language. An old language. One so old Draco had never heard it before (and no Malfoy properly educated in the dark arts could get away without knowing at least Greek and Latin).
Draco flattened himself against the wall as they passed by, sure they'd hear his heart pounding. But they kept chatting and laughing, and the Baron angry was far less terrifying than the Baron happy.
Whoever the Muggle Studies professor was, he wasn't one to be trifled with after all.
Draco waited till they were well out of earshot, and then he took himself off to bed.
Saturday, January 23, 2016
No. 62
Prompt: Harry Potter, author’s choice, “Not Slytherin, please, Mr. Hat,” eleven-year-old Tom Riddle said. “Put me in Hufflepuff.”
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/689043.html?thread=90484883#t90484883
What began with eleven-year-old Tom Riddle's, "Not Slytherin, please, Mr. Hat, put me in Hufflepuff," ended in decades of terrorism, misery, and the entire Potter family save one slain in their own home.
No one had foreseen how the House full of cast-offs and rejects, cobbled together with fierce, unyielding loyalty would band together behind one boy, who had been cast off and rejected. No one could have imagined how that House would rise up to bring decades - centuries, millennia - of remembered pain to bear against a world that had mocked and ridiculed them, ignored them and forgotten them.
Ruthless ambition had its danger. Pursuit of knowledge whatever the cost had been the downfall of more than one witch or wizard. Reckless courage for the sake of glory and fame left many injured in its wake. But the kindness and loyalty of the quiet, gentle, tender-hearted Hufflepuffs was dangerous to no one. Or so everyone had thought.
The boy who'd helped Harry get his trunk onto the train had been very polite, very nice, but there had been something odd in his gray eyes that Harry didn't quite understand. And then he met Ron, and they chatted away, and Harry mentioned the nice boy who'd helped him with his trunk. He ought to say thank you properly, after all. Aunt Petunia had told him so, and while she was wrong about many things, she wasn't often wrong about manners.
"Cedric Diggory?" Ron shivered. "Careful. He's a Hufflepuff. There wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Hufflepuff."
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/689043.html?thread=90484883#t90484883
What began with eleven-year-old Tom Riddle's, "Not Slytherin, please, Mr. Hat, put me in Hufflepuff," ended in decades of terrorism, misery, and the entire Potter family save one slain in their own home.
No one had foreseen how the House full of cast-offs and rejects, cobbled together with fierce, unyielding loyalty would band together behind one boy, who had been cast off and rejected. No one could have imagined how that House would rise up to bring decades - centuries, millennia - of remembered pain to bear against a world that had mocked and ridiculed them, ignored them and forgotten them.
Ruthless ambition had its danger. Pursuit of knowledge whatever the cost had been the downfall of more than one witch or wizard. Reckless courage for the sake of glory and fame left many injured in its wake. But the kindness and loyalty of the quiet, gentle, tender-hearted Hufflepuffs was dangerous to no one. Or so everyone had thought.
The boy who'd helped Harry get his trunk onto the train had been very polite, very nice, but there had been something odd in his gray eyes that Harry didn't quite understand. And then he met Ron, and they chatted away, and Harry mentioned the nice boy who'd helped him with his trunk. He ought to say thank you properly, after all. Aunt Petunia had told him so, and while she was wrong about many things, she wasn't often wrong about manners.
"Cedric Diggory?" Ron shivered. "Careful. He's a Hufflepuff. There wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Hufflepuff."
Friday, January 22, 2016
No. 61
Prompt: Harry Potter, author's choice, if there'd been an official investigation into Quirrel's death in first year and it came out that he'd been possessed by Voldemort
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/688863.html?thread=90460895#t90460895
The inter-departmental memo landed on the desk and unrolled itself neatly.
"It's confirmed, sir. Professor Quirrel was possessed by Lord Voldemort."
"Do not speak his name!"
"Sorry, sir."
"Well, go on. What are you waiting for?"
"Right, sir. The Unspeakables tested the ash. Same residue as was found in the Potter residence in Godric's Hollow eleven years ago. It was definitely him."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, sir."
"Completely sure?"
"Yes, sure. The proof is irrefutable."
"And where is the proof now?"
"Still down in the laboratory with Unspeakable Pollux."
"I see."
"What now, sir?"
"Get me a list of all the Unspeakables involved in the testing. Once they are taken care of, I will dispose of the ashes, and I will alert the others."
"Will you be taking care of the Unspeakables personally, sir?"
"It's better if you don't know. Run along now."
"Yes, sir. Good day."
Once the door closed behind the junior Unspeakable, Lucius Malfoy picked up the memo, flicked his wand, and set it on fire.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/688863.html?thread=90460895#t90460895
The inter-departmental memo landed on the desk and unrolled itself neatly.
"It's confirmed, sir. Professor Quirrel was possessed by Lord Voldemort."
"Do not speak his name!"
"Sorry, sir."
"Well, go on. What are you waiting for?"
"Right, sir. The Unspeakables tested the ash. Same residue as was found in the Potter residence in Godric's Hollow eleven years ago. It was definitely him."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, sir."
"Completely sure?"
"Yes, sure. The proof is irrefutable."
"And where is the proof now?"
"Still down in the laboratory with Unspeakable Pollux."
"I see."
"What now, sir?"
"Get me a list of all the Unspeakables involved in the testing. Once they are taken care of, I will dispose of the ashes, and I will alert the others."
"Will you be taking care of the Unspeakables personally, sir?"
"It's better if you don't know. Run along now."
"Yes, sir. Good day."
Once the door closed behind the junior Unspeakable, Lucius Malfoy picked up the memo, flicked his wand, and set it on fire.
No. 60
Prompt: any book. any. Everyone else who remembers is dead now.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/688863.html?thread=90458335#t90458335
Dennis flinches whenever he sees a kid with a Dark Mark tattoo. Muggle kids run around sporting swastika tattoos, too, and he sees some people sigh and shake their heads, but it's not the same. Most witches and wizards who see the Morsmordre now purse their lips in disapproval; it's a sign of hate, they say, of bigotry and darkness.
But none of them were there at Hogwarts. None of them walked among the corpses of their classmates and friends. None of them watched the light go out of a girl's eyes as the Killing Curse devoured her. They read about it in the history books, listen to the memorial speeches, but none of them remember.
Everyone else who remembers is dead now.
When they finally come for Dennis, he isn't surprised that one of them is a kid with a Dark Mark tattoo. The hissing voice he hears as his world goes dark is one he never forgot.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/688863.html?thread=90458335#t90458335
Dennis flinches whenever he sees a kid with a Dark Mark tattoo. Muggle kids run around sporting swastika tattoos, too, and he sees some people sigh and shake their heads, but it's not the same. Most witches and wizards who see the Morsmordre now purse their lips in disapproval; it's a sign of hate, they say, of bigotry and darkness.
But none of them were there at Hogwarts. None of them walked among the corpses of their classmates and friends. None of them watched the light go out of a girl's eyes as the Killing Curse devoured her. They read about it in the history books, listen to the memorial speeches, but none of them remember.
Everyone else who remembers is dead now.
When they finally come for Dennis, he isn't surprised that one of them is a kid with a Dark Mark tattoo. The hissing voice he hears as his world goes dark is one he never forgot.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
No. 58
Prompt: any. any. shaving for the first time.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687901.html?thread=90361373#t90361373
Harry knew that certain important classes were not taught at Hogwarts. Science. Maths. Geography. Seeing how Ron was actually quite competent at arithmetic, Harry reckoned maybe the basics were taught at some kind of wizarding primary school (or maybe at home, no one talked about school before Hogwarts). But there were some things a young man ought to learn. Like about 'growing up'. All Harry knew about it was from a book Dudley had discarded at the beginning of summer, and it had been full of bright but vague and helpful declarations about growing up and how it all seemed strange but was perfectly normal. So Harry kept his head down, kept his mouth shut as much as possible, and hoped that, on top of the horror of Dolores Umbridge, no one would notice the way his voice kept breaking or he was getting spots.
So naturally, as he was walking down the hallway, Draco Malfoy called out to him, "Trying to grow a rat pelt on your face, Potter? Too stupid to use a shaving charm, are you?"
Harry ducked his head as soon as he heard Draco's voice, ready for a rain of embarrassment, but he pulled up short at the mention of a shaving charm. A funny look crossed Malfoy's face, but then the rest of the Slytherins swept him away.
Harry spent the rest of the day contemplating taking a pair of scissors to the wispy scruff on his face.
Oddly enough, the Slytherins didn't make hay out of Malfoy's latest insults, even though Harry woke up the next day waiting to hear jokes about being a weasel face (and other insults that would spill over to Ron - maybe something creative about using Hermione's hair on his face). But for days and days and days nothing happened, and Harry forgot all about the incident, focused as he was on starting a student rebellion under Umbridge's nose.
So he was very startled one day when he was walking past Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and Malfoy grabbed him and tugged him into said bathroom.
"Malfoy! What the bloody –"
"Shut it, Potter," Malfoy hissed. "Now, I'm only going to do this once, because you were raised by Muggles, and walking around as you are is a disgrace to wizard kind, and the Potters are an old and noble pureblood family." He spun Harry around and frogmarched him over to one of the mirrors, and then he aimed his wand at Harry's throat.
Harry opened his mouth to scream.
"Depilio," Malfoy said, dragged the tip of his wand up Harry's throat like a razor...and there was a sensation not unlike foam, and then a stripe of Harry's skin was hairless.
Malfoy let him go and shoved him away. "Now finish the job." And he stalked out of the bathroom, head held high.
Harry, gobsmacked, thought he heard Malfoy call an imperious greeting to Moaning Myrtle as he went. Then he shook himself off, peered at his reflection in the mirror, and raised his wand.
"Depilio."
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687901.html?thread=90361373#t90361373
Harry knew that certain important classes were not taught at Hogwarts. Science. Maths. Geography. Seeing how Ron was actually quite competent at arithmetic, Harry reckoned maybe the basics were taught at some kind of wizarding primary school (or maybe at home, no one talked about school before Hogwarts). But there were some things a young man ought to learn. Like about 'growing up'. All Harry knew about it was from a book Dudley had discarded at the beginning of summer, and it had been full of bright but vague and helpful declarations about growing up and how it all seemed strange but was perfectly normal. So Harry kept his head down, kept his mouth shut as much as possible, and hoped that, on top of the horror of Dolores Umbridge, no one would notice the way his voice kept breaking or he was getting spots.
So naturally, as he was walking down the hallway, Draco Malfoy called out to him, "Trying to grow a rat pelt on your face, Potter? Too stupid to use a shaving charm, are you?"
Harry ducked his head as soon as he heard Draco's voice, ready for a rain of embarrassment, but he pulled up short at the mention of a shaving charm. A funny look crossed Malfoy's face, but then the rest of the Slytherins swept him away.
Harry spent the rest of the day contemplating taking a pair of scissors to the wispy scruff on his face.
Oddly enough, the Slytherins didn't make hay out of Malfoy's latest insults, even though Harry woke up the next day waiting to hear jokes about being a weasel face (and other insults that would spill over to Ron - maybe something creative about using Hermione's hair on his face). But for days and days and days nothing happened, and Harry forgot all about the incident, focused as he was on starting a student rebellion under Umbridge's nose.
So he was very startled one day when he was walking past Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and Malfoy grabbed him and tugged him into said bathroom.
"Malfoy! What the bloody –"
"Shut it, Potter," Malfoy hissed. "Now, I'm only going to do this once, because you were raised by Muggles, and walking around as you are is a disgrace to wizard kind, and the Potters are an old and noble pureblood family." He spun Harry around and frogmarched him over to one of the mirrors, and then he aimed his wand at Harry's throat.
Harry opened his mouth to scream.
"Depilio," Malfoy said, dragged the tip of his wand up Harry's throat like a razor...and there was a sensation not unlike foam, and then a stripe of Harry's skin was hairless.
Malfoy let him go and shoved him away. "Now finish the job." And he stalked out of the bathroom, head held high.
Harry, gobsmacked, thought he heard Malfoy call an imperious greeting to Moaning Myrtle as he went. Then he shook himself off, peered at his reflection in the mirror, and raised his wand.
"Depilio."
Monday, January 4, 2016
No. 1
(Harry Potter/Stargate SG-1, Harry Potter + SG-1, (AU post-books) Harry somehow manages to get himself transported to another reality and tumbles ungracefully out of Earth's Stargate. http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/683541.html?thread=89973525#t89973525)
"All right, Harry?" Ron asked.
Standing in the Department of Mysteries in front of the thing through which Sirius Black had vanished forever was difficult. He had been a faithful member of the Order of the Phoenix till the end, and the Wizengamot had finally cleared his name. Harry stood before the Veil and listened to its whispers.
"I'm all right," he said.
Hermione cleared her throat. "We can't stay down here forever."
Harry closed his eyes, wished he could hear his godfather's voice one more time.
A woman cried, "Harry!"
His eyes snapped open.
She said it again. No, not his name. She'd said, "Hurry!"
Harry peered at the veil, expecting to see some spectre of a woman. Instead, he saw himself. The Veil wasn't a veil at all. It was a sheer cloth covering for some kind of mirror. For one second, Harry was gazing at his own reflection, and then there was a low humming.
Ron said, "What's that?"
Harry's reflection flickered, and in its place was a woman, but she wasn't a spectre. She was tall and blonde. "Hermione," Harry said, "the veil's really a mirror." He pushed the fabric aside.
Hermione screamed. "Don't!"
The woman in the mirror said, "SGC, this is Carter. We're coming in hot!"
Harry felt that sharp tug behind his navel, like a portkey, and then he was tumbling arse over teakettle down a metal ramp.
In a cement room full of soldiers with guns.
He flailed to his feet. The woman from the mirror was there, followed by a massive black man, and two other men with brown hair and blue eyes who might have been brothers.
A voice from overhead said, "SG-1, status?"
The man with the glasses said, "Where's Vala?"
The other man stared. "Who the hell are you?"
Harry raised his hands like he'd seen In films. "I'm sorry, I think I'm lost."
The man with the glasses blinked at him. "Is it just me, or is that accent familiar?"
"Dr. Jackson," the overhead voice intoned, "are you telling me that Vala was changed into a teenaged boy?"
The other man sighed. "It's possible, sir. There was an Ancient device. It was shiny. I told her not to touch it."
The blonde woman peered at Harry. "Vala, is that you?"
Dr. Jackson smiled gently at Harry. "Everything is going to be fine."
The massive black man, who had a curious golden tattoo on his forehead, raised his eyebrows. "What is your name, young man?"
"Harry, Potter," he said.
Mitchell blinked. "Come again?"
"Harry Potter."
Mitchell winced. "Not Vala?"
Harry resisted the urge to reach for his wand. "No."
Carter furrowed her brow. "Let's see your scar."
Harry reached up, paused. "You know who I am?"
Dr. Jackson turned to Carter. "You do?"
The massive black man said, "You do not?"
Dr. Jackson's brow furrowed. "Teal'c, do you know him?"
Teal'c raised his eyebrows. "I am familiar with his life story."
"The scar, kid," Mitchell said.
Harry pushed his fringe up off his forehead.
Carter peered more closely at him. "It looks real."
Mitchell groaned. "Of course it is." He gazed up at the window overlooking the cement room. "Sir?"
"Get cleared by medical, and then escort our guest to a VIP room while we sort this out." The overhead voice sounded worn-out. "Any theories about how this happened, Carter?"
She turned to Harry. "Are there stargates where you come from?"
"Never heard of them."
Dr. Jackson said, "Did you happen to touch a strange mirror?"
Harry blinked. "How did you know?"
Mitchell smiled. "Quantum mirror. Piece of cake. C'mon, Boy Who Lived. Let's get you checked, fed, and then we can send you home, and we can get Vala back."
"Am I in America?" Harry asked. He followed Mitchell down the ramp. At a command, the other soldiers lowered their weapons and stepped back.
"Yes," Dr. Jackson said, "but probably not the one you're thinking of. Do you know Sam and Mitchell?"
"Sam?" Harry echoed.
"Major Carter," Dr. Jackson amended.
"No," Harry said. "I don't really know any Americans."
Dr. Jackson looked confused.
Teal'c placed a massive hand on his shoulder. "You may borrow my books, Daniel Jackson."
"Books?" Dr. Jackson echoed.
"Indeed." Teal'c turned to Harry. "Harry Potter, are you able to cast magic in this universe?"
Harry, who had started to reach for his wand, paused. "What do you mean, this universe?"
"All right, Harry?" Ron asked.
Standing in the Department of Mysteries in front of the thing through which Sirius Black had vanished forever was difficult. He had been a faithful member of the Order of the Phoenix till the end, and the Wizengamot had finally cleared his name. Harry stood before the Veil and listened to its whispers.
"I'm all right," he said.
Hermione cleared her throat. "We can't stay down here forever."
Harry closed his eyes, wished he could hear his godfather's voice one more time.
A woman cried, "Harry!"
His eyes snapped open.
She said it again. No, not his name. She'd said, "Hurry!"
Harry peered at the veil, expecting to see some spectre of a woman. Instead, he saw himself. The Veil wasn't a veil at all. It was a sheer cloth covering for some kind of mirror. For one second, Harry was gazing at his own reflection, and then there was a low humming.
Ron said, "What's that?"
Harry's reflection flickered, and in its place was a woman, but she wasn't a spectre. She was tall and blonde. "Hermione," Harry said, "the veil's really a mirror." He pushed the fabric aside.
Hermione screamed. "Don't!"
The woman in the mirror said, "SGC, this is Carter. We're coming in hot!"
Harry felt that sharp tug behind his navel, like a portkey, and then he was tumbling arse over teakettle down a metal ramp.
In a cement room full of soldiers with guns.
He flailed to his feet. The woman from the mirror was there, followed by a massive black man, and two other men with brown hair and blue eyes who might have been brothers.
A voice from overhead said, "SG-1, status?"
The man with the glasses said, "Where's Vala?"
The other man stared. "Who the hell are you?"
Harry raised his hands like he'd seen In films. "I'm sorry, I think I'm lost."
The man with the glasses blinked at him. "Is it just me, or is that accent familiar?"
"Dr. Jackson," the overhead voice intoned, "are you telling me that Vala was changed into a teenaged boy?"
The other man sighed. "It's possible, sir. There was an Ancient device. It was shiny. I told her not to touch it."
The blonde woman peered at Harry. "Vala, is that you?"
Dr. Jackson smiled gently at Harry. "Everything is going to be fine."
The massive black man, who had a curious golden tattoo on his forehead, raised his eyebrows. "What is your name, young man?"
"Harry, Potter," he said.
Mitchell blinked. "Come again?"
"Harry Potter."
Mitchell winced. "Not Vala?"
Harry resisted the urge to reach for his wand. "No."
Carter furrowed her brow. "Let's see your scar."
Harry reached up, paused. "You know who I am?"
Dr. Jackson turned to Carter. "You do?"
The massive black man said, "You do not?"
Dr. Jackson's brow furrowed. "Teal'c, do you know him?"
Teal'c raised his eyebrows. "I am familiar with his life story."
"The scar, kid," Mitchell said.
Harry pushed his fringe up off his forehead.
Carter peered more closely at him. "It looks real."
Mitchell groaned. "Of course it is." He gazed up at the window overlooking the cement room. "Sir?"
"Get cleared by medical, and then escort our guest to a VIP room while we sort this out." The overhead voice sounded worn-out. "Any theories about how this happened, Carter?"
She turned to Harry. "Are there stargates where you come from?"
"Never heard of them."
Dr. Jackson said, "Did you happen to touch a strange mirror?"
Harry blinked. "How did you know?"
Mitchell smiled. "Quantum mirror. Piece of cake. C'mon, Boy Who Lived. Let's get you checked, fed, and then we can send you home, and we can get Vala back."
"Am I in America?" Harry asked. He followed Mitchell down the ramp. At a command, the other soldiers lowered their weapons and stepped back.
"Yes," Dr. Jackson said, "but probably not the one you're thinking of. Do you know Sam and Mitchell?"
"Sam?" Harry echoed.
"Major Carter," Dr. Jackson amended.
"No," Harry said. "I don't really know any Americans."
Dr. Jackson looked confused.
Teal'c placed a massive hand on his shoulder. "You may borrow my books, Daniel Jackson."
"Books?" Dr. Jackson echoed.
"Indeed." Teal'c turned to Harry. "Harry Potter, are you able to cast magic in this universe?"
Harry, who had started to reach for his wand, paused. "What do you mean, this universe?"