Storage Space

Fic: A Search's End

Sat, 08 Dec 2007 14:46:14 GMT

Title: A Search’s End
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or Final Fantasy VIII
Summary: Laguna Loire wasn’t what Ginny expected. Or who.
Pairings: Past Harry/Ginny, past Laguna/Raine, hinted at Neville/Luna
Warnings: Angst, mentioned character death
Universe: A Flip of the Broom
Author’s Notes: I never thought I’d write in this universe again. If my computer hadn’t died, I wouldn’t have. This came to me as I was copying everything from the net onto this computer. I began to wonder what would happen if someone went looking for Harry and what the effects Ultimecia’s time compression spell might be, and this was born.

A Search’s End

Laguna Loire wasn’t what Ginny expected. Or who.

She expected another Fudge clone with an “I’m ever so sorry, my dear, but I can’t simply spare the resources right now.” Or another Rufus Shinra with his smug smirk and overzealous bodyguards and pet mad scientist. Maybe, if she was lucky, a Dumbledore type with twinkling eyes and an open mind and willing to help.

She hadn’t expected twinkling green eyes. Hadn’t expected his sad smile. Hadn’t thought to look for the flash of recognition in his eyes, or the odd way he tensed and relaxed all at once that was something only he could do. She hadn’t expected the hints of grey by his temples, saying it had been far longer for him than it had for her.

Ginny hadn’t expected to find Harry.

She numbly sat on the edge of the chair he gestured to as he smiled up at his advisor built like muggle wrestler. A silent argument ensued, the kind she had once shared with him during their all too brief relationship. Loire—because he couldn’t be her Harry; he just couldn’t be—won. The advisor left, gifting her with a glare that said volumes about what he would to do her if she hurt President Loire as he passed her chair, and then…

She was alone with Loire, because he was not her Harry. He wasn’t!

Loire sat back in his chair, fiddling nervously with the pen in his hands, smiling at her in a sad way she recognized from Neville just back from Luna’s grave. He was still tense yet relaxed in that only Harry way, the way Harry had been every year in school, wanting to just be with Ron and Hermione but wary of the hex to the back that always came.

Ginny wanted to cry and scream and rage Loire wasn’t Harry, but a small part of Ginny knew Loire was wary of a hex to the back because of her and what she meant for the life he had built here. She was the hex he was waiting for to hurt him, to ruin his life. She was the reason he had slipped into defensive/protect mode.

“My fifty-third birthday is next week,” Loire said softly, not looking at her but one of the two pictures sitting on his desk. His silver wedding ring caught the light as he dropped the pen carelessly on his desk and traced the frame surrounding one picture. “I gave up looking for a way back years ago. I think…no, I know the day I woke up and saw Raine for the first time is the day I quit looking.”

He sighed as he looked up to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry, Gin.”

Ginny closed her eyes, trying to block the sight of him out, to block out the pain. The affection and love in the way he said her name was pale in comparison to what she remembered, but it was there. She couldn’t lie to herself now. He was Harry; he simply wasn’t hers anymore.

Pretending her lips weren’t trembling with the effort to not start bawling like she had when Harry first disappeared, she smiled and opened her eyes. “Can I meet her?”

This time it was Loire who closed his eyes for a moment. Then he looked at her with watery green eyes, his smile sad and full of grief and longing. “She died twenty five years ago, twenty six this August,” he murmured, twisting his ring around his finger. Loire flicked his hand up for just a moment and shrugged as he said, “Pathetic, huh?”

Ginny’s half formed scornful thoughts and rising shriek died at the way his eyes begged her to say “No, it’s not pathetic; it’s right”. Twenty five years. Twenty five years and he still wore his wedding ring. He still loved her.

The lioness in Ginny demand she hurt him the way she was hurting, but she couldn’t do that to him. She loved who he had been too much.

“No,” she said with a slight shake of her head, “It’s not pathetic. It’s romantic.”

Loire completely relaxed and smiled, really smiled at her. A beautiful, warm, goofy, Harry smile.

And then, just like when they were at Hogwarts and first dating, his eyes clouded over in thought, realizing seconds too late what he was doing and how much he had hurt her. Older, wiser, but still so much Harry underneath it all. “Gin…”

Suddenly Ginny was laughing and crying. Slipping out of her chair and onto the floor, unable to stop laughing at the absurdness of it all and crying from the loss.

He had grown, changed, taking her Harry away and leaving this man in his place, only little bits and pieces of Harry were left.

Laguna Loire was a complete stranger. Her Harry was gone. Bits and pieces were left, but he was gone.

Now she was just crying.

He shot out of his chair and walked around his desk, causing her to giggle brokenly once around a sob as he stumbled over his own feet in his rush to reach her, and sat down on the floor next to her. He stroked her hair a few times before dragging her onto his lap, holding and rocking her and whispering useless apologies in her ear as she cried into his shoulder. She cried herself to sleep, never letting go of the man who had been Harry, unable to stop her thoughts from racing around in a never ending loop.

She hadn’t been lying to herself.

Laguna Loire wasn’t her Harry.

Her Harry was dead.

Fic: Family Reunion

Wed, 14 Nov 2007 19:36:07 GMT

Title: Family Reunion
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: “I’m not allowed to date outside my species.”
Characters: Angel, Xander, Harry
Warnings: crack, past Harry/Voldemort, tipsy Harry.
Author’s Notes: This is the type of story that gets written when I’m on a sugar and caffeine high. If anyone else sees potential here, feel free to take the bunny and run with it. I’m still trying to figure out how my NaNo bunny birthed this bunny to do anything more with it. I don't even know how Spike got his hands on Harry, just that he and Dru had a falling out somewhere in Surrey and Spike was lonely, drunk, and bored, making kidnapping a wizard seem like a good idea.

Family Reunion

“I’m not allowed to date outside my species.”

Angel froze. Of all the things he had expected to hear in response to his offer, that wasn’t it. Xander’s stumbling out of the Bronze’s back door said he hadn’t expected the boy to say that, either.

He had followed the teenager out of the Bronze, intending to follow him home to ward off other vampires. The boy wasn’t wearing a cross, wasn’t carrying a stake, didn’t have so much as a vial of holy water in his pocket. Marked him as odd in Sunnydale. Even the two lone atheists in town wore crosses, but not this boy.

Two steps outside the door, the boy had stopped, glaring a vampire trying to convince a blonde to go to a dark corner. The vampire had taken one look at the boy and took off running, leaving his meal behind.

Curiosity peaked, Angel offered to walk him home, stalking plans temporarily on hold, and was hit with the species line.

“What?”

The boy shrugged, his green eyes sparkling with laughter at Angel’s flummoxed expression. “After my last boyfriend tried to end the world and I was expelled from Hogwarts, Dad said I had to stick to humans.” Another shrug. “Don’t know why. Humans can be evil, too. Tom was human...once. Of course, I didn’t know I was dating Voldemort in his human form. If I had known that, I wouldn’t have agreed to meet him again. Great shag; his true form was ugly as hell but...you really don’t need to know all that.”

“You dated Voldemort?” Angel demanded incredulously, wondering if vampire hearing went with age. He had never heard of it happening, but he couldn’t have heard the boy correctly.

“Yeah,” the boy said sadly. “Our fourth date went bad when I found out who Tom was and he tried to kill me to open up a new Hellmouth in London. I kinda had to kill him then. He was the last in a long line of bad boyfriends. Fulfilled the prophecy, though.” Here the boy pouted. “I think that’s why they expelled me; Dumbledore figured they didn’t need me around anymore and Dad scares him.”

Angel twitched. Then again. He couldn’t bring himself to care when he heard Xander start snickering. Xander didn’t know what the boy’s little speech meant.

Harry Potter was in Sunnydale.

Where Harry Potter went, his father went first. His overprotective, bloodthirsty, chain smoking, vampire father.

Angel twitched for a third time, wondering if Buffy was worth this.

Spike was in Sunnydale.

“Spike’s here?”

Harry nodded, beaming. “You know my dad?”

Angel winced and admitted, “I’m Angel.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned. “I’m definitely not allowed to date you, then. That’s like incest or something.” He pouted and crossed his arms, muttering, “It’s always the cute ones.”

“I offered to walk you home because you don’t have a cross or stake,” Angel said quickly, hyper aware Xander was hovering nearby. “I wasn’t asking you on a date. I have someone. Sort of.”

“I have my wand,” Harry said, pulling said wand from his pocket. He then tucked it up his sleeve and glared at Angel. “But if you still want to walk me home and explain why Auntie Dru and Grandma Darla sent me Christmas and birthday gifts and you didn’t, I wouldn’t mind that. Unlike the rest of the family, I still care when my birthday comes around.”

“This would be a bad time to mention he staked Darla last week, wouldn’t it?” Xander volunteered from behind Angel.

Harry’s eyes glazed over with tears and he sniffled before diving into Angel’s arms, seeking comfort. Angel didn’t react right away, expecting a wand to the gut, but when Harry’s tears turned into sobs, he awkwardly hugged him and started patting his back.

Angel tried not to gag as the kid got snot and tears all over his shirt. He had heard the rumors about Spike’s son not being quite sane (what human raised by vampire wouldn’t be a little on the strange side?), but this was ridiculous. What sane human sought comfort from his grandmother’s killer? Even though said grandmother was a vampire and had been technically dead for years and the killer could be called the boy’s grandfather.

Hopefully Harry was drunk and this behavior was not normal. Angel didn’t smell any, but it wouldn’t be the first time an underage wizard used magic to get alcohol and then used it to hide they had been drinking in the first place.

Angel glared at Xander over Harry’s head, promising revenge. Xander just grinned and waved as he went back inside, confident he had ruined Angel’s night and intent on telling Buffy everything he had heard.

Angel sighed. First he needed to get Harry home so Spike could deal with him, get their obligatory fight over with, and then he could come back and do Buffy damage control.

This was going to be a long night.

Side Effects Drabble

Fri, 09 Nov 2007 15:05:46 GMT

Side Effects Tidbit: Chicobo Grooming
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Timeline: Takes place during the Winhill side quest.
Characters: Selphie, Harry, a chicobo
Warnings: Fluff

Selphie giggled as the chicobo cheeped and squirmed, as if it was being tickled, while Harry groomed it with his fingertips. It was so cute! “Done this before?”

“I have a pet owl,” Harry said, pulling a loose feather free and tossing it aside. “I usually do this for her once a month, and she always bites me when I do it wrong.” The chicobo made a move to nip his hand, and he tapped its beak with a finger. “No,” he said firmly, stroking the feathers one last time to check for any other dead feathers.

“Time to let him go?” Selphie asked when Harry sat back.

Harry nodded, and Selphie put the small bird on the ground. It stood still for a moment, then suddenly spun in place, twisting its head around and lifting its wings, chirping in excitement. It did a small jig and chirped again before running down the narrow path into the sunflower fields.

Selphie stared after it and let out a wail of disappointment. “I left my camera on Garden!”

Harry laughed.

Fic: Side Effects, Chapter Seven

Sun, 07 Oct 2007 05:57:16 GMT

Title: Side Effects
Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy VIII or Harry Potter
Summary: After killing Voldemort, Harry had planned on taking a long overdue vacation. However, Harry is Fate’s favorite toy, and she has plans. Two hexes and an accidental portal later, Harry finds himself dropped in the middle of another reality where people fear magic and a Sorceress is intent on taking over the world.
Pairings: one sided Quistis/Squall, hints of future Irvine/Selphie
Warnings: Swearing, death, violence, and eventual slash as the main pairing.
Author’s notes: *does the happy dance* I finished the breakout! I finished the breakout! I finished the breakout! Okay, I’ll stop now. What you really need to know is I played around with Quezacotl’s summon, how Squall’s gunblade work, and the effects junctions have on weapons. It will affect all weapons in the story, the gunblade just happens to be the first example that came to mind when writing this chapter. Oh, a squinch is a cross of a squish and a crunch.
Chapter Notes: Harry and Quistis have a mini-clash, Irvine feels like an idiot, Squall has weapon attachment issues and scares the shit out of everyone. And of course, a creepy teleporting dog and a game of Hit the Pedestrian.

Chapter Seven:

Living in this place is a bigger culture shock than the one I got when I went to Diagon Alley for the first time. This world appears muggle on the surface, but a few days here proves it’s not. They think everything’s muggle and completely non-magical. I think magic is woven into every aspect of their lives and they don’t know it because they’ve never had a true muggle world to compare it to.

Without being charmed (It’s not; I checked), Squall’s gunblade wouldn’t work back home—It shouldn’t work here! When he has nothing junctioned to his elemental attack, there’s a sound like a bullet firing and the blade does this jiggle thing that should break his wrists but doesn’t. When he has elemental magic junctioned, there’s the jiggle and an explosion from the gun portion of his gunblade of whatever element he’s using—Water-a splash; fire-big flames; ice-a shower of ice crystals; etc, etc. Amazingly, none of this hits him; it’s all focused on whatever or whoever he’s fighting. According to the laws of physics (what little I know of them) that’s just not possible.

But it is here. I want to say magic’s woven into everything and melded with science to create a bastard child (magience?) so now every aspect of their lives is magical and muggle and just strange. I tried explaining this to Squall, but he didn’t understand. I think he would have to see my world to know how limited magic and science are there, to experience how limited those with and without magic are, before he could understand why things here throw me so much. (Humans should not be able to be hit with an explosion of magical fire and walk free of it with hardly a scratch or singed hair! I don’t give a flip what they have junctioned!)

Yes, this does have everything to do with why I wanted to scream like Pansy Parkinson seeing Draco as a ferret throughout the jailbreak. I don’t care what Xu says, those things were not birds. They are unnatural and don’t belong here.

The scary part is I don’t know if it’s my magic saying that or if it’s me. It’s gotten rather vocal about things it likes and doesn’t like as of late. Sometimes I’m not sure if my reactions are mine or not. It started in the prison because I opened my big mouth and volunteered myself…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“They’re setting up a trap,” Rinoa said flatly, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

There was a moment of silence where the group mourned the loss of what had felt like a perfect escape. Then Selphie turned the computer back on, bouncing once in a decisive way that had Harry wondering if she was related to Zell.

The others took that as their cue to start planning. Rinoa and Irvine tried to recall every detail they could from the prison’s blueprints and ran through some very basic plans, some quickly dismissed, others put aside for more thought. Zell groaned as he crouched down to punch the floor, before taking a deep breath and joining Rinoa, asking if it was possible to sneak out the way Irvine and Squall had come in. Quistis murmured ideas under her breath at Squall, eventually abandoning the silent teen to join the discussion happening by what Harry was starting to think of as Selphie’s computer.

Their voices became background noise as Harry, curious and a bit bewildered by the reactions his and Rinoa’s comments had produced, watched Squall and his herd of Moombas. Instead of babbling out ideas like the others, Squall was bent over a computer in the other workstation, typing slower than Selphie with a small frown marring his face as he studied what was on the screen.

Squall suddenly straightened and fixed his gaze on Harry. He raised one eyebrow in a silent question. Harry shook his head; Squall couldn’t be thinking…

Squall shifted his stance and tilted his head a little to the right, his lips forming a barely there smirk and eyebrow still raised, making his expression more of a silent challenge than a question. Harry closed his eyes, counting backwards from fifty. He wanted a chance to prove he wasn’t useless, and Squall was giving him a similar look to the one McGonagall used when she wanted him to push his magic to its limits. Squall wanted something from him. Something big. Something that might prove he wasn’t a complete waste of space.

Harry opened his eyes and walked to where Squall was standing. He tried to imagine every possible ambush situation he could. They all involved the bridge in some fashion, the two most likely depending on how their group crossed the bridge, and he didn’t know enough about this world to come up with all the possible scenarios.

Shifting his grip on Carbuncle so he was cradling the animal in his arms instead of resting him on the bag and balancing him with one arm, Harry stopped next to Squall and murmured, “It depends on what you want me to do. I can’t apparate to someplace I’ve never been or seen, the same with portkeys.”

“And those are?” Squall asked in an equally quiet voice, watching the others.

“Magical forms of transportation. Apparition is teleporting from one place to another, usually only good for one, maybe two people at a time, and portkeys are objects with a similar spell cast on them capable of carrying large groups of people. Both have some serious risks, and those risks are quadrupled when the caster doesn’t know the exact location they’re going to,” Harry explained. “If Selphie can get images from the cameras, I might be able to create portkeys for everyone. Although I don’t know how accurate they’ll be since I don’t have my wand,” he finished sullenly. Merlin, he hated being helpless, and without his wand, he felt as useless and helpless as a Grindylow out of water.

“Maybe as a back up,” Squall said, dismissing both ideas with a small shake of his head. He turned back to the computer and pressed a few keys, bringing up a basic schematic of the prison. When Squall tapped the screen, Harry noticed something about the prison’s design he hadn’t when Squall and Irvine were studying the blueprints: three long shafts represented by pale blue shading below the towers.

He shifted his hold on Carbuncle again, freeing one hand, and traced the image on the screen. If he was reading it correctly, and Harry wasn’t all that sure he was, sometime since they entered the prison the towers had doubled in height, doubling the basement shafts below as well.

“Wha…” Harry turned his frown on Squall. “I don’t understand. What is this?”

“It’s a submerging system. The buildings are typically kept at the halfway point,” Squall said, tapping midway up one of the towers, “like they were when we entered. They’ve been raised to their greatest height.”

Harry studied the image. He used his free hand to trace one of the hollows, his mind racing through the new possible situations this created. They didn’t just have to worry about the soldiers collapsing the bridge, but lowering the towers while they did it. If the fall didn’t kill them, they had a chance of getting sucked down into the empty shafts and crushed as the towers screwed back into the ground. “The buildings’ design almost makes sense now. Why didn’t I see this on the blue prints? Why didn’t we feel it?”

Squall shrugged in response to Harry’s questions and said, “The bridges automatically collapse when it’s activated.”

Harry sighed softly. He had a fairly good idea what Squall wanted, but he didn’t know if he could do it. If he has his wand, it wouldn’t have taken much to freeze the bridge in place if it started to collapse as they were crossing it. If one tower was lowered while the others stayed in place, he could also freeze then stretch the bridge so it would stay connected. If Carbuncle agreed to help him focus, it might still be possible, but Harry was missing something about this. Something vital Ron would typically think of, then tell Hermione so she could ask any and every question about it to get the particulars they needed to form a plan.

Harry sighed again. This was the kind of thing that made the three of them such a good team. He was the powerhouse, Ron was the strategist, and Hermione was their library. They knew each other inside and out, how to balance each other’s faults, how to adapt when one of them was injured…

‘Not now,’ Harry thought, gently pushing his panic and fears to the back of his mind. He would pay for it later in the form of nightmares, but nightmares were better than dying because he couldn’t focus.

“You want me to keep the bridge in place when it collapses. By stretching it, freezing it, something along those lines,” Harry guessed, looking up at Squall.

Squall nodded. “Can you?”

“I don’t know. Is there anything you aren’t telling me?” Harry asked, staring at Squall with narrowed eyes. He huffed when Squall said nothing, as good as a yes in Harry’s book. “What aren’t you telling me?” he demanded.

“There’s a small chance the bridge is made of the same metal as the gates from the sewers,” Squall said. “However, it’s more likely only parts of the bridge contain it. The material is too expensive and sorceresses are too uncommon for the entire bridge to be made of it.”

He paused, a small frown on his face as he looked at something over Harry’s shoulder. “What, Quistis?”

Harry silently strung together a list of curses Ron would have been proud of as he turned around.

Quistis’s expression was blank and professional, only slipping when she looked at Harry. He met her small sneering glare with one of his own. He didn’t know what her problem was with him, but it was going to come back to bite him in the arse if he didn’t figure it out so he could confront her about it or figure out how to avoid it.

Harry stifled a gag when she looked at Squall and smiled slightly. ‘Oh Merlin, not another one,’ he thought, wrinkling his nose. Carbuncle let out a short series of chirps and a sneeze, his version of a laugh. Missing the looks Quistis and Squall exchanged, Harry looked down at the GF in surprise. It could still hear his thoughts while summoned?

“Selphie’s found something you might want to see,” Quistis said, stepping back and motioning to the other workstation.

Squall immediately left, the Moombas not far behind. Harry made to follow, but Quistis laid a hand on his arm, snagging his shirtsleeves with her nails. She jerked her hand back seconds later when Carbuncle snapped at her fingers and hissed at her.

“You could have asked me to stay,” Harry snapped, stepping back so she couldn’t grab him again.

Quistis pursed her lips, her expression saying she didn’t appreciate a complete stranger and an animal critiquing her manners. “What did you do to Squall?”

Harry frowned again, confused by the question. “Huh?”

“It’s not like him to help people,” Quistis clarified, tucking hair that had fallen free of its twist behind her ears. “So what did you do to him?”

“Oh,” Harry said softly in understanding. Then his brain processed her question. “What! I didn’t do anything! What makes you think I did?” he demanded a little louder than he had intended.

“Quistis! Harry!”

Quistis and Harry both jumped at Squall’s voice, and the unspoken order to save it for later in it. After shooting Harry a dark look that said she was far from done, Quistis stiffly walked over to the computer to stand next to Squall.

Harry slowly followed, shrugging when Squall looked at him and raised his eyebrows. He honestly didn’t know what Quistis’s problem with him was, though he suspected it was a lot like Rinoa’s problem with him—he simply couldn’t decide if it was a terrorist/mercenary thing or a crush-on-Squall thing. One thing he did know was he was sick of being thought of as the bad guy when he hadn’t done anything other than exist to earn the title.

“...robots lined up. Even if we make it across the bridge, we’re gonna have some problems. We need to figure out what to do before we leave,” Selphie was saying as Harry arrived. She was pointing at an image on the computer screen of a room that was almost an exact replica of the one they were in.

Harry fixed his gaze on the blue thing on the screen she had tapped with her finger. It took him a few precious moments to recognize the newly familiar shapes as the blue robots from the lower floors. He blamed the camera angle.

“The longer we wait, the more time they have,” Irvine countered. “A couple of Thundagas and Quezacotl could...”

Harry blocked out the rest of the conversation. Not only did he not understand half of what they were saying, Irvine’s words sparked a memory of something to do with Dudley’s computer. Lightning...angry shouting from Dudley’s room...Petunia yelling at him until Dudley admitted to tossing the monitor out the window...

“I might be able to help,” he said softly, thinking out loud and not meaning to be heard.

When everyone in the room turned to stare at him, Harry wished he could melt through the floor.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

We can plan till the chocobos come home, but at the end of the battle everyone’s flying by the seat of their panties anyway.

I believe that phrase ends with pants, not panties.

Eh, whatever.

Irvine couldn’t say why, out of all the conversations between Laguna and Kiros during his impromptu narcolepsy fit in the desert, that one stuck with him. Whether it was because of carefree, goofy Laguna saying ‘Whatever’ exactly like Squall, his polar opposite, struck him as funny or because it was a sign Squall had more influence during those dreams than the rest of them, Irvine didn’t know.

For whatever reason that conversation was staying with him, it fit their current situation to a T.

All of the plans they had devised in the desert were gone, the tentative ideas he, Rinoa, and Zell had come up with had immediately been shot down by Quistis, Squall had shot down Quistis’s plans, and they were now depending on a sorcerer on an Elixir high to get them out of this in one piece, all on Squall’s orders. Not that the rest of them had any good ideas for crossing a collapsible bridge, but the kid was stoned off half an Elixir! Irvine had a damn good reason to be concerned about Squall’s plan. That Irvine had volunteered (no, he had not given in to the all powerful glare from Squall, nor had he fallen victim to Selphie’s pouting, begging puppy-dog eyes) to be the one to stay and guard said sorcerer and run across the bridge with him, risking life, limb, and any chance he had of Selphie remembering him if Harry’s Elixir high ended, his exhaustion caught up with him again, and he passed out halfway across had nothing to do with Irvine’s concerns. Nope, nothing at all.

Crouching behind the thin, painted red metal wall to prevent soldiers from failing to their deaths, Irvine came to the conclusion he was quite possibly the biggest idiot he had ever known.

Ignoring Quistis’s demands to know what Squall was thinking for trusting an unknown like Harry coming from the stairway behind him, Irvine forced his body to relax. He could do this, he would survive it, he would take Selphie out on the date he had been planning since he had seen her walk through Galbadia Garden’s front gates, and he would survive that without being slapped once.

With his confident smiling mask back in place, he looked at Harry. Harry was in a similar position on the other side of the bridge entrance, one hand on the metal floor, his other arm wrapped around Carbuncle, his eyes closed as he concentrated. If he hadn’t been silently whispering to himself, he would’ve looked like he was asleep. It wasn’t inspiring Irvine’s confidence in Harry’s abilities in the slightest, causing his mask to slip.

“Can you do this?” he whispered under the cover of Quistis and Squall’s hissed argument. He wondered if he should tell them he could hear every word, and decided against it seconds later—hearing Squall get chewed out like a first year cadet caught with his hand in the grenades was doing remarkable things for Irvine’s nerves.

Harry opened his eyes and hesitantly nodded. Irvine didn’t try to stop his full body shiver when he saw Harry’s green eyes and Carbuncle’s gem were shimmering with power.

The metal beneath them changed. It wasn’t quite glowing and it wasn’t sparkling, but there was something different about it. The hair on Irvine’s arms stood up as that shimmering something spread, slowly at first, little tendrils reaching back towards the stairs, thick vine-like ropes creeping towards the bridge. Irvine thought, rather absently, it was a good idea when Harry directed the magic to go through the metal walls and under the bridge because the shimmer traveling from Harry’s eyes, down his body and into the metal, had to be visible on camera.

Within seconds, the ropes had thinned to tendrils, stretched to their maximum. There was a flash of light and a gasp from the stairway behind them. At the same time, there were several shouts from the east tower and a panicky screamed order to attack.

A distant—oh Hyne, it was not distant enough—purring whirr reached Irvine’s ears. He risked a peek around the wall. He cursed when he saw the six GIM52A units slowly gliding their way, accompanied by five Galbadian soldiers.

“You done?” Irvine demanded, lifting up from his crouch. He patted his belt pouch to double check it was open and in easy reach, and double checked his elemental junctions and para magic. Thundaras were still on his elemental attack and his small collection of Thundagas was free...moved the Sleep spells he had left to the bottom, brought his Silences to the top, right under his Thundagas...nudged the Brothers in apology, he wouldn’t be able to summon them during this battle...

From the corner of his eye, Irvine saw Harry shake his head once as he looked around the corner. “Wait,” Harry said in a tone that sounded a little too much like Squall in command mode. “Just a little closer,” he whispered, his eyes focused on the robots halfway across the bridge.

“Irvine.” Damn, both of them were using it now.

“Just a second!” Irvine called back to Squall, unable to take his eyes off the lead robot. The thing was only twelve feet away, and getting closer every flippin’ second...

“Any time now, kid!”

The bridge exploded with shimmering light. The robot closest to them disappeared. Then two soldiers behind it, and another three robots behind them.

‘And half the damn bridge went with them.’

It took Irvine’s brain a few precious seconds to understand they hadn’t disappeared, they had fallen. Fallen through empty space where the bridge hadn’t shimmered. Looking through one of the gaps, Irvine saw a growing red speck on the ground being surrounded by several smaller blue specks. He immediately looked away when he identified the red as blood, not the soldier’s suit—a dead enemy wasn’t a threat—while storing the information that there looked to be six or seven low level grunts on the ground.

Even as the remaining steel panels that made up the bridge’s walkway stretched to fill in the gaps (startling another soldier into tripping and falling between the growing panels, his scream cut off by a thud-crunch as his body bounced off one of the bridge’s supports), Irvine stood. Rapidly firing a series of shots into the closest robot, he screamed, “Zell, get your ass up here now! Kid, what the fuck were you thinkin’?”

“Didn’t have a choice. Had to wait until they were on the parts I couldn’t touch; would’ve been pointless to pull the screws free before,” Harry babbled, flinching as Zell skidded to a stop inches from him, hands already in position to summon Quezacotl.

As Zell faded away into the void, Irvine moved as far back as he could without sacrificing his ability to get a clear shot at the leftovers or get in the way of the others as they ran past.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Ulirmic Theory of Magical Voice, in its simplest form, stated magic was a sentient creature that chose who it partnered with. It was the only theory covered in Professor Flitwick’s class that gave a somewhat believable reason why there were Squibs with the magical gene who couldn’t so much as cast an Accio and muggleborns without the magical gene who became some of the most powerful wizards and witches ever known. Magic decided who was and wasn’t worthy, and the gene only made it more likely a person would be chosen, it did not guarantee it.

After learning about the theory and exposed to the mountains of research Hermione had discovered backing it, Harry and Ron hadn’t been the least bit surprised to discover the Malfoys, Blacks, Parkinsons, Notts, and Bulstrodes had spent a significant amount of money to prevent the Department of Mysteries from declaring the theory a Law of Magic in Britain.

What had been the most interesting for Harry was the small subsection of the theory stating if a witch or wizard listened hard enough or was in the right meditative state, he or she would be able to hear what magic had to say. Harry and Ron had thought it would be rather wicked to hear what magic had to say; Hermione thought it was disturbing and had ended her research into the theory.

Less than twenty four hours after falling on Squall, Harry was in the firm opinion Hermione was right: Hearing magic’s voice was disturbing. His reasons were quite a bit different than Hermione’s. Hermione found it disturbing to discover what she thought of as another part of her had its own voice. Harry was sick to his stomach; his had just convinced him to kill three people so it wouldn’t need to change hosts.

As he babbled out his excuse for waiting longer than planned, Harry wanted to throw up. But since throwing up meant body fluids and that meant Edea would have a method to control him, Harry forced his breakfast to stay in his stomach. One small part of him felt complimented his magic liked him and wanted him to live. The rest of him really wanted a bucket, toilet, trash can that was safe to hurl in his breakfast, granola bars, and what was left of his dinner from the night before, mind control ritual spells be damned.

The blond and black blur rushing towards him came as a welcome distraction from his magic’s satisfied, blood thirsty mutterings. It took Harry a moment to see past the shimmer coating his vision to recognize the blur as Zell. Zell who was going from opaque to muddy to...clear?

Zell disappeared completely as a large yellowish-green funnel cloud formed in the sky. One thunderclap. A second thunderclap. A third clap of thunder turned into a slowly fading rumble. The funnel ripped apart, releasing a gigantic yellow and green bird-like creature. Wings tucked to its side, it plummeted down to where Zell had been seconds earlier, wings spreading at the last possible second to hover above the walkway. Tilting its head and wings back, it let out a screaming order to the clouds above. The clouds replied with a loud rumbling boom and hundreds of lightning bolts struck the bird. As it absorbed the energy, it looked at the robots it front of it. It opened its beak, screaming out a challenge. Another flap of its wings and the stored lightning flew from its wing tips in short, controlled bursts, striking the robots.

Mouth hanging open in shock and fear, Harry finally reached his limit of ‘What the fuck?’ happenings. He was beyond grateful when his world started to go grey for a second time that day.

Harry came damn close tossing Carbuncle into blue-white lightning of Quezacotl’s attack when the animal bit his wrist to stop him from passing out. Harry and small GF stared each other down. It hissed. Harry called it a little bastard. It hissed again, lifting one of its paws in a threatening manner, and Harry reluctantly gave in, deciding if he was going to stay conscious, he was going to fix his previous mistake.

Muttering empty threats at Carbuncle, Harry slammed his hands back down on the floor. He poured more magic into the spells, twisting the purpose of the spells originally laid down. His magic simply wanted to destroy; he guided it to protect as well, all the while doing his best to ignore the smug animal on his lap and never noticing he wasn’t using it as a focus.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Gunblades and swords were not appropriate weapons for bridge battles.

Oh, it looked daring and cool on a movie screen when two sword fighters went all out on a narrow bridge. It was even cooler if both fighters were wielding drastically different blades, part time acrobats, and the fight took place on a narrow mountain ledge with a hundred foot drop.

As a participant in such a fight, Squall ranked it as the third most embarrassing experience he could remember. He dodged. He ducked. He shuffled. If he was lucky, he got off a spell or a quick, glancing slice in between dodges, ducks and whacks. It didn’t help his human opponents had gun arms and his robot opponents’ circuits were partially fried, causing them to swing and twist around wildly, making them unpredictable and thus absolutely useless as shields, until they either fell over the side or Selphie, Zell, or Squall knocked them over. The only thing he had to be proud of was neither he nor his team had come close to loosing their balance.

It was also, excluding his attempt to assassinate Edea, the most dangerous thing Squall had ever done. He was ten floors up, running across a rickety bridge made ricketier due to several stretching spells to cover the missing panels, and blocking and dodging attacks while trying not to fall over the side, be pushed over, or killed.

Bringing his gunblade up as a shield, Squall jumped back as Zell knocked another robot over the edge. Zell jerked his head in Selphie’s direction. Squall nodded back. Both teens crouched as low as they could. Selphie had just hit her limit break.

Three rapidly cast Thundagas hit the fresh wave of robots in front of them. Four slightly slower cast Thundaras followed Selphie’s limit break, then a series of rapid shotgun blasts.

'Quistis’s para-magic and Irvine’s limit break,' Squall’s mind identified as he shot up, already swinging his gunblade at the closest, sparking robot.

He meant to hit it with the flat of his blade. Just knock it and tip it over the side before moving forward.

He didn’t.

The GIM52A’s electrical system finally died, and the robot completely shut down. Instead of tilting to the left and leaving itself open for a nice solid whack off the bridge, it fell forwards onto Squall’s gunblade. And kept falling.

Squall had two choices and less than two seconds to decide. He could either let go of his gunblade, let it fall over the edge with the robot and pay for a new one at Garden (and again go through the pain of gathering the materials to get it upgraded for a fraction of the normal cost), leaving himself weaponless until he managed to steal a sword. Or he could attempt to kick the thing off, yank his gunblade free and aim to fall back on the bridge.

He chose to save his gunblade.

Shifting a little to the right and bracing himself as well as he could when there was no railing to be found for him to lean on, Squall lifted his foot and kicked, at the same time yanking his gunblade towards him. He pulled his gunblade free, flinching slightly at the loud screech of metal on metal as he fell back, but it was free. Unfortunately, once the robot was completely off, Squall kept falling back.

“Squall!”

“Shit! Quistis!”

Time seemed to slow as he went over the edge. A pale Quistis lifted her whip as she ran down the bridge—he figured to grab his ankle or arm with it, which was beyond stupid since she would fall with him. Rinoa was running to him, leaving her back wide open. His respect for Zell went up a notch when Squall saw him dart forward and continue fighting, never giving the remaining soldiers a chance to take a shot at the others—Squall suspected Zell had cast Haste on himself and then fallen into his limit break, the blond typically wasn’t capable of moving that fast.

Then he was under the bridge, looking up at Quistis and Rinoa’s stunned faces, in the perfect position to see what happened next.

A thick grey chain of shimmering air ripped free of the bridge and shot down to him. It grabbed Squall around the waist, yanked him up, and dropped him none too gently on the walkway outside the east tower, right in the middle of a group of stunned soldiers.

Except for the GIM52A units and Selphie and Zell (who Squall was glad to see kept knocking the damn robots off the bridge), everyone turned to stare at the sorcerer peeking out from behind the metal shielding of the west tower. After checking his gunblade, Squall quickly nodded his thanks. He ignored Harry’s shrug of a reply in favor of killing the man updating the commands sent to the GIM52As.

The man fell to the floor, dropping the remote. The clatter-pling of metal falling on metal knocked everyone out of their shock. One of the soldiers (who were still whimpering at the obvious display of magic) yelled in a panicked voice, “They have a sorceress!” to whoever was still in the tower’s control room.

As Harry’s faint shout of “I’m not a bloody girl!” reached his ears and never mind that most of the Galbadian soldiers were running from Harry of all people, Squall did what he had been dying to do for the past twenty minutes and hadn’t felt it safe to do.

He let loose his limit break.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As the group ran through the empty east tower to the garage, Harry fully acknowledged he was being stupid. Squall hadn’t hurt him or threatened him. Squall had even ripped into Irvine that morning on his behalf, come to his defense the night before, and had saved him from Edea before that.

Knowing all of that didn’t stop Harry from feeling uncomfortable around Squall and straying towards the back of the group with Rinoa and Selphie.

Intellectually, he had known and somewhat accepted Squall was a mercenary. But seeing is different from knowing, and Squall had practically torn those men apart in the span of a few seconds. Irvine said the shock of almost dying had thrown Squall into his limit break (whatever that was) and had only registered the fleeing soldiers as a threat because of the heightened state. Harry didn’t know enough to call bullshit, nor did he feel it was the right time to ask what a limit break was. What he did know was those men had been running and Squall had killed them.

A few meters from the garage, Squall grabbed his arm and dragged him to a stop, letting Selphie and Rinoa pass them. Panting, Harry stared up at Squall, scared out of his wits and not wanting to admit it. He looked around wildly and breathed a small sigh of relief at seeing the others were gathered around the door at the end of the hall—Zell and Irvine doing something with the electronic lock.

Looking back at Squall, Harry was surprised to see Squall’s expression had gone from cold, professional concern to a downright glacier annoyed frown. Harry scowled, having absolutely no idea what he had done to cause such a sudden shift in Squall’s mood.

Then it hit him with all the force of Hermione smacking him with her favorite book, and he felt horribly guilty. He had no experience in psychology, but he did know what it was like to be a teenager who was ordered to kill. And while Squall’s situation was only vaguely similar to his, it was close enough for Harry to realize he was being a right idiot. He needed to pretend what he’d seen didn’t bother him in the slightest, because it shouldn’t as much as it was.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Harry hissed, jerking his arm free of Squall’s grip. “I thought something was wrong.”

Judging by the slight melting of the ice in Squall’s eyes, he’d somewhat succeeded in pretending everything was just fine. Relatively fine.

Squall shrugged, the closest Harry figured he was getting to an apology for his new grey hair. “Can you make it to the train station or do you need another Elixir?”

As he was opening his mouth to say he honestly didn’t know and ask since when were they going on a train ride, there was a triumphant shout from the others, followed by a guilty silence when Squall shot an annoyed, exasperated glare down the hall. Harry turned around to see Irvine and Zell holding the sliding door open as the girls ran through, Selphie yelling out her teams’ car was the evil yellow jeep.

“I’m fine,” Harry said firmly, ignoring Squall’s expression that said he would humor him until he fell flat on his face so he would have blackmail for the next time.

Harry started trotting for the door, smiling from the sheer relief of knowing he wasn’t driving, not because he was fine. He felt wobbly, was far more prone to drifting off in his thoughts than he should be, still hugging his GF turned teddy bear, craving a flat surface the same way he had the night before, and as far from fine as he could be, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud. He had shown off enough weaknesses in front of Squall; he was not adding more to the pile.

Squall walked behind him, letting Harry go inside first. Any other time, Harry would have cared someone thought he needed watching and bristled like an angry porcupine, but he was too tired to care at the moment. And he was utterly fascinated with and confused by the small dog dancing around Rinoa’s feet. He couldn’t think of one time since leaving the cell he had seen it. How could he have missed it the entire damn time?

Harry couldn’t stop staring at Angelo. Not until Rinoa turned to see who was staring and asked him what was wrong.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Harry said quickly.

Rinoa shook her head at him, smiling in a bemused way, and picked Angelo up. Harry darted forward and opened the back door of the van, using it as a shield as Rinoa put the creepy, teleporting dog inside, and then climbed in after it. He leaned around the door to look at the dog, and realized he would probably have to ride in the back with it. He stepped away from the door, determined to put that moment off for as long as he could. Teleporting dogs were new for him. It might be really, really quiet and unnoticeable when it wanted to be, but if that was true, it was still a creepy little thing. At least it wasn’t a pillow with fur like some dogs...

And his thoughts were wandering off without permission again.

Harry forced his mind to focus on the here and now, and looked around the garage. He flushed when he saw Irvine and Quistis were already in the jeep, leaning out the nearest door so they could listen to Squall and Selphie’s last minute planning session. Zell, who was leaning out the passenger window of the boxy van, snickered when he saw Harry was back among the living and restlessly tapped out a drum beat on the door.

“Welcome back to planet Earth,” Zell said, laughing as Harry climbed into the back. He twisted around in the seat so he could keep an eye on his teasing target. “I thought I’d have to get out and get ya. No one should miss Squall’s driving. Better than a trip to Galbadian Dreams.”

Rinoa squeaked, making a mad dive for her seatbelt, and then pulled a leash from Merlin only knew where and proceeded to make an impromptu seatbelt for Angelo.

“Galbadian Dreams?” Harry asked nervously.

“The biggest amusement park around. Known for their rides that can make anyone scream for mommy, including Seifer. Best day of my life was seeing that,” Zell added in a mutter, as he turned back around, fastening his own seatbelt and grabbing the panic bar on the door.

Harry didn’t think anyone could top a Gringotts cart ride or Vernon Dursley’s driving, but when Squall climbed in the front, turned to check he and Rinoa were buckled in, and smirked at Harry’s missing seatbelt, Harry decided to take Zell’s word for it and immediately clicked the belt securely around his waist.

As Squall put the key in the ignition and hit the button for the garage door, Zell turned to him and said, “Ya know there are guards out there and Selphie’s gonna play the point game. Wanna see who can get the highest score?”

Squall’s smirk took on a dark edge.

Harry braced his feet on the back of Zell’s seat, doubled over and buried his face in Carbuncle’s fur. No matter what he heard, he was not looking. He didn’t want to know how his magic, quiet though it was at the moment, would react.
He was being a coward, but Harry took solace in the fact he wasn’t whimpering like Angelo was.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thump

“Dude! Windshield wipers, windshield wipers!”

Spluch

Crunch

“Okay, now that? That was gross. I think I saw his spleen.”

Splat

“Liver.”

“Close enough. He doesn’t count anyway. Selphie hit first.”

“Hn.”

Screetch

“S-should the blood be streaked like that? Didn’t you use the squirt thing?”

Rinoa swallowed, the back of her throat burning and itching. She had been perfectly happy pretending the splats and crunches and dings weren’t impacting bodies and bullets, but bugs ands rocks. Right up until Harry’s stuttered question, she had been quite content in her happy place of not being in a car where two insane teenagers were really playing their own twisted version of the pedestrian point game.

Then the twerp had to ruin it by mentioning the blood.

“Decided to watch, huh? How many points for that guy?”

“Actually, I thought the metallic screech meant we were out.”

“Nah, that was Selphie trying to not hit the tank and hitting Squall.”

Thump

“Why does a prison have a tank?!”

“Deling had size issues; who frickin’ cares? Focus on the important! How much for that guy?”

“Squall, don’t-!”

Thumpcrunchbumpsquinch

“I’m gonna be sick.”

“It wasn’t lethal.”

“Until you ran her over it wasn’t.”

“She should have dodged.”

There was crunchcrackscreech of wood breaking and metal bending, and Rinoa whimpered, resisting the temptation to look. The sounds alone were going to give her nightmares. She didn’t want to look early like Harry had and risk having images to go with them.

“Shouldn’t have looked. Didn’t need more fuel for my nightmares,” Harry muttered, echoing Rinoa’s thoughts. There was a stretch of wonderful, blissful silence, then he said, his voice a mix of curious and disgusted with a side of sleepy thrown in, “How is Selphie going to get the blood off the jeep?”

“She’ll stop a few miles from the missile base so they can change and cast Water to get rid of the blood, then Aero to blow sand against the worst dings to make them look older,” Squall said, sounding far too smug in Rinoa’s opinion. “Zell?”

Zell cleared his throat before saying, “As Selphie’s team clearly cheated by opening the sunroof so Irvine could shoot at the targets—and we knocked those guys into the prison—I say we won by seven points. Shit!”

Harry shouted and Rinoa screamed as the van sharply jerked to the left, then right, then left again as Squall maneuvered the van around something—Rinoa didn’t want to know what—at a very high speed, and Rinoa flung her arms out to hold Angelo in place so she wouldn’t go flying through a window.

Squall slammed on the brakes, bringing the jeep to a screeching halt, and Rinoa screamed as she jerked forward, her eyes opening out of reflex. Her eyes stayed open as she fell back against the seat, unable to look away from the practically clear windshield. Rinoa’s jaw dropped; she wasn’t sure if she should scream at the three boys for making everything sound so much worse or scream just because it was finally over.

There was a faint dusty pink tint to the glass, but not nearly enough to justify the spleen/liver bit from Zell and Squall and definitely not enough for Harry to stutter like he had. Rinoa looked at the side windows, catching only a few small spots of blood here and there among the cracks where bullets had hit the bulletproof glass, but still nothing too horrible. Nothing to explain what she had heard. She let out an angry huff, not believing they had done that to her.

Rinoa snarled at Zell when he twisted around in his seat to look at her. He grinned, albeit somewhat apologetically, at her and shrugged.

“Sorry, Rin, but you two were acting like a couple of first year cadets during their first training mission. Couldn’t help myself.”

Squall said nothing as he and Zell got out, completely ignoring her demanding stare, so Rinoa turned on Harry and Carbuncle. As he undid his seatbelt and unlocked the door, Harry hunched his shoulders and muttered defensively, “There was a lot more blood when I opened my eyes, and Squall did run over that soldier.”

“And the nightmare fodder?” Rinoa demanded, as she untangled Angelo’s temporary leash-belt.

Harry bit his bottom lip as he opened the door and slid out. He shot her a mischievous look, said, “Squall’s driving is that bad. He almost hit the prison twice,” and ran after Squall and Zell.

Half wishing she had volunteered to go with Selphie to the missile base, Rinoa allowed herself one short, quiet, frustrated scream, and then she and Angelo climbed out and followed the boys to the train.

Letters to No One 2 of ?

Sat, 29 Sep 2007 03:58:17 GMT

Title: Letters to No One
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I don’t own Harry Potter; I don’t own Gundam Wing, and I’m sure I’ve seen this idea somewhere else, (I think one was Harry/Draco and the other Sirius/Remus) so I don’t own the basic plot, either. The only original biggie plot type thing in this is that the relationship between the writers is completely platonic.
Summary: Harry needs a diary, Heero needs a shrink, and Hedwig likes stirring up trouble.
Warnings: Spoilers for the books and the series, swearing (who didn’t see that coming?), character death (ones that were in the books and series), and a too smart Hedwig.
Timeline: It starts towards the end of Harry’s fourth year and after Heero and Trowa begin the search for Noventa’s family. It skips around a lot, and the timeline of the Gundam Wing series and the Harry Potter books have been shifted around some so everything fits.
Characters/Pairings: Heero, Harry, Cho, Relena, Petunia, Duo, Wufei, Quatre, Trowa.
Author’s Notes: This Cho knows the importance of keeping secrets, even from friends and family. I’m going to try to keep her as close to her canon self as possible while adding this into her personality.
Chapter Notes: This chapter has quite a bit of filler. Interesting filler, but still filler.

Letters to No One
Part 2/?

Um...HI?

Heero doesn’t use names usually, but I think I know who you are. He mentioned you in his last email. He did tell you he’s been attending school under your name, right?

As for what he was talking about, do you believe in magic? Wave a wand, say some messed up Latin, and something happens kind? Because that’s what he meant.

You see, I go to a boarding school, Hogwarts, for witches and wizards. I’m getting ready to start my fifth year there. I’m not sure how to explain it...Except for the classes, I guess it’s just like a non-magical boarding school. There are seven core subjects: Astronomy, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Herbology, and History of Magic. The electives to choose from are even stranger: Arithmancy (I was thrilled to discover mathematics was an elective, regretting not taking it now), Ancient Runes (magical languages), Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Muggle Studies (that’s where witches and wizards learn about non-magical people and technology; according to Hermione, it’s not a very good course), and Flying (though that’s only for part of the first year.).

Before you say anything, Heero’s already given me the lecture about how unbalanced of an education that is and that any wizard won’t be able to survive in non-magical societies. I know, and after being subjected to an angry Heero, I wrote a professor from school. He says the muggle studies teacher can arrange for a student to continue their muggle education, but the professor told me the students who choose to do this are required to buy their own books and teach themselves—the professor simply oversees the exams. I’m trying to convince my godfather to let me leave so I can visit the bank and see if I can afford to do it before owling the school for more information...

Sorry about the info babble. Heero did rant a bit when he found out I spent a good deal of time last year learning how to change kittens into puppies and nothing he considered important, and I’m hoping you won’t do the same...Please? I’ll answer any questions you have if it means I can get out of another lecture.

Anyway, I am free to talk for another few hours if you’re bored enough. My godfather won’t come storming in here for at least three hours. He’s drunk at the moment and my fight with Hermione has scared everyone else off...please write back. I’m worried about Heero. He never just says he’s going on an assignment. He always gives me an estimate of how long it’s going to take and when he might write back to me.

Harry

Duo’s first response was to hit Google and search like crazy. He covered everything from mental disorders to new street drugs to strange chemicals being released into the colony’s air to see if Heero and this Harry kid were insane. Then, when he found nothing beyond the rumors he already knew of and didn’t apply, he entered the name of the kid’s school into the search engine.

He hit pay dirt.

Duo’s jaw dropped at the number of results the word Hogwarts produced. There were hundreds of news articles covering a boy’s murder, a few articles covering the accidental Kiss of a man named Mundungus Fletcher near a Hogwarts’ student’s home, private websites and blogs of students, the school’s main web page, a website for something called the British MOM discussing the ‘Changes at Hogwarts’, and one rather foul reporter’s idea of an online newspaper. And that was just the first ten pages of results the search engine spat out.

Duo stared at the computer screen in shock, his hand automatically clicking on the link to the school’s main page. He didn’t put it past Heero, if he was bored enough, to create all of this so Duo would be too busy and curious to think of leaving his hospital bed, but Duo wanted to believe this was real, that it was possible for magic to exist. With all the weird he had experienced with Howard and his crew (without help, it was not possible for someone as memorable as Howard to go unnoticed for as long as he had when he had Une on his tail, and Duo never had discovered how Howard had come up with perfect replacement parts for Deathscythe the very same day Heero striped it for parts), Duo was hoping magic would explain it.

It was also damn cool.

He poked around on the site for a few minutes, absorbing all the information he could, before his conscience kicked in and reminded him Heero had asked him to write to Harry. Heero, who Duo suspected needed emergency surgery to remove the stick J had wedged up his butt, was making a serious effort to keep in contact with this one kid. Not Relena, not the other pilots, just this kid.

“I should check out that program he was talking about,” Duo muttered to himself, reluctantly hitting the back button until he reached the school’s main page. He highly doubted Harry had been faced with Heero when he was really pissed off (that honor was solely reserved for Zechs), but if Heero was lecturing, Heero cared, and he wouldn’t be happy if Duo let Harry go ahead with enrolling in a program that was substandard.

If the clothes in the pictures were anything to go by, Duo suspected any normal education the school offered was out of date.

Twenty minutes later, Duo knew it was out of date.

By about one hundred years.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

...so behind. No offense, but your whole society is living in the stone ages compared to the rest of the world. Schools on the colonies have to keep up so they don’t accidentally blow all of us up, but you Earth people...

Harry, I’m gonna be blunt here. Heero would shoot me and you if I let you waste your money on something so archaic. So, since I don’t care to get shot and spend more time being tortured by the nursing staff, I did a little research into some online adult schools. None of them are as good as the real thing and you’ll have to arrange to have someone take you in for your testing, but they’re loads better than the crap offered by your school. I put the list of the best of the lot in your general area (I’m assuming England/Scotland because of your school) on the bottom. If you’re going to spend a few thousand credits to catch up with the rest of the world, those are your best bets.

Now, on to the more interesting stuff...

*rubs his hands together and cackles* Just remember, you said I could ask you anything.

Invisibility cloaks. Where can I get one? Do they work for people without magic? How much are they? Has anyone ever thought of turning one into a suit...

...about Transfiguration and Charms? They look like they’re closely linked, but none of the school websites I’ve looked at show anything about the two classes working together or combining the subjects. And Defense Against the Dark Arts. It’s different from country to country and the colonies...whoa, you would not believe how lax colony magic users are compared to you Earth magic types. Of course, from what I’ve read, they consider charming a gun for never ending bullets dark but you don’t have any laws against...

...Potions and Herbology look interesting. Can you imagine the kind of explosives I could create if I had access to Lavender Fire? Thoughts like that are what keep your world separate from mine...

...think that’s it. I hope you can answer all those. I’m going to have a whole new list by tomorrow. This is just so freaking cool!

Duo

Looking at the long rambling paragraphs of questions and random thoughts, Harry did what any sane wizard would do when confronted by a curious Duo Maxwell.

He whimpered in fear.

Three days and what felt like a million questions later, Harry finally realized Duo was trying to distract him from his worries about Heero’s latest mission. Which meant...

Heero’s mission was going to get him killed.

Every window and mirror in number twelve exploded, the cold furnace suddenly sprouted a white hot flame, a good number of paintings, including Phineas Black and Mrs. Black’s portraits, were nothing more than ash, and the door to Harry and Ron’s room was a mass of splinters embedded in the wall across the hall.

With how fast both Dumbledore and McGonagall flooed to the house, how quickly Sirius raced towards his room, demanding to know what had happened, and the small little fact the magic purging device for his computer was completely full when it had been empty just seconds before, Harry was fairly sure the magical blow up he’d had at the realization was anything but normal.

That didn’t stop him from sending Duo an email detailing exactly where he could go and what he could do with a flobberworm when he got there.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

...far too late for me to return to normal school, but I do want to continue it. Unfortunately, I can’t simply drop out of Hogwarts without attracting the wrong kind of attention and making our family vulnerable to attacks from the same man who killed Mum. I’d like to enroll in an adult school online program, and while I know you would enjoy the idea of me never returning to this place, this is the only option I have. There are a few computers at school I can use and I promise it won’t cost you a thing. I simply need your permission to do it. Please sign the forms I’ve enclosed.

Harry

Petunia wasn’t stupid. She knew the boy was buttering her up, saying he’d like to leave that freak school, but the idea still sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, rather like she had just stepped into a cool, shady spot on a hot summer’s day.

The boy wanted to continue his normal education. Even though he was going to continue his freakish schooling, he wanted normal as well. Lily’s son wanted something he had scoffed at for the past four years. Lily’s son wanted to be normal.

Petunia eyed other letter from the boy’s freak of a headmaster sitting on her kitchen table with disgust. The old man wanted her to deny the boy’s request, saying if Harry Potter (like the boy was actually worth something) attended muggle (what a horrid word) school in any fashion it would be devastating to the magical community, that it would be best if he put it off for a few more years.

Although it went against nearly fourteen years of practice to give the boy anything he asked for, the old man’s letter was enough for Petunia to fill out the forms and send them off with the boy’s owl without one second of thought or hesitation. She didn’t even so much as blink as she signed the form so the boy could access his trust fund to cover the cost.

She did a small dance as the boy’s owl flew out the kitchen window and her smug, satisfied smile didn’t leave her face for the next week. She might have given the boy something he wanted and had allowed that owl to stay in her kitchen for a little over an hour, but she had upset the old freak, upset an entire community of freaks, and possibly made the boy a social pariah among the freaks.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry stared at the stack of books sitting on his bed in dismay, horror, fear...

Harry forced his eyes to look at the pile of spiral notebooks, pens, pencils, and erasers instead. Far less threatening. Oh, they meant the same thing, that he had finally lost his mind, but they weren’t full of things he hadn’t seen or thought of since his Hogwarts letter.

Harry decided to look at his new trunk. Big mistake.

It was a normal double expanded trunk, two compartments instead of the one. He had asked Mrs. Weasley to get the cheapest one she could with what Mad-eye considered a barely adequate security system—and she had, but Ron had eyed it with a little longing and jealousy before smiling stiffly. Harry didn’t know what Ron was jealous of. Ron was a prefect. Ron had Dumbledore’s support. Ron got a new broom. Harry was committing suicide by exhaustion, signing up for muggle school along with Hogwarts, and he got a new trunk for it.

Ron was getting the better deal in Harry’s opinion.

Not that he wanted a new broom—his Firebolt was still the best thing out there and it was from Sirius—but still. Harry was fighting against the world’s stupidity to prove Voldemort was alive, studying twice as much as Hermione to receive half the results, and would be working his butt off to do muggle classes at the same time this coming term, and all without the help of a time turner because “Children with...issues like Mr. Potter’s cannot be trusted with such a powerful object”.

Harry snorted. He wasn’t the one with issues. He wasn’t the one huddled up on his bed with his head under a pillow and his arse up in the air, pretending the scaly monster under the bed was a garden snake and not a wand wielding, red-eyed, psychotic freak of nature...

He could picture Fudge doing that, actually, bowler hat, pinstripe robes and all.

Harry snorted again, amused instead of disgusted.

His eyes drifted towards his computer.

He still hadn’t heard from Heero.

Or Duo.

Or any of the others.

Not that he had communicated with the other pilots, hadn’t really with Duo after he had figured out what was going on, just a message saying Duo was following Heero and not to worry because he would do everything he could to get both of them got out alive. He didn’t know if Duo had received his reply to be careful, to not die.

Harry didn’t have much faith. He believed Duo would try. He believed Duo would make it hell for the soldiers of the base he was going to. He wanted to believe they would both make it out.

But even with all their training and skills and the psych out factor of them both being Gundam pilots, war was war. War meant death. Someone was going to die.

He prayed it wasn’t Heero...or Duo...

...and wondered what it meant for him that he was praying someone else died so someone important to him didn’t. What kind of person did that make him?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry’s new trunk disturbed Ron more than Harry and Hermione’s fight.

There was some truth to what Hermione was saying about Harry’s sudden changes. Harry was different in little ways that were slowly adding up to big changes. He was still short, but he was fitter, sleeker. His temper (Oh Merlin, did Harry have a temper) was focused now—he hadn’t just blown up about them not writing, but that Ron hadn’t thought to write in code saying Dumbledore asked them not to write anything of importance. And his letter to Dumbledore...

Ron wasn’t ashamed to admit hearing about The Letter scared him.

He had always thought Harry looked up to Dumbledore, Harry said he still did, but that letter.... Ron shivered, looking out the window at the passing scenery so Harry and Hermione wouldn’t see his face, something all too possible the way they were looking at him to avoid looking at each other.

No one outside of the Order’s inner ranks knew what Harry had put in it, and Ron was sure no one but the headmaster knew all of it, but there had been a series of very strange reactions from the adults in the house. Sirius had pulled Harry to the side every day for a small chat and had given him something of his father’s (Ron didn’t know what; Harry had packed it while it was still wrapped in brown paper). Professor McGonagall had sighed, smiled tiredly and told him to be more careful, but really, it had needed to be said. Mad-Eye had shoved a shrunken stack of books into Harry’s arms and told him it was about damn time. Lupin had frowned at him, shaking his head in disapproval, Ron’s father had done something similar, and the three way argument between Harry, Sirius, and Ron’s mum...well, everyone had heard that.

“I’m not his toy soldier! He can’t move me around and position me just bloody so!”

“Harry, dear, you need to let the adults make these choices. You’re just a baby.”

“I need to let adults make my choices for me? Every adult I’ve ever known has made choices for me or about me, and none of them were good ones!

“It was Dumbledore who gave me to Aunt Petunia! It was Aunt Petunia who locked me in that bloody cupboard. It was professors who made the traps three first years broke through to save the stone because another professor was stealing it, and none of them stopped to listen when we said someone was going to steal it. It was you who said I was exaggerating how Aunt Petunia treats me, never mind the bars on my window and cat flap so they could shove food through the locked door. It was fucking Snape that took away my chance of a home that doesn’t include four locks on my bedroom door to keep me locked away from the normal people. It was you fucking lot who decided I needed a guard this summer and forbade Ron to write me, never mind someone telling me about my guard so I wouldn’t smack Tonks in the face with a bloody rock when she followed me into the library one morning.”

“Harry...”

“Cupboard! When were you in a cupboard?”

“It was my bedroom before my first few Hogwarts letters. Other than Sirius, Mrs. Weasley.”

“He sees you as your father!”

“Cupboard! She put you in a cupboard?!”

“He sees me! He’s the only one of you lot who hasn’t been shooting looks at me and Ginny since Mad-Eye passed that old Order picture around...Damn it, Sirius, calm down. I haven’t been in it since I started Hogwarts...”

Ron imagined the Muggles next door had heard. If they hadn’t, then they had definitely heard the fight to stop Sirius from running off to Surrey to hex Petunia. It had only been Harry’s rather sarcastic remark of “hunting muggles is a Death Eater party game” that stopped Sirius from leaving. Harry looking right at Snape while he said it might have had something to do with Sirius’s sudden about face as well.

The fight had sort of scared Ron, but finding Harry later and seeing him shiver in disgust and turn green as Sirius teased him about using the word fuck in the same sentence as Snape’s name had reassured Ron Harry was still Harry. Even the magical blow up Harry a few days after that hadn’t phased Ron, just confirmed what he already knew—Harry was damn powerful, completely oblivious of that fact, and too nice at times. Hermione had only seen destruction; Ron had seen no one had been hurt by it.

The trunk, though...The trunk was something else. Mad-Eye’s idea of barely adequate was the average adult’s idea of paranoia. Mad-Eye was the product of two wars and a life long career as an Auror. His choice of trunk for Harry was proof of that. Harry’s satisfied smile and sigh of relief as the old man expounded upon its many defensive spells and anti-theft charms said Harry was preparing for another war. Even if Harry hadn’t needed a bigger one because he was pulling a Hermione, Ron knew his mum still would have been forced to take Mad-Eye with her after their letters had arrived. Harry, predictable, oblivious Harry, was positive another war was coming and didn’t want to risk having anything valuable falling into enemy hands.

When had Harry started reading the signs Dumbledore said were there, not just listened to Dumbledore’s interpretation of those signs? Why did Harry care now when he hadn’t before? When had Harry become so paranoid he didn’t trust his best friends to have access to the map and cloak?

Ron hated that damn trunk and every change in Harry it represented.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

...why I’m bothering. You’re not there to read this; I don’t even know if you’re alive. Maybe for something normal now that the world’s gone insane?

Other than second year with Lockhart, I’ve always enjoyed reading and rereading my defense books. Normally the books have little dueling tips and advice on how to use a spell to its fullest potential or spells to counter it or which shield charm works best. This book is turning out to be another to add to my collection of useless defense books. This year’s crackpot assigned us an absolutely horrid book. It is completely and utterly useless. It all opinions and debates about theory and centuries year old essays about theory, and all of it’s tainted by the author’s fear of defensive magic. Like a Levitation charm with a sudden cut off can’t do the same thing as the killing curse. The instructions on a pack of toilet paper are more helpful than this shite...

...I should have hexed that...that...there isn’t a word foul enough for the woman! She hasn’t been able to get me to say I’m telling the truth about Voldemort (not while in class where she can catch me at it, anyway...I feel compelled to add a ‘yet’ here) so as we were leaving class today, she decided to have go at werewolves. Werewolves! Professor Lupin is the best defense teacher I have ever had, and that hag had the balls to insult him! Calling him a half-breed of a man and a flea bitten sheep dog!

Fuck her! If she’s meant to a good example of an inbred pure blood, it only makes me prouder I’m friends with, in her words, a ‘half trained ape-child’ (she was talking about Dobby! What did Dobby ever do to her? How does she know about Dobby?) and a wolf!

Toad lady needs lessons from Aunt Petunia on how to insult people. Aunt Petunia’s tend to repeat themselves, but they’re far better. She has hate and jealousy behind hers; toad lady is just towing the party line and sucking up to Malfoy...

...Chang, a girl a year above me, caught me on the pitch with my computer last night. I had this one brief moment of “Oh Merlin, I’m a dead man!”

Then she pulled hers out of her bag.

Turns out Chang’s cousin, who shall remain nameless, has gone missing. She hasn’t been able to find him anywhere online and her family in the L5 cluster hasn’t heard from him either. If you see him, tell him to contact her when he can. She misses their debates.

She’s started up an online newspaper and message board for people outside Hogwarts so they know what’s really going on here. I think it’s a good thing and not a good thing all at once. The Ministry doesn’t recognize muggle technology here. They know it exists and all, but they don’t recognize it is superior in any way. But if we do this, we’re drawing attention to things the Ministry has ignored for years.

She also wants me to write an article about what happened that night in the graveyard and I’m not sure if I can without breaking down...

...Heero, I know you’re not reading this, but please ask someone to check your email or send me an owl or something. Une’s bragging she has all but two of you. Someone’s attacking colonies. .Chang’s scared for her cousin; I’m worried for you and Duo. Please let someone know you’re okay.

If you don’t write back soon, I’m contacting Relena to see if she knows where you guys are, dead or alive.

Harry

Trowa’s left eyebrow twitched ever so slightly as he finished the eighth email from the boy, the only outward sign he was thinking of strolling down to the cells and throttling Heero Yuy and Chang Wufei.

Putting fingers to keyboard, Trowa wrote a very quick, terse reply to Harry’s emails and a warning that if he did contact Relena, Trowa would go back to Earth just to shoot him for sheer stupidity.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Heero, Duo, and Wufei are fine.

Do not contact Relena. You will only draw attention to yourself and Relena, and I will be forced to come down there and shoot you. Relena does not need the attention your attempts to contact her would draw. Our hands are tied. We need her influence right now, not for her to loose any influence she has because she’s supporting the British magical community’s current outcast and scapegoat.

Trowa

Safe behind the cursed-shut curtains of his bed, Harry winced guiltily as he fingered the thin cream colored envelope in his hands, wondering if he should respond to the email to say he already had written Relena and she had written back.

One week into the school year and he was ready to collapse from mental and emotional exhaustion. With his new drive to learn muggle subjects along with magic, he had been forced to resign from Quidditch. He had thought he would be okay, that he could survive without taking to the air every other day, loosing himself in the freedom of flight. Things had been so much easier this summer, he really had thought he would be okay.

Then reality had set in.

Without Heero to vent to, talk with, share things with, to just be Harry with, life was so much harder. He did have Sirius now—something about his letter to Dumbledore had awoken Sirius to the fact Harry would never be James, but the taint of that was still there and Harry couldn’t tell him everything. Even if he did feel comfortable telling Sirius, the mirrors were not perfectly secure. Sirius couldn’t look directly in it, Harry couldn’t call him anything but Paddy, and the hugs that had been such a central part of their summer talks were nothing but memories.

Harry knew he needed someone to talk to, someone who wasn’t here at Hogwarts. He missed the blunt common sense of Heero’s letters that witches and wizards didn’t have.

He ripped the envelope open and quickly read the girl’s letter. Relena wasn’t Heero and he wouldn’t be able to have the same openness with her he had with Heero, but it was something.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When he was five seconds away from dying, Heero found it amazing how many stupid things flew through his mind masquerading as thoughts. Regrets, what might have beens, should have dones, denied wishes, and forgotten childish dreams.

As he watched the closest thing he had to a best friend die to save Quatre from himself, Heero discovered the number of inane thoughts tripled when it wasn’t him with one foot inside Death’s door.

He forced himself to work through it.

There was a moment where he heard someone using his voice to tell Quatre it was his fault Trowa was dead, and he felt his hands and feet guide his borrowed OZ suit to stop Quatre from chasing after Trowa’s destroyed suit, and knew he wasn’t working through his grief as well as he should. Trowa had asked him to not be too hard on Quatre.

Trowa had asked the impossible.

Duo was his first friend among the other pilots, but not the closest, not the one who knew him best. That was Trowa, the one who had seen him at his worst and knew what it took for him to give up everything for nothing, the one who understood what he was thinking without asking, the one who shared his morbid sense of humor. Trowa was the one who had stitched him back together, nursed him back to health, and then stood aside as Heero tried to commit suicide by handing his victim’s family a gun, knowing without being told it was something Heero needed to do to move on.

“Heero, please...”

If, and that was a big if, if Trowa was still alive, his best chances for survival were not with them. If he and Quatre rescued him, added together with Trowa’s frequent visits to their cell, it would be a glowing neon sign to where Trowa’s true loyalties lay. Trowa would be thrown into the cell with them, his injuries ignored and forgotten. A Gundam pilot’s biggest concerns were the colonies and each other. If he let Quatre go after Trowa, the world would know Trowa was one of them.

However, Vayeate was drifting away from them and towards another colony, the same colony Catherine and the circus were moving to next. As long as Quatre didn’t interfere with its trajectory, it would arrive there within two or three days, something Trowa could survive.

Trowa’s best chance, slim though it was, for surviving lay in Heero and Quatre staying put.

“No, Quatre. Let his death mean something,” Heero said softly, relieved in a strange, painful way he had managed to say anything without choking.

As he destroyed the Mercurius’ cockpit recorder and listened to Quatre sob, Heero focused on the inane, silly thoughts he had tried to ignore before so he wouldn’t breakdown like Quatre. He wondered if Harry had ignored Trowa’s order to not contact Relena and if Relena had written back and if she liked Hedwig. He hoped she didn’t; he liked being able to scare the feathers off the bird by shooting at it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

...love of Merlin, are you daft? All war is unnecessary? Tell that to the arse that murdered my parents. Sometimes people like Voldemort bring the war to you. Sometimes you don’t have a choice.

Oz and the Alliance brought war to the colonies when they had Heero Yuy assassinated! They brought war to the colonies when they stripped away their basic rights! The creation of the Gundams and the training of their pilots is a response to that. You can’t tell me no one saw it coming. At the base of it, humans are animals. Beat an animal long enough, corner it, hurt it, and it’s going to fight back. We humans can think, reason, know when to lift the toilet seat and when to put it down, but we’re still animals. We just use weapons instead of claws and teeth.

I also find your arguments for me to help you convince Heero to stop fighting funny. Here’s why: You are fighting a war.

Yes, it’s bloodless (on your side), but it’s still a war. You are fighting a war against war. You use speeches as weapons and are a living example, making yourself the General of your non-violent army, and inspire people to follow your philosophy. They are sitting on their arses and doing nothing in a way that hurts your opponent. You retaking your birth family’s throne was your opening shot.

You are fighting a war, Relena, just a different one than the pilots.

I should probably rewrite this or something, but I have class in five minutes. Sorry for the crude language, I’m used to writing Heero, who could honestly care less if I don’t edit my letters before I send them. He might be upset about this one, though.

Harry.

P.S. In answer to your question, Hedwig likes bacon if you can’t get owl treats. Cooked lean bacon. I cannot stress the cooked part enough. Hagrid’s gone and I don’t know if I can trust his temporary replacement with Hedwig unless I have no other choice.

P.P.S. If you’re curious about magic, you will eventually be contacted by a representative of the magical nation your kingdom falls under, but you can search for my school on Google if you’re impatient. The school’s site has links to other sites designed to explain the classes to muggle parents. An online newspaper you might be interested in will also pop up from a search for Hogwarts.

Noin’s lips twitched as she tried to hide her smile, and not because Relena had a plate piled high with bacon for the snowy owl to eat. “He did apologize for his language,” she said diplomatically.

Relena chuckled softly, her eyes watching the owl perched on the chair by her desk devour the bacon and coo at her for the treat. “But is he right? Am I fighting a war?”

“In a sense, yes, you are,” Noin said slowly, organizing her thoughts. If she spun her response incorrectly, Relena might take a far less active role in fighting against Romefellor, and Lucrezia Noin was selfish enough to admit she found it far more satisfying to protect a nation and its princess than protecting a teenage girl hell bent on getting revenge for her father’s murder and chasing her crush. “But it is a war someone needs to fight, Miss Relena. If no one stands up and says enough is enough, the bloodshed will continue. Your beliefs and your parents’ beliefs are well known. Because of that, you’ve become a shining example for others to follow.”

Relena nodded, more to herself than Noin, and picked up her pen. She tapped it against her desk as she thought. Suddenly, she pulled her stationary pad close and started writing.

“You’re writing back?” Noin asked, dropping the letter. She couldn’t believe Relena was going to continue writing to this boy now that he had passed on the news Heero was still alive. He was crude, insulting, and...and...and everything that wasn’t part of Relena’s norm.

“I enjoy a challenge,” Relena said, an eerily familiar smile on her lips. It was the same smile Zechs’s wore when he went into a battle he knew he would need all his skills to win.

Noin had the uncomfortable realization she would be spending a good deal of her time researching wizards and this Voldemort character and his potential threat to the Sanc kingdom. By being a friend of Heero Yuy’s, Harry Potter had become someone important in Relena’s world. Perhaps she should write her own letter to the boy to see if he could give her any information that would help her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Typing in the address of the message board from Harry’s latest email, Heero absently listened to J and the other scientists and resisted the impulse to knock the old men into the walls for scoffing at Quatre.

Seeing Trowa’s destroyed suit without Trowa had killed the small hope Heero had for Trowa’s survival. Hearing Quatre begging the old men to look for Trowa was pulling on the emotions Heero was doing his damnedest to hide. Showing any emotion around J during what could be classified as a mission was dangerous for Heero’s mental well being. The old man had protested Dekim Barton’s orders to eliminate Heero’s emotions, but he had carried them out to best of his ability, only backing off when Heero perfected his mask. Heero had no plans to forgive the old bastard for what Heero considered a betrayal of their agreement.

If J or any of the other scientists came at him with a needle, Heero had plans to kill him however he could and in the most painful way he could manage with the tools he had access to at that time. He knew Wufei and Duo had similar plans for such situations. Quatre and Trowa were lucky; H and S had only had limited access during their training due to lack of time in Trowa’s case and an extensive, over protective family in Quatre’s.

A point between Heero’s shoulder blades itched. He stiffened and looked over his shoulder at the blond behind him. “Quatre?”

Quatre was visibly battling against his natural instinct to smile a greeting at Heero and obey Heero’s earlier warning to not let the scientists see him display too much emotion. Not that his begging the men look for Trowa hadn’t been an emotional display, but it could be written off as a soldier being concerned about their numbers being lessened. It would be by H at any rate; J and O’s disgusted expressions said they had caught and understood what H didn’t. Or didn’t want to understand. Heero didn’t know enough about the man to say if he was blind, stupid, or surprisingly compassionate concerning Quatre and Trowa’s friendship. The latter was most likely considering the man had encouraged Quatre’s partnership with the Maganac Corps.

“What are you doing?” Quatre asked softly, his head tilted forwards ever so slightly so he was looking up at Heero through his white blond bangs. This combined with his naturally wide blue eyes made him appear far more innocent than he was. Heero had the irrational urge to take Quatre to his sisters and order them to hide the younger pilot away.

Heero knocked the impulse away with a sharp shake of his head. Quatre was a Gundam pilot. He had killed. He had used his innocent looks as a way to escape capture on Earth and later kill his targets. He was not the innocent child Heero’s instincts said he was.

“Asking one of my contacts if he knows more about the others than J,” Heero said.

Quatre perked up, his lips briefly forming a smile before he forced his expression to blank. “Do you think they’ll be able to look for Trowa?”

Shrugging, Heero signed in to the message board using the name and password Harry had sent and immediately went to the administration section. As he posted his quick message, he prayed to a god he didn’t believe in Harry or the Chang girl was awake and aware enough to figure out what he wanted.

The response was far quicker and informative than Heero had imagined it would be.

You’re lucky we’re up this late. We wouldn’t be if SS hadn’t assigned an essay today that’s due tomorrow.
1) Where have you been? I swear H’s going bald worrying about you.
2) Alive, safe, and chatty. He’s keeping us up to date on the latest gossip.
3) No info, but we’ll keep our ears open. H says he’ll contact Len tomorrow so she can look. She has more resources than we do.
4) Good to know. My cousin was worried. Wouldn’t give me details, though. We pass along our condolences for his father’s murder.
5) Alive, nowhere near safe, and annoying me. If you see him before I do, smack him for me. I know who murdered my boyfriend and I don’t appreciate him calling me and H liars. I’ve seen H’s memories of that night; he hasn’t.

I’m not going bald, thank you very much, C. I’m going grey, as R pointed out.
Don’t die between now and tomorrow morning, Len won’t get my letter until then. Actually, try not to get killed at all. Your friend accidentally let me know the last was attempted suicide. Don’t do that again either. I blew up a lot of windows after figuring it out. I can’t afford to get all the windows at school replaced. When you get a chance, send me an email, or letter if you make it here. I’m worried, and this does nothing to make me stop.
I know it’s not much, nor does it have a high chance of success, but we’ll try a tracking charm or two with some Astronomy charts tonight and see if we can give Len a general area to look in.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You are a fool, Chang Wufei. The next time I see you, I will hex your bits to the moon and curse you to follow them. Just because you haven’t seen Him face to face does not mean he isn’t alive. That’s like me telling you Treize Kushrenada isn’t real because I’ve only seen him on the telly. It’s a bloody stupid thing to say and you know it. I never thought someone as intelligent as you would place so much faith in propaganda from an obviously corrupt government. What happened to the scholar Meilan married?

Cho

P.S. I am not dating Potter!

Wufei snorted at Cho’s weak denial. Who did his cousin think she was talking to, an inbred British wizard? He knew Cho wasn’t dating the boy now; he had simply said it was obvious she was interested in the Potter boy and close to asking him to accompany her to Hogsmeade, something Wufei thought was dangerous and fool hardy considering Diggory’s death had happened just months earlier. The Diggorys and what remained of the Long clan on Earth had been discussing marriage between Cho and Diggory. Cho becoming romantically attached to Potter so soon was disrespectful to Diggory’s memory and would shame their clan.

A romantic relationship at this time would also do nothing but hurt Cho and Potter in the end. Cho would constantly compare Potter to Diggory and find him lacking, and Potter would be forced to try and live up to Cho’s idealized image of Diggory.

Perhaps that was the best argument to use to explain his thoughts on the situation. Wufei did not know his cousin as well as he should, but he did know her status in the clan meant very little to Cho, but knowing she would be hurting an innocent person she called friend would go a long way in making her understand his thoughts on her current situation. The Voldemort issue, however, Wufei planned to leave untouched for the moment, other than apologizing to his cousin for accusing her of lying. Once the war was over, he would make time to meet Potter and decide if the boy was truthful about Voldemort’s return or simply insane.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

...rumors are flying fast and hard up here, mostly rehashes of the old ones. One of the newer versions says Lady Une went nuts and was killed. Another says she’s the one who released me and ‘Fei, then was shot, and is in a coma. The ones about Heero, Quatre, and Trowa are all disturbing, but they all have the same common theme that Heero and Quatre are back on or heading to Earth and Trowa’s somewhere in this general area.

I know it’s not much, but I thought you should know the latest changes. Mind telling me what Len is up to? Word here is she’s restarting the family business.

Duo

Harry let the cursor hover over the reply button, wavering over responding.

Duo was doing the over-protective thing again.

Duo wasn’t lying, not quite. He was omitting information, leaving out little details, and not telling Harry things. He was lying by omission, which really wasn’t a lying at all but was because Harry knew Duo wasn’t telling him everything he could.

Harry took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He was giving himself a headache, trying to figure out if Duo was lying by not lying by not saying anything.

He shoved his glasses back on, glaring at his computer screen. He had just made his headache worse and he was no closer to solving his problem. Latest problem. He had nine others needing his immediate attention and one he and Cho had sort of solved. They were hiding in the hallway leading to the Chamber of Secrets, taking a quick break before they went back to cleaning up the rat, cat, owl and toad bones littering the floor of their new hideout.

A well meaning parent had informed Fudge about Cho’s online newspaper. According to the Hogwarts rumor mill, the idiot had printed out several of the articles and owled them, along with a letter demanding answers, to Fudge. When they hadn’t received what they considered a proper response, they had owled that day’s articles to Prophet and kept sending new ones every day, getting other muggles and muggleborns to send in the same, until the Prophet had no choice but to act. Now the Prophet was printing their articles, along with their (a.k.a. the Ministry’s) scathing, absolute denial responses.

The first article sent to the Ministry had brought Umbridge’s wrath down on Harry during class, but not much else. The letters to the Prophet had set off a chain reaction, ending in Fudge giving Umbridge free reign inside Hogwarts and Harry and Cho deciding to spend their weekend finding a place to hide their barely legal computers. Cho had suggested the Room of Requirement, but Harry, in a spout of Heero-induced paranoia, had instantly vetoed her idea. He reasoned that while the Room was a good temporary meeting place for the DA at the moment, eventually they were going to be noticed. Thirty kids all disappearing at the same time once or twice a week was going to draw Umbridge’s attention sooner than later, and the last thing they needed was for their computers to be confiscated, especially Harry in the current political environment. Mr. Weasley’s Muggle Protection Act made it possible to possess spelled muggle things as long as one didn’t use them, and the Ministry couldn’t prove they had used them without breaking the law themselves to check, but neither Harry or Cho thought someone else breaking one law to prove Harry had broken a law worthy of time in Azkaban would bother anyone in the Ministry too much at the moment.

So they were hiding under the school, a fresh cave-in keeping them out of the Chamber itself. Not that the hallway was a bad hiding place, being protected by a Parseltongue password, but Harry would have felt a lot safer if they were in the Chamber. Unfortunately, neither of them had mastered the bubble head charm or the stabilizing spells they felt were necessary to venture further.

That was a good description of their current situation over all. They didn’t know enough to help Heero or the others. They didn’t know enough to get Umbridge out of power. They didn’t have the contacts needed to counter Fudge’s attacks. They were just two teenagers attempting to stand up against corrupt adults with more power, more resources, more everything.

“We need help.”

Huh.

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 11:25:45 GMT

Okay, who broke Insane Journal? Anybody want to fess up?

LJ's latest policy change

Tue, 14 Aug 2007 03:47:10 GMT

http://community.livejournal.com/lj_biz/

Well, it looks like their policy has improved, but I'm not optimistic. There are non-fanfic communities that have clearly violated the TOS, have been reported more than twice, and are still here. While I'm glad they finally learned how to somewhat do PR, they aren't fairly enforcing their TOS.

I might not delete my journal, but I will not renew my paid account come January.

Fic: Wishes Revisited

Mon, 13 Aug 2007 22:55:49 GMT

Title: Wishes Revisited
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in here except the most basic concept, and I’m sure someone else has at least thought about writing something similar, if not already written it.
Summary: AU: Looking at the small child clinging to the tree, Halfrek decided Vernon and his sister were going to die slowly and painfully and perhaps be introduced to her friend Bubba the Chaos demon before she was finished with them.
Warnings: a pissed off vengeance demon, child abuse.
Sequel to: Unfulfilled Wishes
Characters: Irvine, Harry, Halfrek
Fandoms: Harry Potter, Final Fantasy VIII, Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Author’s Notes: Thank God, I finally finished it.

Wishes Revisited

Looking at the small child clinging to the tree, Halfrek decided Vernon and his sister were going to die slowly and painfully and perhaps be introduced to her friend Bubba the Chaos demon before she was finished with them. The dog with the bloody muzzle was going down, too. Petunia would only be spared the bulk of her wrath because she wasn’t here for this.

Hidden in the shadows of Number six’s largest tree, Halfrek twisted her hand, freezing the world around her. It only froze the immediate area around Privet Drive, but she didn’t care how long it took her to help Harry or how late the people of Privet drive would be tomorrow. She could have slowed everything down so no one would notice, but all of these morons deserved something for ignoring how the idiots in this house treated children, although simply getting written up or fired for being late to work barely qualified as punishment in her book. She cast a glare in the direction of number eleven and snarled. She wanted to do something extra special to the cop living there, but unless Harry made a specific wish against his neighbors, she wouldn’t be able to do much beyond asking Anyanka to hang around in case his wife ever found out about his girlfriend.

But first I need to get Harry out of the tree.

Dragging a ladder from the Dursleys’ tool shed, she silently (and for the millionth time) asked the universe why this gig didn’t come with the ability to float things and people. She could teleport anywhere, breathe underwater if she needed to, assume human form, curse people who annoyed her, rewrite thousands of years of history with one tiny wish, but she couldn’t float things. Propping the ladder against the tree, climbing up, and carefully lifting the injured boy off his branch, Halfrek decided (also for the millionth time) to ask D’Hoffryn if she could be given the ability to float stuff. Her main title was the Patron Saint…Okay, Vengeance Demon of Wronged Children and a good number of her wishers called her when they were hurt; floating would come in handy when she needed to move them without hurting them further. Pain did not lead to trust, no trust led to no wishes, no wishes led to no job.

After kicking the dog away, she carried Harry over to the tool shed and sat down in the shadows, using the small building to hide the dead bulldog and two drunks still watching the tree from the kitchen window. She settled him on her lap, half facing away from her, and ripped a piece of her shirt to make a temporary tourniquet above the missing chunk of his calf—it would start bleeding again the second she unfroze him and…

Was that bone?

A small growl escaped as she ripped off another piece of her shirt and used it as a temporary bandage to cover the gapping wound—it wouldn’t do for the boy to see it and start panicking. This was an all time low for Vernon, letting his sister sic her attack dog on Harry. She was definitely calling Bubba in for this one.

Forcing her features into her human guise, she flicked her hand, unfreezing Harry, and cradled the crying boy close. She rubbed his back gently, as her normal rocking method of calming children would only aggravate his injury. “Shh…shh…It’s okay now, sweetie…They can’t hurt you anymore…I promise I won’t let them hurt you again…”

Harry’s sobs eventually slowed enough that Halfrek could tell the difference from his whimpers caused by pain and his sniffles from crying. She smiled reassuringly when he looked up at her, green eyes dark with pain. “Hurts,” he whimpered, his injured leg jerking.

“I know, sweetie, I know,” she said sadly, and wiped at his tears. “I can make the hurt go away if you want me to.”

“The hurts?” Harry asked.

Promising the Dursleys extra pain hearing at the plural, she nodded. “All of your hurts,” Halfrek said firmly, “but I need your help to do it. Can you say ‘I wish my hurts away’?” With all the trauma of tonight there was no way Harry could understand everything properly enough to put it all into one wish. She would have to guide him through it slowly with three separate wishes—one for healing, one for vengeance, and one for family.

“Wish?”

“That’s how my magic works. I need you to wish for me to help you,” Halfrek explained. “If you wish for it, I can make it happen.”

Harry’s green eyes lit up with hope despite the obvious pain he was in, and he asked, “A real family?”

“The hurts first,” Halfrek prompted, reading the lifeline threads tangled around his. Two people…no, three more people, she corrected, looking back at Harry’s flickering lifeline, were on her vengeance list for this one boy.

When a fourth lifeline appeared, hiding under a bright yellow-orange lifeline, Halfrek saw red.

...

Somewhere in Africa, Anyanka resisted the urge to cackle wildly as she felt Halfrek’s temper spike. After coaxing her latest client towards her wish, she popped away, summoned a bowl of popcorn, and sat back to watch.

...

They were at the bottom of the train station steps when the world froze.

Irvine stumbled free of his frozen aunt’s too tight grip on his shoulder, and looked around at the perfectly still people. The too perfectly still people. Fear and confusion swirling together in his stomach, the five year old boy stared at the bird flying over the street, its wings stuck mid flap. He looked at his aunt again, her mouth frozen in mid rant about his drunk father.

“Holy Hyne,” Irvine whispered, saying one of the milder swears he had heard his father use quite often.

“Hyne has nothing to do with this,” a woman said to his left, smug laughter in her voice.

Like the heroes in the horror movies he snuck downstairs to watch, Irvine slowly turned to face the woman who had just spoken.

The woman was pretty, not beautiful. Tightly curled hair framed a slightly plumb face with a cruel yet gentle smile. The young boy she was holding didn’t seem afraid, more like curious and eager, but Irvine was still wary of the woman.

“What did you do to Aunt Petty?” Irvine demanded half heartedly. He didn’t want to loose another part of his family, but he didn’t like his aunt at the moment, either. She was sending him off to Hyne only knew where and she and his uncle had sold everything of his they could, yet she was family and family meant the world to Irvine. Family was something he hadn’t had since his mother had died the year before.

The woman sneered at his aunt. “Your Aunt Petunia is just fine at the moment,” she said, looking at him and smiling once more. She walked closer, stepping around a frozen dog, wrinkling her nose as she hopped-stepped over the puddle it was making by the sign post. “I’m here because you made a wish. You did wish for a family, didn’t you?”

Irvine felt her “at the moment” addition was important somehow, but she was talking about his wish for a family and the boy with her looked like Irvine’s father in the same way Irvine looked like his mother. Aunt Petty wasn’t important anymore; the way the boy was looking at him and his fearful glances at Aunt Petty every other second was.

“What kind of family?” Irvine asked warily, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at her for all he was worth. At five, his glares were funny, not scary, but he didn’t want this strange woman to see how much he wanted any kind of family. Glaring at her was better than staring hopefully at the boy she was holding.

“A little brother,” the woman said, as she knelt on the sidewalk in front of him. She gently sat the boy down on the ground, ruffled his hair, and pulled a teddy bear from somewhere Irvine couldn’t see. She handed it to the boy, who took it and quickly took a step back, almost moving to hide behind Irvine. Then she faced Irvine again, smiling her cruel, gentle smile. “But you have to want him to be your little brother before I can make it happen, Irvine.”

Irvine stared at the boy, and the boy stared back. He looked like Irvine’s father, so much like the man who had died just three days before. The boy wasn’t family yet, but he could be.

Irvine held one hand out, and the boy instantly grabbed it with his hand that wasn’t clutching his bear to his chest. “I’m Irvine.”

The boy smiled shyly, hiding his face behind his bear’s head, and said, “‘m Harry.”

Irvine jumped when the woman clapped her hands and cheerfully said, “Now that you’ve met and Harry’s wish has been granted, I just need you to make your wish again, Irvine.”

Irvine narrowed his eyes at her, not liking the overly cheerful tone in her voice. “I thought you were granting my wish,” he muttered, tightening his grip on Harry’s hand. She couldn’t take him back now, not after they had just met.

“My magic’s a little strange, not at all like your brother’s, sweetie,” she said, tilting her head to the side and looking far too innocent. “I need you to wish for a family while I’m here so I can release the world around us.”

With the perceptive gift all young children have, something about her words didn’t ring true to Irvine. He looked at his new brother, whose expression was just as suspicious and hopeful as Irvine felt. Irvine took a deep breath to calm his fears and, turning his face so he was looking at the woman he didn’t quite trust, said, “I wish for family.”

The woman’s gentle human mask melted, revealing her scarred, unholy, demonic true self. Irvine tightened his grip on his brother’s hand and stepped in front of him, feeling like a fool for trusting someone, some thing so strange and unfamiliar.

The thing grinned at him, showing off her not human smile. “Granted.”

Irvine shook his head, shaking off the mist muddling his thoughts. Something was different. Not necessarily in a bad way, but definitely different. He scanned the crowd, looking desperately for what was off.

His brother tugged on his hand, and Irvine turned around to face him, confused as to why his brother was smiling when everything was so different.

“She told me her name was Hallie,” Harry whispered, looking up at him with big green eyes. “Are you going to unwish me?”

Irvine’s new and old memories crashed together in a jumbled heap on the floor of his mind. Irvine shook his head again, answering Harry’s question and straightening his thoughts out at the same time. The woman-thing was wrong and evil, but she had given him the gift of not being alone. Irvine wasn’t going to throw that away.

“Nah, we’re family now,” Irvine said firmly. “And family sticks together.”

Harry smiled, and Irvine smiled back.

“What are you two brats doing?” Aunt Petty shrieked from the top of the stairs, oblivious to the stares from the other people around her. “Your train leaves in ten minutes!”

Irvine stuck his tongue out at her, making Harry giggle into his bear, and the two boys started climbing up the stairs, Irvine never releasing his grip on his new brother’s hand.

LJ rant

Thu, 09 Aug 2007 07:25:59 GMT

First, I will never post or reply to anything after being up for 48 hours straight during a heat wave again. I randomly babble way too much. Case in point, my reply on the news post earlier today.

My complaints: What pisses me off the most about this is I don't write anything that could be called porn (The closest I've gotten is my Hermione/Quistis fic, Falling). I'm a very private person and that's reflected when I put pen to paper. When I read, seven out of ten times I'm going to skip any and all sex scenes. It's not really my thing and it just gets old (sometimes it feels like an author is following a sex scene check list ); the story of how they got to that point is more interesting to me.

Yet because I disapprove of LJ's ever changing policies and their trigger happy delete fingers, their attitude makes it seem like they believe I support child porn.

That's complete and utter bullshit!

I see something like "chan" in the warnings, I hit the backspace button faster than the speed of light. I think it's disgusting and I don't want to see it. If the author fails to warn me and I run across it, I tend to leave one heck of a ranting review to tell them to put up proper warnings. I run across a journal that gives me a serious cases of the willies (I haven't had that misfortune as of yet), I'll report it to the proper authorities, not LJ. Why? Because LJ is doing nothing but giving pedophiles and others like them the information they need to know to stay off the radar while giving innocent people a bad rep.

What's scariest about all this is the way they completely ignore the truly dangerous communities, like the ones supporting anorexia and racism, all under the banner of 'We must protect the children!' and nothing they are doing is protecting children. I've seen things that are far more graphic on HBO and Cinemax than ponderosa121's art.

The reason I'm leaving LJ: All of the deletions I keep hearing about all fall into the Harry Potter fandom, and most of the ones I've heard about have been authors and artists who write and/or draw slash. This sends warning tingles up and down my spine. Not because it feels like they're attacking my fandom of choice, but because I am bisexual woman. Every time I see another deletion of a slashy journal with a piss poor, bullshit reason, it's like watching my mother's 'Ew, ew, ew!' face when I forgot who I was shopping with and she caught me checking out another woman for the first time in her presence. No, it's not as personal and it doesn't involve the three week long 'You gross me out, I don't want to talk to you' looks and the 'What do you mean, 'you like girls'?' talk, but that unwelcome 'Don't want your kind here' feeling is still coming through loud and clear.

I love my mother and I will always love her. It's easier for me to sit down and talk to her and deal with her mild case of homophobia. It's not so easy for me to sit back and deal with a company whose horrible customer service makes it impossible for me to find out if this is just a case of misinterpretation on my part or that they really do want all of us to transform into straight thirteen year old girls who only gossip about boys, make up, and what we did with Joey at the movies last friday.

At this point I really don't care what LJ thinks. If they can't prove they respect their customers and fairly enforce their policies by January when my paid account runs out, I'm using that money to buy a paid insane journal account and deleting my LJ. I get enough homophobic crap every day in real life; I don't need it here on the net.

Fic: Plushies and Frogs

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 20:28:13 GMT

Title: Plushies and Frogs
Disclaimer: I don’t own Card Captor Sakura or Harry Potter
Summary: “I am not a plushie!”
Author’s Notes: I’ve been trying to work with Ron more when I write. After a little playing around, this is all I’ve got and it’s more Neville than Ron.

Plushies and Frogs

“This was the quickest capture yet, and the Thunder is not an easy card to catch!”

“Kero, shut up! You’ll wake-”

“Ron, why is there a flying stuffed animal following you?”

“Um, it’s technically a plushie.”

“‘Kay. Why did you need your cloak to go to the bathroom?”

“I was cold.”

“Oh. Why does the plushie look like it’s gonna kill me? Is it working for Voldemort?”

Snickering. “Harry, you just asked if a plushie wants to kill you.” More snickering. “Go back to sleep, mate.”

“Uh huh.”

“Paranoid, much? And I am not a plushie! I am the great guardian-”

“Who fell asleep instead of doing his job!”

“Wha?”

“Quit tearing up his stuff, Kero. His chocolate frogs are under his socks in his trunk, and the key’s under his charms book.”

“I’m not a plushie.”

“You’re eating his stash. Be happy he didn’t see the staff or the cards and let the plushie thing go.”

“…”

“…”

“I’m not a plushie.”

“I’m never touching a book again.”

Neville cracked open his curtains. Just to check, mind you. He had had several strange dreams since starting Hogwarts, but this was the strangest. Talking toys? Cards? Staffs? It sounded like Ron had found the Clow Cards, and that just couldn’t be right. If anyone was unlucky enough to find those, it was Harry.

Peering out from behind his curtains, Neville blinked at what he saw. Stared. Blinked again. Just to make sure, he rubbed his eyes and stared some more

He wasn’t dreaming. There was a teddy bear plushie with wings flying around their dorm room, sucking down one of Harry’s chocolate frogs and grumbling about being called a plushie.

Whimpering, Neville let the curtain fall shut. Of all the people to have so much power, it was Ron. Neville liked Ron well enough, but he didn’t think Ron had the control to master the Clow Cards. Ron was every inch a Weasley, and the Weasley temper, Ron’s temper, was legendary. Neville gave it a week before the Slytherin second year dorms were flooded via the Rain Card because Malfoy had ticked Ron off.

Curling up under his blanket, Neville whimpered again. “I should’ve gone to Beauxbatons.”

Here we go again

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 19:45:16 GMT

http://liz-marcs.insanejournal.com/260277.html

You think some people would learn from their mistakes. Fandom is so massive and communicates so well little lurkers like me will find out about this. I guess it's time for me to get off my butt and make some time to post on my other journals.

Fic: Cold Chicken

Thu, 02 Aug 2007 07:06:10 GMT

Title: Cold Chicken
Disclaimer: I don’t own Yu Yu Hakusho or Harry Potter
Summary: Hiei might be stuck as a kitten, but it will take more than a few pieces of chicken to make him purr.
Timeline: Takes place during the summer before second year.

Cold Chicken

Hiei hissed as the boy placed the meat, meat the boy had carefully fished out of the cold soup, on the floor under the bed and quickly yanked his hand back up to avoid being scratched again. After waiting a few more moments, Hiei squirmed free of his hiding place and sniffed.

He sneezed in disgust. Old chicken, the kind of food Hiei would normally turn his nose up at. But beggars can’t be choosers, and old, cold food was better than nothing. The boy above him knew that rule well.

Survival of the fittest didn’t always mean the strongest, but the smartest. It was a rule Hiei had followed religiously when he was young and would follow once again until he was freed from this damnable spell. It was how he had chosen his current caretaker, a young wizard who wasn’t able to resist helping the dirty kitten his cousin had been chasing.

Hiei wouldn’t admit it, but it was pure dumb luck he was hiding under the boy’s bed and not a little pile of kitten guts. He had spent hours watching the neighborhood for likely patsy to take him in when some fat kid had decided Hiei needed a firecracker on his tail, and he had run into the wizard just in time for the boy to pull the firecracker off and toss it into the air before it exploded.

The boy wasn’t able to properly care for a kitten, especially a demon turned kitten who craved massive amounts of red meat. He had to scrape together each and every small meal he gave Hiei, usually at the sacrifice of his own meager meals, and had gone days without meat to make sure Hiei had enough. Hiei didn’t know much about humans beyond how to make them bleed, but he knew the human had barely been getting enough before and definitely wasn’t now.

That didn’t matter, though. Hiei was simply using the boy for food and shelter until Yusuke or Kuwabara found him.

Climbing onto the bed and demanding pets, Hiei ignored how loud he purred as the boy rubbed his ears and blamed the ideas of revenge against the fat boy and his giraffe mother on the firecracker and bad food.

A Good Finish

Sun, 22 Jul 2007 14:14:26 GMT

I'm trying to avoid spoilers, so this all behind a cut. Though I don't think there's anything too book ruining in here...

*Sleepy Babble Alert*

It was a good finish for the series. In my opinion, it's a good finish for the series. There were parts where I had to walk away and do some of my own writing because my muses visited (which is why I just got done) and there are other parts where I went "Haven't I read this before?! In fanfic?!" *cough* chapter thirty three *cough*. Overall, though, it was good.

You know, now that I'm thinking on it, a lot of the book felt like it had bits and pieces of the seventh year fics I've read since the sixth book came out...I'm not saying JKR reads our stuff, just that some authors can really get into this woman's head. The way she pulled those bits and pieces together was completely new for me, though.

A couple of random things. I like how Harry's question about the blank blank from book six comes back and it turns out Dumbledore hid his suspicions from Harry. I still think Dumbledore the elder is a jackass, just a more human one who has been shaped by his life (c. 33 makes him a bigger jackass than I thought possible; yes, I do feel sympathy for the main character of that chapter. You can snort in disbelief now. I did.). The next time I read, I'm so skipping the epilogue. It just doesn't add much to the story for me. I love Aberforth. I seriously love Aberforth. Parts of the end were a little cheesy, but I love that he wanted to get rid of the Almighty Plot Device. Seriously, that is how all plot devices should go. Peacefully into the night, never to be seen again. Ever. God please help my brain survive if I ever find a fic about that thing...

*End Sleepy Babble*

I'm going to bed now. I hope you people enjoyed it as much as I did. Good night and sweet dreams.

ETA: The caffeine's slow in leaving my system so I'm checking out ffnet, just for giggles to see if there's any DH fic yet...I've already come across four, in two minutes, four separate stories based of chapter thirty three and six twin fics.

Evil, evil, evil habit...

Sun, 22 Jul 2007 01:20:02 GMT

I have this horrid habit of reading the last page or two of a book before I start. It's something I picked up when I was young and only had fifteen or twenty minutes to find a book to read. I would read the last page to see if what was there would make me want to see how the story got to that point.

I just did it with the seventh book...

And one thing I really did not want to happen, happened.

Why? Why? *sobs*

He's just so...and she...and the...Ehhh!

I'm going to get back to everyone who read LtNO, and then I'm going to sit down and read the seventh book, and pray the romance, if there is any, doesn't come off as some bad love potion fanfic hook up like it did in the sixth.

Fic: Letters to No One 1 of ?

Sun, 08 Jul 2007 04:42:25 GMT

Letters to No One

…stupid tournament. I have no idea how I survived the dragon and the lake. Sheer dumb luck, I suspect. When I think about what might happen next, I’m scared. All the possibilities my mind comes up with make me want to puke until Madam Pomfrey locks me in the infirmary so I can’t participate. This thing is full of things only seventh year students can handle, maybe sixth years if they’re really smart, and the third task is going to be the hardest. I’m fourteen, only in my fourth year here. There’s no way I can cover everything they know in the next few months. I’ve been trying since my name came out of the goblet on Halloween.

I hate Halloween. My parents were murdered on Halloween thanks to a back stabbing rat who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. A troll almost clubbed one of my best friends to death on Halloween. Halloween was the day Filch decided I had killed his cat and made it his mission in life to make me miserable. Halloween is the day my name came out of that stupid goblet—someone wants to kill me in a roundabout way ‘cause my mum saved me from Voldemort and they used the day he killed my parents to start their stupid plot.

Everything sucky happens on Halloween.

I’m sending this thing off with Hedwig now. I’m going to tell her to deliver it to whoever she wants or drop it in the ocean; I haven’t decided yet. I don’t think she’ll take it to a Death Eater (stupid name, huh?). She’s too smart to let something like this fall into enemy hands. (Yes, I’m fourteen years old and I have people out to kill me and no one wants to admit it but me. Everyone thinks keeping me wrapped up in wool and cotton will keep me safe.) I hope she doesn’t take this to Sirius; I don’t want him knowing how scared I am. To him I’m an extension of my father and he…I don’t know. I just needed to get all of this out before I exploded. I really hope whoever reads this isn’t a witch or wizard. I don’t think I could take having this printed in the Prophet.

Harry

Heero felt Trowa’s eyes on him and the owl sitting on his shoulder as he folded the parchment letter and stuffed it back in its envelope. Heero didn’t know what to tell the kid other than the letter was one giant whine-fest and he thought the boy was in dire need of medication.

Heero winced when the owl, as if she could sense his thoughts, tugged fiercely on his hair. He turned his head just enough to glare at her. She returned it with one of her own before flying off to where his bag was lying on the ground. He was stunned when she used her beak and claws to open it and pull out a few sheets of paper and a pen.

“I am not writing back,” Heero stated flatly, ripping the printouts from her claws.

The owl puffed her feathers and hooted at him like she was issuing an order. Yes, you will, her eyes seemed to say.

“No.”

If owls could smirk, Hedwig was doing a rather vicious one as she turned her head to look at his bag and back at him. She backed up against the bag and ruffled her feathers in a way that appeared ominous to Heero. Her eyes met his in a silent dare.

“You wouldn’t,” Heero hissed as Trowa coughed.

Hedwig hooted smugly and bobbed in place, an owl-ish ‘I will’. Not that owls could be smug, Heero reminded himself. She was just trained, well trained.

“You should give into her demands,” Trowa said with poorly hidden amusement. “She’s hovering over your extra gun.”

Odin’s gun; she was threatening Odin’s gun! Heero growled at the owl. She hooted back and shifted ever so slightly. “I can’t write on these,” Heero said, waving the printouts Hedwig had pulled from his bag.

Trowa stood and made his way to the truck. “I’ll see if I can find something. If I can’t, you can always use the back of the letter,” he said softly, that damn amused smile still on his face.

Heero growled softly as Trowa walked off. “I should have shot you,” he said to the owl.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

…once told me to follow my emotions. In your case, following your emotions would lead to cowardice if fear is all you’re feeling. I suggest you look past your fear and see what else you’re feeling. Use that to guide you. Humans feel fear as a reminder to be cautious, not for you to hide behind.

I don’t care what she does to this one, it’s the last one I’m writing. If she doesn’t take it, it’s her problem.

Heero

P.S. You need to retrain your pet. She threatened to shit on something my father gave me if I didn’t write back.

“Hedwig,” Harry screeched, crumpling the letter and hiding it in his lap so Ron and Hermione, who kept trying to read it, couldn’t see it. “I was going to throw that away! I can’t believe you took it.”

Hedwig ignored him and continued to steal bacon from his plate.

“Harry?” Hermione whispered.

Harry stopped glaring at Hedwig and looked up to see Hermione was staring at him, her worried ‘I will get to the bottom of this’ expression firmly in place. Ron was staring at him too, his mouth hanging open and showing off his half chewed eggs, his eyes moving from Harry’s face to the letter Harry was hiding in his lap. Feeling more eyes on him, Harry looked up at the head table.

Dumbledore was frowning at him, his blue eyes concerned. McGonagall was sending him her best disapproving glare. Snape…Harry’s blush deepened when he saw the amused sneer on Snape’s face.

Draco Malfoy laughed, and that was it for Harry. He grabbed his bag from the floor and ran. He ran like he had when he was nine years old and Dudley and Piers were playing their favorite game, Harry-hunting.

He heard Hermione and Ron calling for him, but he didn’t stop. He passed the doors leading outside, instead heading for the stairs. Outside was too obvious, outside meant he could be found easily. Staying inside the castle gave him options, places to hide, places he could lick his wounds in private without Hermione and Ron trying to help but only making it worse. All he had to do was get high enough and far away from the Great Hall before Hermione and Ron decided to follow him. Moody had the map; he didn’t have to worry about anyone finding him with that.

He had written that letter last week when things had just gotten to be too much, when the late nights of studying and sneaking books out of the library had overwhelmed him, when Snape’s sneering and Malfoy’s laughs wouldn’t stop, when Ron’s overenthusiastic help and Hermione’s concern had reached all time highs. It had come down to getting a diary or writing a letter he could burn or get Hedwig to drop in the ocean. He had chosen a letter.

He regretted not buying the diary, despite the connection to Voldemort. Hedwig wouldn’t have delivered a diary to someone without explicit instructions.

Harry was panting by the time he reached the astronomy tower. Just like every other morning, it was quiet and deserted, and it would stay that way until noon when Professor Sinistra came to set up for the night. Harry tossed his bag in the nearest corner and sat on the wall. He sat there for a long time, staring out at the grounds and trying not to cry. Embarrassment and frustration were not good reasons to cry; even the supreme level of embarrassment he was feeling wasn’t reason enough.

When he felt he could read it again without imploding, Harry un-crumpled the letter and smoothed it out. This time, his embarrassment some stranger thought he was the biggest weakling ever faded a bit as he read. Heero, whoever he was, had a point—he did let fear guide most of his actions. He let Ron’s fear of Parseltongue stop him from using it; he let Hermione’s fear of being alone force him to make up with Ron when he wasn’t ready; he let his fear of the Dursleys’ finding out he was doing better than Dudley in school from doing his best; he let his fear of not being accepted stop him from choosing his own classes at the end of second year; he let his fear of loosing the only home he had ever known stop him from standing up to Snape…

Harry stopped himself before he ended up with a list of regrets as long as Hogwarts was tall. He knew it would go on for quite a while.

He stared at the letter, frowning at nothing in particular. The way Heero wrote made Harry think he was years older, but there were also little things scattered among the advice in the first half that made Harry think he wasn’t that much older after all. It was as if his anger at Hedwig had caused him to loose his focus and he had found it again halfway through. After reading the letter for a fourth time, Harry decided Heero wasn’t much older than him, just really driven and smart like Hermione. He also decided, despite the lack of questions about his sanity, Heero didn’t believe in magic. The way the other boy couldn’t accept Hedwig threatening him of her own volition proved it to Harry.

Harry summoned his bag and pulled out a fresh roll of parchment. It was breaking the law, telling a muggle about the wizarding world, but he wanted to write back. He used the excuse Hedwig could never apologize, so he would for her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“She’s back,” Trowa said in a low voice that barely carried past the walkway, and Heero had to remind himself he wasn’t supposed to shoot his gun inside the hanger, annoying owl or no annoying owl, as the OZ soldiers would take that as ‘Unauthorized Aggressive Action’—once again, Heero had to stop himself from snorting at Noin’s term for any fighting outside of the planned mobile suit battle.

Heero finished screwing the panel back into place and crawled out from behind the pilot’s chair. Hedwig was clutching a bar on Heavyarms' door panel with one claw, the other gripping the letter tied to her leg. He held his arm out and she reluctantly let go to fly to him. He hadn’t forgiven her for almost using Odin’s gun as a toilet and she hadn’t forgiven him for shooting at her when she delivered the second letter, but they tolerated each other.

“How did you get here?” Heero murmured as he untied the letter. He didn’t expect an answer, not really, but he was curious as to how she gotten from Egypt to Scotland to Antarctica in less than week. Hedwig gave him a look that said she thought he was a moron and lifted her right leg to show him a small black and gold cuff. Heero resisted the impulse to take it off and examine it, and shook her off his arm. “Go bother Trowa. He likes you.”

Heero made a mental note to clean up the mess she had made on the door on her way out, and he sat down in the pilot’s chair. Writing to this boy was a risk, but it was an interesting one. The first letter had been a whine-fest, but the others weren’t, although the second one had mostly been one long apology—one long apology with a few curious questions. Heero had ignored the questions and told Harry to quit apologizing for stupid animals, resulting in a third letter, which had been more of a written rant that Hedwig wasn’t stupid, she really was as smart as he claimed, she looked after him like a mother, and Harry would appreciate it if Heero didn’t insult the first gift Harry had ever been given. Several letters later, Heero had to admit he was enjoying writing to the younger boy, if only for the enjoyment of arguing with someone who wasn’t afraid of him and wasn’t Relena or one of the other pilots.

Harry was a strange mix of innocent and jaded. He wasn’t so innocent he was annoying like Relena could be at times, but he wasn’t so jaded he couldn’t enjoy life, either. His views on the war were something Heero could understand, unlike Relena’s belief all fighting was unnecessary, and Harry hadn’t dismissed Heero’s thoughts on why the war was necessary. He understood why Heero fought, even though he wished Heero didn’t. Heero hadn’t written back after that letter, and had received another long rant about Harry being able to keep his mouth shut when it was necessary and that he was studying a book he had found on Occlumency so no one could pick at his thoughts without his knowing. Heero had still refused to write back. The next time Hedwig had shown up, she had dropped a copy of the book and a note saying Treize was a wizard in Heero’s lap. Heero’s letter in return had started out as a simple thank you for the warning and had ended up being his own little venting session about too many people knowing who he was. Heero knew from Harry’s following letter the younger boy had been laughing at him. The ‘Do you feel better now?’ at the bottom had been a dead give away.

Heero frowned as he turned the current letter over in his hands. It was thicker than the others and his name on the front of the envelope was blurred by what looked like tear marks. Heero broke the wax seal on the back and pulled the letter out, keeping a little of his attention on what was going on in the hanger and trusting Trowa to warn him if someone came too close.

Remember my first letter, where I wrote I was scared of the next task in the tournament? If I didn’t think divination was complete bullshit, I’d think it was a premonition.

Cedric’s dead. Wormtail killed him.

I wish hadn’t written that out. It makes it more real.

I should start at the beginning so you know what I’m talking about. You know the last task was a maze…

By the end of the first page, Heero was vaguely concerned.

…We thought it was another part of the tournament, that the portkey was taking us to the next challenge. Hermione says that was expected since no one told us anything beyond ‘Here’s a maze. Have at it.’ But the second we got there, my scar started feeling prickly. It didn’t take long before it burned like it had during my first year when Voldemort tried to kill me. I should have known and made Cedric turn back. By the time Wormtail carried ugly baby Voldemort over to us, it felt like someone had shoved a hot poker in my head and was wiggling it around. I couldn’t even tell him to run…

…The Avada Kedavra is roughly like getting shot, but without the chance the person on the other end is a crappy shot or not aiming to kill. It doesn’t matter where it hits the body, it will kill. There’s no known magical shield beyond what my mum did and no one knows how she did it. There was nothing near him he could hide behind. Cedric didn’t stand a chance…

…Crucio…I don’t know how else to describe it other than it hurts. While Madam Pomfrey was shoving potions down my throat earlier today, she said it burns and cuts at the nerves. I think that might be a good way to describe it, one giant burn from the inside out with needles and glass shards involved somehow. I know I screamed. I hate that. He liked making me scream…

It was at that point, halfway through the third page, Heero realized the distant, not-quite-real way he cared about what happened to the boy was evolving into something a little more substantial. Heero stopped for a few minutes, finding it strange he cared about someone he had yet to meet face to face, before shaking off the feeling as he started reading again.

…It’s easier writing this out to you, compared to sitting in the headmaster’s office and telling him. And it’s not because it gets easier or because picking at it helps bleed off the shock and pain. I think…I think it’s because I’ve never met you. I can’t picture you looking at me with pity (like Hermione and Ron do), or accusation (like the Hufflepuffs do—Cedric was a Hufflepuff), or even sympathetic understanding (like the headmaster and my godfather do). None of those really seem like something you would do. I think you’d probably glare at me (there’d definitely be eyebrow raising involved somewhere) and force me to analyze what had happened, make me accept that Voldemort scares the hell out of me but one day I have to face him and be forced to fight him again, make me learn from what happened this time. I wish someone here would do that, or leave me alone long enough to do it myself. They still want to wrap me in wool and cotton and tell me the “bad man” won’t be coming for me. (The bad man bit is a direct quote from Mrs. Weasley. She’d lock me away in her vault if she thought it would keep me safe.)

The black thing on Hedwig’s leg is a portkey of sorts, something that can take her from place to place almost instantaneously. It’s illegal for me to make one solely for carrying a person, but making one for Hedwig with a little extra magic for that just in case scenario is okay. I’ve been really bored here in the hospital wing, looking up spells and laws until I’m too tired to dream. It’s amazing how many loopholes wizarding law has, the portkey one being the easiest example. I’m not sure if it will actually carry a person, though Professor Flitwick said it would. (It’s amazing what one semi-fake crying fit will get a teacher to admit to. I kinda feel bad for playing on his emotions like that.)

Anyway, the portkey is keyed to you and me only. I had to burn your letters and use the ashes to get a fix on your aura, so that’s one less thing for you to worry about. She should be able to find you anywhere on Earth with it on, and she’s the only one who can activate it. You can take it off of her and break it if you want. I just needed something to do while stuck in here and I wanted to get rid of your letters before I go home next week for the summer (If I could figure it out from so few clues, I’m sure my aunt could too). Ron and Hermione won’t go through my things without permission, but my cousin is another matter, especially if it means he could get me in trouble with my aunt and kicked out.

I have to go now. Madam Pomfrey’s coming at me with my next dose of Dreamless Sleep and nerve potions. I hate Dreamless sleep; I’d rather risk having the nightmares. Getting drugged into not having them cheapens what happened to Cedric in a way I can’t explain.

Harry

With forced calm, Heero folded the letter and tucked it back into its envelope, his mind racing. He had no idea when Harry had stepped over that invisible line, when he had become someone Heero wanted to protect, but he had. Heero suspected it had happened when he had read Harry’s description of Crucio. Killing an enemy was something Heero understood; toying with an enemy for the sole purpose of causing pain was a completely different matter. It was the one thing OZ didn’t do. Oz used people, forced them to submit, played dirty when it suited them, but they didn’t toy with people.

Heero grimaced when he realized he was starting to respect Treize and the way he forced most of his people to hold to a strict code of ethics. Respecting Treize because he was a dangerous opponent was one thing, discovering he respected Treize for the few morals he managed to cling to turned Heero’s stomach.

“Bad news?” Trowa called from the walkway outside.

“Yes,” Heero said as he hid the letter inside the cockpit. He’d destroy it later when there wasn’t the chance someone here would find him before he was done.

“You can’t save everyone, Heero,” Trowa said quietly. “You have enough trouble keeping Relena out of danger.”

Heero snorted, refusing to release the tired laugh that wanted to escape. There was no ‘keeping’ Relena from anything. He could give her warnings and threaten to shoot her until he was blue in the face and his hand was about to fall off, and she would still do what she wanted. The girl was the most stubborn individual Heero had ever met, which, he reflected, she needed to be to survive the war. But there were times when he was tempted to shoot her in a nonfatal area just to get her to realize how dangerous her stunts really were. He couldn’t bring himself to kill her, but he was sure he could injure her if he convinced his mind it was for her own good.

“Heero-”

“Hey, who’s the Harry Potter fan?” one of the techs said as he walked over to where Trowa was. He grinned at Hedwig and tried to stroke her feathers. Heero wasn’t surprised when the owl snapped her beak at the tech and shuffled down the railing. She turned irritable when someone interrupted her time with Trowa.

“Harry Potter?” Trowa asked, glancing at Heero, silently asking him the same thing Heero was thinking. How well known was this kid?

“Snowy owls became popular after it got out the kid has one,” the tech said, digging around in his pockets. “My nephews pitched a fit when Dennis couldn’t get one before he started Hogwarts. Said every book he had ever read said Potter has a Snowy owl, and Colin swore Potter really has one. My brother-in-law couldn’t afford it, though. Potter’s owl is from one of those rare lines bred to be companions; they’re damn expensive. Ah, found it!” He held half peanut butter cracker sandwich out to Hedwig, who gently took it from his fingers.

“They’re not worth the money,” Heero said, thinking of his gun. Hedwig swallowed her treat and shot him a dark look. “You went in the wrong suit,” he said, jerking his head towards Wing. “That one’s mine.”

Hedwig moved her wings in an owl shrug as if to say ‘As long as there’s a chance you might step in it.’

Trowa coughed, using it as an excuse to cover his smile with his hand, and the tech outright laughed. “She definitely a companion owl,” the tech said, reaching out to stroke Hedwig’s feathers again, and this time she let him. “They’re the only owls that express their opinions like that. Damn protective, too. I might end up shelling out the money for one for my cousins if things stay the way they are now.”

“Voldemort or the war?” Heero asked, eyeing Hedwig critically. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want something as annoying as her for a pet, yet it sounded like there was more to the bird than an attitude problem.

“You heard about that, huh? Thanks to Colin’s hero worship, I got an email from my sister last night about that, asking if I thought she should pull the boys out of school.” The tech shook his head, a frustrated expression on his face. “There isn’t much I can do about keeping Dennis and Colin away from either war, but companion owls have been known to take the killing curse for their owners. Colin and Dennis idolize Potter; probably follow him to the end of the universe if the kid let them. It would make me feel better knowing there was a chance they might survive that.”

“You know a lot about these owls for someone who hasn’t bought one,” Trowa said quietly, his eyes flickering from Heero to the tech. He shot Heero a warning look, one Heero planned on ignoring.

“I did some research when Dennis first asked for one,” the tech said with a shrug. “I must have driven that shopkeeper crazy with all my questions.”

“Then you wouldn’t know how to get a computer to work in their school,” Heero stated flatly, earning himself one of Trowa’s rare disapproving glares. Heero glared back.

“It’s impossible; it’s why I was so interested in the owls,” the tech said firmly. “The school is over a thousand years old, and magic has permeated the castle and the grounds. Even the neighboring town. Old fashioned radios, watches with gears instead of microchips, and antique cameras can work within the wards, but not much else. Magic and technology can’t exist in the same space.

“If your friend went to Beauxbatons, you would be able to have one charmed so it would work, but not Hogwarts,” the tech added in what he thought was a soothing voice; Heero took it as a challenge. “Hogwarts is too old.”

Heero nodded and turned to go back into the cockpit, stepping over Hedwig’s latest failed attack. He would continue working on the adjustments to Heavyarms until it was time for Trowa to take over. Then he would hook his computer up to the OZ mainframe and do a search. If Treize was a wizard, then Dermail knew magic existed and he was power-hungry enough to have researched the idea of mixing technology and magic. There was a way to mix the two; he simply had to find it. It was too dangerous for Hedwig to deliver letters if an OZ mechanic in Antarctica could recognize her.

“What did I say?”

“Never tell Heero something is impossible,” Trowa said. “He’s good at proving people wrong.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

…lost his purpose. Noin tried to give him one by using Relena, his sister, but I don’t think Zechs cared the way she wanted him to. He was more concerned the last ‘pure’ heir to the Sanc throne was putting herself in the middle of a fight. It angers me Zechs can’t accept what he has become, that he can’t accept his father is dead and no one can live up to King Peacecraft’s ideals in this world, not even Relena. Zechs did what he had to, what was needed for him to survive. I don’t think his father would hate him for that. But the only father I’ve ever known trained me to be an assassin, so I can’t say I understand Zechs’s beliefs.

Yes, Relena was there again. You know of my visit to Marshall Noventa’s wife and granddaughter and how that ended. Relena was asked to keep a letter from Mrs. Noventa to give to me when we saw each other again. Relena, in what I’ve learned is typical Relena fashion, hunted me down instead of waiting. She had her butler fly her plane through our fight so she could stop us and read me the letter. (Yes, Harry, her seventy year old butler.) She also ordered me to kill Zechs at one point because we refused to stop fighting. For a pacifist, she’s extremely bloodthirsty. Not that I planned on listening to her.

I hope Noin’s revelation Zechs is really Milliardo Peacecraft finally makes Relena understand how her impulsive actions and words have consequences…

…I have my own project going to pass the time until they quit searching for me. From what I understand, common knowledge says magic does not mix with electricity or advanced technology, but I’ve found proof there are schools in the colonies for wizards and Duke Dermail has formed several research groups in the hopes of finding a way to combine the two, yet his efforts keep failing. Obviously your government is good at hiding things. However, I have made a contact on a message board that is willing to help me. She finds it amusing a muggle (whatever that means) has discovered your society…

…too dangerous for Hedwig to continue delivering letters. She is extremely recognizable, and her reaction to Trowa stuffing her in the cockpit of my suit was extremely messy and disgusting. I’m not sure if it was because it was my suit or because of the fighting, but I can’t risk her appearing during a fight and I won’t always be on Earth. By the time I send this, my contact should have sent the computer I paid her to make and enchant…

I can’t believe I’m using enchant outside of describing a fantasy novel or talking to a girl from one of those boarding schools I’ve been forced to attend…

…According to your school’s website (yes, it has a website for muggleborn parents. And yes, I know what that means now.), your train will arrive tomorrow. I will meet you there.

Heero

“Oh Merlin,” Harry squeaked. Despite knowing he was alone on the astronomy tower, he folded the letter up in his lap and looked around, and then he checked the map, just to be sure. Positive he really was alone, Harry tucked the map in his bag again and unfolded the letter. He reread the last few paragraphs, unable to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

Heero was meeting him at King’s Cross. Heero had researched magic. Heero had proof magic and technology could exist in harmony. Heero had bought him a computer?

That last one was the hardest for Harry to believe. Not only was it difficult to believe someone would buy something so expensive for a person they had never met, he had trouble believing a Gundam pilot had that kind of money to throw around. It wasn’t like Heero could walk into a bank and make a withdrawal, and ATMs had cameras. Of course, Heero using a message board implied everything had taken place online, but it still seemed weird. Heero buying him a computer implied…something. That they were friends, maybe? It just seemed like such a un-Heero thing, but then Harry was also surprised Heero was still writing him.

Until Heero’s rant, all of Heero’s responses had been cold and distant, almost no personal details to be found, but there had been enough. Enough clues for Harry to figure out what Heero was, enough Harry had felt uneasy keeping those letters, enough he had asked Dobby to get the letters from his trunk instead of Ron. Not that Ron would have read them without asking, but Hermione, for reasons Harry didn’t understand, found it upsetting there was a part of his life Harry wasn’t willing to share. She would have gotten it out of Ron what Harry had asked him to do and taken the letters from him so she could read them on the way to the hospital wing. The things Heero had written in his rant about Harry and Relena would have immediately told her who he was, not left her to figure it out like Harry had. Even among wizards, it was common knowledge Relena Darlian-Peacecraft was fascinated with one of the Gundam pilots.

Harry sighed at the letter. He would have to burn this one too, though he wanted to keep it. Heero had written it over a series of days and it was longer than anything he had written before. Besides the rant letter, it was the first letter Heero had written that wasn’t filled with demands for information disguised as questions, lists made into sentences because they had verbs, and some tiny nugget of advice in response to Harry’s letters. And there were details and personal thoughts. Harry wondered if Heero had been aware of what he was doing and made a conscious decision to write this way, or if it had simply happened and he hadn’t noticed until he was done. Either way, Harry suspected it was the first real letter Heero had ever written.

It was also the most incriminating letter. He really needed to get rid of it, but…

Harry checked the map one more time. Snape was down in the dungeons; Dumbledore and Mad-Eye were cleaning out Crouch’s office; McGonagall was in her office, and Ron and Hermione were in the owlery with Hedwig. Harry made a mental note to ask Professor Flitwick to check Hedwig for charms—he didn’t think Hermione would do anything to betray his trust, but couldn’t take the chance her curiosity would override her common sense either. Harry scanned the map one more time and finally found Malfoy was in the Slytherin Common room. Relatively sure he would be alone for a while, Harry snuggled back into his corner of the astronomy tower to read the letter one more time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Mr. Weasley.”

Arthur reluctantly turned away from studying the muggle trains and smiled at the young man who had called his name. It was an effort to keep his smile once he got his first look at the serious boy. He appeared normal enough for a muggle boy, if dressed in a slightly more formal fashion compared to the other muggle children in the station, but his eyes were cold and distant.

Arthur forced his smile to be a bit warmer, despite his instincts warning him to be wary. “Yes?”

“I…” The boy’s eyes flickered to the brick pillar hiding the entrance to the Hogwarts’ platform. “I’m meeting a friend before my brother and I leave on vacation. I was wondering if it was possible for a muggle to get onto the platform. I’d like to give him his birthday gift before we go,” he said, patting the small duffle bag hanging from his shoulder.

Arthur’s smile stopped being forced at the brief flicker of nervousness in the boy’s eyes, and he relaxed. This wasn’t one of those metal suit pilots that had the muggles in such an uproar, just a young muggle taking his first step into the wizarding world. “Of course it’s possible. Just walk on through. The train’s not arriving for another ten minutes, though. Perhaps you’d rather wait out here?” he suggested.

The boy shook his head. “No,” he replied, already moving to step through the barrier.

“Ah, young man?” Arthur said, causing the boy to start, though he hid it well, and turn around. “How do you know who I am?”

The boy blinked, and there was a hint of a smile before his face smoothed back to its original serious expression. “My friend described your sons’ hair as Weasley red. I guessed.”

Arthur chuckled and ran a hand through his bright red hair. “We are a rather memorable lot, aren’t we?”

The boy nodded and squared his shoulders as he stepped through the fake brick wall. It was suddenly obvious to Arthur the boy was forcing himself to meet his friend on the platform, most likely to prove magic being real did not bother him.

“The young and their grand gestures,” Arthur murmured as he turned back to his study muggle trains. It was absolutely fascinating the way muggles had adapted to life without magic. He wondered what a muggle would say about wizards. Would it be amazing to them how wizards lived without teac…toch…?

Arthur frowned. He couldn’t remember the word Hermione and Harry said muggles used to describe all their gadgets and gizmos, and it was such an important word. It started with a t and ended with a y…

Molly poked her head out of the barrier, an act that would have appeared rather strange to the muggles if the Look Away charms hadn’t been freshly applied that very morning. “Arthur! Get in here right now; the train’s here!”

Arthur followed his wife back through and tried to keep up with her as she rushed towards Ginny and Hermione, who were just stepping off the train, but it was difficult since he was also looking for the boy he had seen before. Arthur was more than a little curious as to who the boy was meeting.

Spotting the boy waiting by one of the back cars, Arthur stopped long enough to give Ginny a hug and tell Molly he would look for the twins and Ron, before pushing his way through the crowd. He lost sight of the boy several times, but every time Arthur saw him again, the boy was in the exact same place, refusing to move and forcing people to move around him. Very unusual for a muggle. Very unusual for a teenager, muggle or wizard.

Arthur pushed his way through the last group of students just in time to see Harry, who was backing out of the train, one hand holding Hedwig’s cage while the other tugged on his trunk, stumble and start to fall backwards. Arthur reached for his wand, but before he could wrap his hand around it, the muggle boy had darted forward to catch Harry. Arthur was stunned to see Harry turn his head and, after a moment of confusion, relax into the boy’s grip, smiling warmly.

“I wasn’t sure if you would be here or outside,” Harry said, letting the muggle boy take charge of his trunk after the boy refused to touch Hedwig’s cage.

“I didn’t want to run into your uncle,” the boy replied, as he pulled Harry’s trunk off the train, forcing George to follow it off the train, as he was holding the handle on the other end.

Harry snorted as he snagged a free trolley. “Don’t blame you. I’d avoid my uncle if I could.”

George’s expression lit up as he looked from Harry to the boy. Arthur hurried forward, determined to put a stop to George’s teasing before it began. Harry was so lonely during the summers, and Arthur was too pleased to find Harry had a muggle friend to let his sons get away with their normal antics and possibly chase the boy off.

“George Weasley, what were you thinking, letting Harry pull at stunt like that?” he demanded, clapping a hand on George’s shoulder, getting George’s attention on him instead of the boys. “Molly would have had a fit if she had seen that.”

“I was a little surprised by the stunt he pulled before we got off the train,” George muttered, scanning the crowd. “Mum’s not around, right?”

“Your mother is with Ginny and Hermione,” Arthur reassured, keeping one eye on Harry and his friend as they moved Harry’s trunk onto the trolley. The two boys were now speaking too softly for him to hear over the noise of the other students in the station, but Harry wasn’t at all tense around the boy. If anything, Harry was more relaxed than he had been the week before when Arthur had visited him in the infirmary, not normal behavior for Harry at the end of the school year. Every previous year, Harry had been a bundle of tense, nervous energy as he got of the train and went to meet his uncle. It was strange to see him like this.

“I’m surprised Ginny’s tolerating Hermione near her, with her crush on Harry and all,” George said in a low voice, catching Arthur’s attention. He jerked his head towards the train. “Fred’s getting our trunks. Mind helping, Dad?”

“What do you mean by ‘Ginny’s tolerating Hermione’?” Arthur asked, as he followed George onto the train. He felt silly asking his son for schoolyard gossip, but he had thought Ginny was over her crush.

“Harry’s had a pen pal for the past while—I’m guessing that guy; he refused to tell Hermione and Ron who he was writing to. Hermione’s been in a snit about it ever since Harry told her to mind her own business. Things came to head last night when Harry caught her putting a tracking spell on Hedwig to find out who he’s been writing to,” George explained, leading the way down the corridor. “Harry took Hedwig to Professor Flitwick to have the spell removed. Now Hermione’s starting off next year with four weeks of detention for not only destroying Harry’s extra credit project but for almost killing Hedwig. Turns out Hermione’s spell reacted badly with the portkey Harry had made for Hedwig and would have killed Hedwig if she had tried to use it.

“They had a big row in the common room last night,” George said with a grimace. He stopped in front of a compartment, pulled the door open, and stepped inside. “Hermione said some fairly stupid things-”

“-Like Harry’s life is everyone’s business, since Voldemort’s back and he’ll definitely be going for anyone close to Harry,” Fred said as George helped him get the first of their trunks off the top rack.

“Harry shot back it wasn’t fair that he wasn’t allowed to keep secrets, because Hermione certainly kept her own,” George said with a grunt as he and Fred lifted the second trunk. “And that as far as he was concerned, he and Hermione weren’t friends until she learned to keep her nose out of his private business, and that her need to know everything shouldn’t apply to other people-”

“-Unless she cared to be known as a busy body it-rhymes-with-witch as well as a know it all pain in the arse. That was all before Harry told her he would never forgive her for almost killing Hedwig because she thinks she knows everything and hadn’t thought to check if the tracking charm she had chosen was safe,” Fred finished. He shook his head in disgust as he and George dropped the trunk on the floor. “Hermione’s been crying ever since, and Harry hid back here with us for the trip. Said it was too tempting to hex her.”

Arthur gaped at his sons. It was disturbing Harry and Hermione had had such a fight, but it was just as disturbing that Harry, at fourteen, had created a portkey. Portkeys were post NEWT; one had to take a special course at the ministry to learn how to make one. Of course, it was easier to create a portkey for an owl, but that was a NEWT level spell on its own.

Arthur moved to look out the window, focusing on Harry and his friend. Even though he knew about the fight and was looking for signs of it, he could see nothing wrong with Harry beyond a slight frown as the other boy said something. Arthur suspected he knew who that portkey had been delivering Hedwig to. “Did Harry study more this year?”

“I was not expecting that question. Did you see that one coming, brother mine?”

“No, I did not. Think Dad’s priorities are a little screwy?”

“Boys,” Arthur said in a warning tone.

“Not much, Dad,” George said, sounding worried, curious and confused all at once. “Just the cramming for the tournament we wrote you about.”

“Don’t forget his project while he was stuck under Pomfrey’s tender care,” Fred said. “Over a week in the hospital wing. I’m not surprised he asked Professor Flitwick for something to do; just that it was Flitwick and not McGonagall. He barely passed her class.”

Arthur nodded absently. As pleased as he was to find Harry had found a muggle friend for the summers, it was worrisome the amount of loyalty Harry was showing this boy after knowing him for such a short time. It wasn’t like Harry to throw away a four year friendship for someone he barely knew.

He needed to visit Hogwarts. Albus surely knew of Harry and Hermione’s fight, but Harry’s sudden friendship with this boy was not something Albus would know of. With Voldemort’s return, they needed to know if this boy was dangerous, and Albus was the only one with the resources to find out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

…It’s quiet here, practically dead. Voldemort’s not doing anything big enough to be noticed. Fudge is still refusing to admit Voldemort’s back. I took your advice and started reading the paper from front to back, and Fudge is doing Voldemort’s work for him. It doesn’t bother me too much that Fudge is using the Prophet to malign my name, other than school is going to suck next term, but he’s also attacking Dumbledore and that’s bad. Dumbledore is trying to get a group together to fight against Voldemort and his followers and there are hints in the paper that he’s trying to warn people, but he can’t do that if people don’t believe him. Three days into break and there are already calls for him to be taken off the Wizengamot. Voldemort’s winning without one battle…

…This computer is a little odd; I’ve gotten too used to living with wizards. It feels strange to use a computer again. I haven’t used one since grade school. Oh, the thing to purge magic from the system was already an eighth full before I turned on that conversion thing. I know they put more wards on the house before I came home, but it’s ridiculous how fast it’s filling up. I wonder if it’s me. Dudley’s Playstation goes wonky around me sometimes.

You do know normal people have solitaire on their computers, right? I’m not complaining, just really bored.

You’re leaving? Already?

I should have seen that coming. Your home does need you, with the news saying Lady is going there…please be careful, Heero. Maybe I’ve spent too much time around Trelawney, but this doesn’t feel right. Something’s off. Things are going to get worse, a lot worse, before they get better.

Don’t do anything stupid.

Harry

“He sounds like Relena,” Heero muttered, as he deleted the email. He closed his laptop and stowed it in its case behind his seat.

A small window opened on Heero’s left screen, and Trowa’s face appeared inside it, although he wasn’t looking at the camera. “Who sounds like Relena?”

“Harry,” Heero said, as he ran a system check on Wing. He frowned at his main screen as information scrolled across it. This Wing wasn’t as good as the Gundam Doctor J had built, but it was close. If he had more time and money, he could make it perfect. “He told me not to do anything stupid. He knows I won’t do anything to jeopardize my mission.”

“Three things, Heero: Relena tells you not to fight, writing to a civilian qualifies as stupid, and I don’t believe he was referring to your mission,” Trowa replied. “He most likely meant your life. He doesn’t want you to die.”

“Hn,” was all the response Heero thought that comment deserved. He went back to checking the OZ bases near where Wufei, Quatre and Duo were. He and Trowa needed to draw suits towards them to buy the others time. Spaceports were immediately stricken from his list—he wasn’t taking his Gundam; it wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught at this point. “There’s another base fifty miles from their location.”

“That base is focused on repairs and supply,” Trowa said, checking his own information.

“And they have three units ready to leave,” Heero replied. “Are you coming with me, or did you have another location in mind?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

…easy for OZ. The colonies are accustomed to letting the Alliance control them. They aren’t protesting OZ’s takeover. I expected this, they aren’t used to fighting, but I had hoped they wouldn’t make it this easy for them. It only took the L1 cluster two weeks to decide to make an alliance, with only a token protest against the weapons OZ wants them to build. It will take the L2 and L3 clusters less time if Une starts off with promising the aid they need to repair their older colonies…

…bring them into space?! It makes no sense. It’s too dangerous. I have no idea what those two were thinking; they’re next to impossible to hide on the colonies. Having a Gundam in space while Une’s pilot profiles are floating around is like hiding a canon under a small haystack in an empty field. You might not see it, but you have a good idea where it is.

I need to take care of those files tonight, if I can. I doubt it will do much good, OZ is bound to send out official, hard copy information on us soon, but it might buy me some time…

…Did I tell you about 02? He’s…you’d have to meet him to understand him. He plays the fool, yet I know he’s not.

Normally he’s not a fool. This time he did something that proved he is fully capable of living up to the mask he wears, bringing his suit into space like he did. 05 also made the same mistake, and 04 would have if he hadn’t been forced to destroy his suit. I think 03 and I are the only ones who understand what keeping a low profile means. 02 says my attitude draws more attention, but I personally believe his hair is a bigger problem. That mess is recognizable anywhere.

I’m curious what he’ll say when he finds out I’m planning to attend school under his name. If he tries to enroll here, he’ll be forced to cut that mop to play at being me…

…cause problems while I’m gone. I’ve checked out the message boards and it’s clear your world is just as rocky as mine is at the moment. Don’t cause waves, don’t get caught running your mouth—even if it is the truth, but don’t lie either, and don’t tempt your Minister into doing something stupid. Let your headmaster handle it while you train. You need to improve if you ever wish to survive your war.

Heero

Harry automatically deleted the email and twisted in his chair to look out the window.

Before Cedric’s death, Seamus had teased him about having a girlfriend, with all the letters he was receiving, but it wasn’t like that. He wanted to say it was like having another godfather, someone a bit more responsible than Sirius, but Heero was only seven months older than him, so godfather was out. Definitely not an uncle, either. Too young and the word uncle was forever tainted in Harry’s mind.

His friendship with Heero was almost like having an older brother, yet it wasn’t. Harry tried to picture Heero treating him like Percy and Twins treated Ron, and started snickering at the image of Heero with freckles and dressed in Hogwarts robes and glasses. Not brother-like, either.

He classified everyone close to him in terms of his ideal family (Dumbledore-grandfather. McGonagall-grandmother. Poppy-grandmother. Ron-brother. Hermione-sister.), but Heero wouldn’t fall into a nice, simple slot. It was frustrating.

Still smiling at the image of Percy-Heero, Harry went to shower and then dress for the day. He would have to turn the computer off and hide it before he left, but Harry’s was definitely leaving the house for a while.

Heero was right; he needed to train to survive. There wasn’t much he could do during the summer beyond studying his books and practicing his wand movements, but before Hogwarts he had been a damn good runner and during the tournament Harry had noticed it was harder for him to run as fast as he once had. Living as a wizard was making him lazy.

It was time to get his speed back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

…never thought to check them before, and I’m wishing I hadn’t now. Do you know how disturbing it is to discover there are over two hundred websites dedicated to me, and all of them label me as either an insane, attention seeking brat or a sex symbol?! I just turned fifteen; I’ve never been on a date! But there are seventy year old women out there who want to have sex with me!

*shudders* I’m scarred for life, and I blame you for it.

On a more amusing note, I found out Snape, one of my science professors, has an anti-Potter site (link’s at the bottom). Thanks to Professor Flitwick (and thank you for giving me a reason to talk to the man; I never would have learned so much about my mother otherwise. The man has so many stories about her he’s willing to tell me, I think Hedwig is getting more exercise this summer than I am, with the way she’s flying to him and the bookstore and back here. I wish I could use the bloody phone.), I found out he and my father did not have the best of relationships while at school. He didn’t tell me much, but it was enough for me to know Snape needs to grow up and let it go. The man is being so childish, transferring his hate for my father on to me. However, his site also has some excellent references for books I’m using for my summer work, hence Hedwig’s trips to the bookstore. I can’t wait until he reads it. I expect to wake up hearing him screaming the night after my first class.

By the time summer’s over, I swear I’m going to rival Hermione with all the new books I own. Professor Flitwick’s been sending me recommendations and his old class books (I have to return those at the start of term) since I told him a few things about my family and that I had no clue about the basics. They’ve been a huge help, though there’s only so much I can do on my own before I’m sending a letter full of questions to the professor.

I also blame you for my recent trip into Land of the Geek. Just so you know.

Everything else here is the same. Uncle Vernon is still an ass; Dudley’s wider than he is tall (though there’s more muscle now); Aunt Petunia’s still a bitch; and that lady with the purple hair is still around. (I have yet to figure out who she is, but I don’t think she’s a friend of Tom’s.)

I’m sending this to your old email since Aunt Petunia left me in London for the day and I can’t remember your new one. I hope you get it and don’t delete it with the rest of the junk. Stay safe.

Harry

P.S. Purple lady says she knows Paddy. I get the connection, but when was D. planning on telling me about this? At least I can ask someone else for help with my work, instead of bugging the professor all the time. And send off a hand delivered letter to D. about keeping secrets. I swear the man knows more about my life than I do.

“I know computers are the love of your life, but could you look away from that thing for five seconds?” Duo demanded from his hospital bed. “Have you heard anything from the others or not?!”

Feeling playful, Heero looked at Duo, silently counted to five, and went right back to his computer, deleting the massive amount of junk email that had built up since he had last checked the account. Duo huffed at him, and muttered under his breath about anal pilots and their computers and how they (Heero and Trowa) spent all their time looking at porn.

When Heero was done with the junk, his fingers hovered over the button for a moment before he deleted Harry’s email as well. He was mildly impressed with the amount of information the boy had put into the email without saying anything incriminating. It was rather like one of Duo’s after mission rants—if one didn’t know what was being discussed, it sounded like a bunch of teenage blather, but it contained quite a bit of information if you knew what to look for.

Harry was somewhere other than his aunt’s house, most likely a library, in an attempt to discover who was watching him and despite the observers’ efforts, Harry had caught them at it. His current watcher was also a member of the group Dumbledore was building, the others were as well, and the current woman was a friend or related to the boy’s godfather, someone Harry could possibly manipulate into doing a few things for him. And, most importantly in Heero’s opinion, Harry was studying and exercising to improve his chances of surviving his next encounter with Voldemort.

The only problem Heero had with Harry’s email was Harry using him as the bait for catching his watchers. Yes, Harry had been careful, and yes, he was in a public library; but there was still a good chance the boy could be caught by OZ. Une, when she was in her right mind, was not someone to underestimate. The woman had an extremely impressive information network.

Heero decided to email one of his Earth contacts about the problem. Tia could wipe the library’s security system, just in case. He also made a mental note to remind Harry OZ cells were not a nice place to be, and if the boy wasn’t careful, he’d end up a guest in one.

“Are you done now?” Duo demanded as Heero closed his laptop. He grabbed Heero’s hand when he moved to disconnect the laptop from the internet. “Hospitals, even safe,” Duo rolled his eyes at the idea of a Barton hospital being safe, “ones, aren’t the best place to be. I want out. Now.”

“I’m not breaking you out,” Heero stated flatly. “You need to heal.”

“And G messed with me almost as much as J messed with you,” Duo shot back. “I’ll be up in a week, maybe less.”

Heero shook his head in denial of Duo’s request, and to shake off the memories of J’s enhancement treatments. “You still need to rest for those to work. If you leave, you’ll go right back to fighting, and end up here again,” he added at Duo’s stubborn look.

Duo made a face and turned to glare out the window. He muttered something so softly Heero couldn’t understand him, though he had a fairly good idea what Duo wanted.

He still pretended ignorance. “What?”

Duo turned his glare on Heero. “At least leave the computer. I know a throw away when I see it,” he said, half pleading, half petulant.

Heero sighed and reluctantly handed over the neon pink laptop. “Just remember to junk it after you leave. I stole it off a classmate.”

As he opened the laptop, Duo smirked, a knowing look in his eyes. “You picked pink because you miss the princess. Right?”

Heero immediately decided that didn’t deserve a response, and said, “Do you remember how to get into my main email account?”

Duo’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at being caught snooping and he nodded. “Why?”

“There’s someone I want you to email after I leave. His address is the sixth one on the list. Tell him I have an assignment; he’ll know what it means.”

Heero patiently stood by Duo’s bed as the other teen stared at him, obviously trying to decide if Heero had been replaced with a pod person.

Duo eventually nodded, slowly, and said, “Uh huh. Why? I know I’m asking it a lot, but why do I—or you—need to tell this kid anything?”

“For the same reason I emailed Howard to let him know I was getting you.”

Duo blinked, and then frowned, both curious and suspicious, as he stared at Heero. “You have a civilian friend?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry,

So, ‘Ro asked me to do this, and I’m really confused ‘cause I thought the stick was permanent outside our group, but I’m doing it.

He’s fine, just off on assignment. Things are pretty hectic at the moment, so don’t be surprised if you don’t here from him for a while. Though I did manage to get the guy to admit he hadn’t written in a while already—said something about your last sane email was over four weeks old and your demands were getting fairly annoying. I can answer some questions for ya’ if you’re worried about the bastard. He did tell me the others are okay, if you know any of the other guys.

Anyway, I’m stuck in the hospital for the next week or so and bored out of my mind. Write back, damn it! ‘Ro says compared to Pinky, you’re sane and I need someone to talk to. He also said I should believe you if you say anything weird about your school, and he has proof it’s real. He also told me it’s not to go beyond the group since T already knows and he’s sure Quatre’s a quib or something. What is he talking about?

Duo

P.S. ‘Ro also wanted me to tell you good job on training. Why do you need to train? Are you like…you know?

Hermione stared at the screen, her lips forming a small frown. She had suspected Harry was up to something, but this was ridiculous.

Harry was writing to a muggle. Even worse, Harry was writing to a muggle who was telling others about their world. And to top it all off, he was doing it on an illegal computer spelled to connect to the internet and to run off magic. Harry was breaking the Law. A very big-

“What are you doing!”

Hermione jumped off the bed and turned to the door, a guilty expression on her face, one she immediately forced off her face. She wasn’t the one telling muggles their secrets; she had no reason to feel guilty.

Harry sneered at her as he walked past her and snatched his laptop from her bed. Hermione pretended his scornful look didn’t hurt as she opened her mouth to chastise him for his actions.

She never got the chance.

“I can’t believe you,” Harry yelled, hugging the computer to his chest and glaring at her with hurt green eyes. “Why do you have to know everything? Why? Why can’t I have one damn thing that’s just mine without you poking your nose in it and ratting me out to Dumbledore?!”

Hermione shook her head in denial, but Harry ignored it.

“Don’t lie to me! I asked you for help finding an Occlumency book, and two days later I was called to his office and reprimanded for my independent studies,” he hissed at her. “Never mind it stops the pain of my link with Voldemort, he tried to get me to stop so he could look through my head whenever he pleases. All because you ratted me out. I never told Ron I was studying it,” he added when she shook her head again.

“You’re changing,” Hermione whispered in explanation, shocked at the sheer amount of anger in Harry’s expression and voice. She had come to Grimmauld Place in the hopes she could repair her friendship with Harry, but this boy wasn’t Harry. “Ever since you started writing this guy, you’ve changed.”

Harry snorted as he stalked back to the door. “It’s called growing up, Hermione. You and Ron should try it some time.”

“What you’re doing isn’t growing up!” Hermione shouted back, twisting on the bed to face him, unaware there was a crowd forming in the hallway outside her and Ginny’s room. “You’re being secretive and studying so much and just not acting like you. You’re acting like a Slytherin.

“And that computer-”

“Is from the colonies and completely legal, as it was a gift,” Harry finished for her. He shook his head, looking at her with a mock expression of sadness. “You’re slipping. Normally, your research is perfect, Hermione. But this is what happens when you let other people think for you.”

Hermione curled in on herself, falling back against the headboard, and pretended she wasn’t crying. She was just trying to protect him; why couldn’t he see that?

Ahhh! Damn it, I'm running out of bandaids!

Sun, 08 Jul 2007 02:01:29 GMT

**Rant Alert**

Dear Jackass Next Door,

The Fourth of July is a great holiday (one you used to get drunk and scatter beer cans burnt out fireworks all over my backyard) and I understand you're very patriotic. However, it's not the Fourth now. It's the SEVENTH!!!! One more firecracker that scares the hell out of my cat and sends him running this way and climbing up my legs so Mommy can protect him is going to result in me calling the cops on you. Put the beer away, give your loving, sane wife the matches, and GO SLEEP IT OFF!

Sincerely,

Pissed Off Neighbor

**End of Rant**

Fic: Side Effects, Chapter Six

Sun, 17 Jun 2007 04:20:14 GMT

Title: Side Effects
Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy VIII or Harry Potter
Summary: After killing Voldemort, Harry had planned on taking a long overdue vacation. However, Harry is Fate’s favorite toy, and she has plans. Two hexes and an accidental portal later, Harry finds himself dropped in the middle of another reality where people fear magic and a Sorceress is intent on taking over the world.
Pairings: Ron/Hermione, hints of Squall/Rinoa and one sided Quistis/Squall
Warnings: Swearing, death, violence, and eventual slash as the main pairing.
Author’s notes: I like to think the wizarding world is less prejudiced than the muggle world. Realistically, my best guess is the only stupidity they don’t share with their muggle counterparts is hatred based on skin color. Unfortunately, they’ve replaced it with hate based on bloodlines. So, um, yeah…as much as I’d like Ron in this story to be the open minded person I wrote him to be in ‘A Polyjuice Mishap’, he’s not. Although Ron’s not as bad as I thought he was going to be.
Chapter Notes: As I’m trying to work the little glimpses of the HP verse into the story instead of having them as intermissions or breaks, this chapter starts off with Ron and we find out who made the photo album, then it goes back to the prison where Harry’s presence creates the first major hiccup in the FFVIII timeline (which allows me to tackle two of the things that always bug me when I play the game).

Chapter Six:

Ron knew he wasn’t the brightest glowflower bulb in the greenhouse when it came to relationships. He often put his foot in his mouth or blew his top over the littlest of things, but he liked to think he knew when his friends were unhappy, how to make them laugh, what they wanted for their birthdays, and who to hex when they were hurting.

A muggle picture of Harry and a girl with shoulder length brown hair forced Ron to accept there might be a couple of things about Harry he had missed.

Reading Harry wanted to stay in a mostly muggle world had been a shock; seeing a picture of Harry smiling and laughing with some strange woman while in that muggle world was an even bigger shock. A part of Ron hadn’t wanted to admit Harry could be happy away from them. He had wanted to be able to tell his sister Harry would get sick of his latest adventure one day and come home.

That wasn’t possible now.

Keeping a tight grip on his temper, Ron turned the page, still looking for the person from Harry’s letter. The woman was close, but she and Harry didn’t have the couple thing Harry and Ginny had had, what Ron had with Hermione. Ron gave every picture with Harry and a girl the same close scrutiny and came up blank. He flipped back to the front of the album and tried again, this time looking for any girl who might appeal to Harry. It was difficult, since Harry had only dated Cho and Ginny and occasionally noticed Luna was female, but Ron figured he had a decent idea of what kind of girl his best mate liked.

He came up empty again. There were plenty of girls that fell into possible Harry-dates by their looks alone, but they were either in the background of the photo or there was no chemistry between Harry and the girl in question. Ron went through the photo album a third time, slowly this time, unwilling to accept what his gut was telling him. When he spotted absolutely no one, he pushed the album away and closed his eyes as if to ward off a headache.

Homosexuality in the wizarding world was just not done. Well, that wasn’t quite true. There were exceptions—if you came from a large family, if you already had an heir, if you were getting a little on the side in the muggle world. With Harry, dating a man was not an option because he was famous, powerful and the last Potter. With such a small community of witches and wizards, it was his duty to carry on his family name, to pass on his magical genes to the next generation. If Harry dated another man here, Scrimgeour would at least give the Daily Prophet carte blanche when it came to Harry to pressure him into a normal relationship and, if pushed too far, he probably would try to have Harry arrested. Scariest thing to Ron was the realization he would put just as much pressure on his friend to fit the norm, all the while saying it didn’t matter as long as Harry was happy.

The sticking point, the thing giving Ron a migraine, was simple yet confusing. Harry wasn’t here; he was there, in another reality where things like having an heir or being the last of an old family didn’t matter. Harry was in a place where things Ron had learned at his father’s knee were no longer important. Harry now had a freedom he couldn’t have here. Harry hadn’t said anything in his letter, only hinting he and Squall had started dating after Harry had given up any hope of coming home, but Ron wondered if Harry had quit looking before or after he discovered his attraction for the same sex.

With a renewed interest, Ron sat forward and snatched the album off the table. He opened it to the first picture and immediately started looking for signs of something. He was wary of looking for the same signs of what he would see between a man and a woman, but that was all he knew and he figured, despite hearing his mother’s disapproving voice in his mind, things couldn’t be that different between what he and Hermione had and what two men would have together.

Except for sex, but he wouldn’t think about that. Not now, not ever.

A group shot caught Ron’s attention. It was of seven people, one of them Harry, and a dog posing in the middle of the dessert. Ron could make out three tall, thin buildings in the distance behind the group. None of that was what had caught his attention.

Tilting the album just so, Ron tried to recreate the small shadows he thought he had seen when he first flipped the page. After a few seconds of Ron twisting the book around in his hands and flapping the page from side to side, the photo shifted slightly and the top part started to slide out of its clear sleeve. Ron quickly pulled it completely free and flipped it over, revealing a short note in written in dark purple ink on the back.

‘Returning to the scene of the Prison Breakout. From left to right. Top row: Quistis, Irvine, Squall. Middle row: Zell, Rinoa, Harry. Bottom: Angelo and Selphie. Yeah, I know I’m sitting with Rinoa’s dog; I was upset with Irvine. Just seeing a pretty girl does not give him a right to flirt with her!’

Ron flipped the picture over, getting his first good look at the man he now knew was Squall. His inner big brother was screaming for him to beat Harry into a bloody pulp for leaving his little sister for a guy, while the part that had developed from spending seven years following Harry on every adventure, making sure Harry went to Madam Pomfrey at the first sign of trouble, and keeping the younger boy safe was demanding to know one thing.

Why in Merlin’s name had Harry needed to break out of prison?

“Hermione!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry wasn’t scared.

He was really and truly terrified.

He couldn’t pinpoint what was causing him to feel that way, though. He knew he was unconscious—he had pushed himself too far by working against the anti-magic field to cast an invisibility spell on the bag. He could hear the sounds of fighting near him, though he could only see black, and could easily distinguish which sound belonged to what, he simply couldn’t get his body to react. It was like he was back in his cupboard and listening to the television, not at all something to be afraid of and would have been somewhat comforting if Harry didn’t feel like a mouse under a starving cat’s paw.

Rinoa shouted at someone named Quistis, the other girl yelled back, and Harry felt his face get gently slapped several times. This was immediately followed by the sound of bullets impacting metal close by and the feel of a girl, Rinoa probably, falling on him and rolling them both away from the sound and, judging by their abrupt stop and the feel of rough fabric against his cheek, behind something.

He tried to wake up and found he couldn’t. No matter how much magic and effort he poured into his attempts, he couldn’t force his eyes to open.

Harry now had a possible reason for his fear. He was trapped in his own mind. Aware, yet asleep.

He felt Rinoa crawl off him and heard the shickslicewhish of her slingshot firing and her mutter of “Please don’t get shot”. When the sensations created a brief flash of fear and worry before they were lost in the darkness, he knew his situation wasn’t enough to cause the terror he was feeling. Mild irritation and frustration, yes—Harry could and would, if given enough time, discover how to get past this. If he didn’t get shot first, he would figure out how to free himself.

But even with the threat of death by stray bullet, being trapped in his own mind wasn’t enough to terrify Harry. Something else was going on, something he subconsciously knew and didn’t want to consciously accept. He was only aware enough to know he needed to run far and fast. Harry really, really wanted to wake so he could run from…whatever was causing the feeling. It was the same vague gut clenching terror he had felt when he found Quirrell standing in front of the Mirror of Erised. He knew he was in serious trouble, trouble he was in no condition to face, he just didn’t who or what was the source—the darkness, like Quirrell, was a distraction and a means to an end.

“It was decided long before my time the records are wrong. How interesting to see they are true.”

Harry’s mental self turned to face the speaker.

On the other side of the black space, standing next to a faded rust colored lightning bolt, was the ghostly form of a woman. Several thick layers of black feathers on the neckline of her low cut black dress framed her pale face and cleavage, and an elaborate gold headdress with red and purple accents held her hair back from her face. Neither did anything to hide shimmering white veins growing from her temples to frame her eyes; instead, they drew his attention to the pulsing veins. The woman’s makeup took it one step further. Purple makeup, a shade or two darker than the purple on her headdress, shadowed the area around the white veins, turning the disfigurement into something frighteningly beautiful.

Harry stared at the sorceress and ordered his body to wake up. He swore softly when his body ignored him.

Edea looked over her shoulder to smirk at him as she traced one gloved finger-claw along the edge of lightning bolt.

Harry bit his lip to stop himself from gasping at the sudden burning pain, but he couldn’t stop his very noticeable flinch. She scratched his scar again, and he flinched again, taking a step away from Edea and further back into the darkness of his mind. In turn, Edea did it again and again, causing him to move further and further back to avoid the pain.

The gunfire and shouting was distant now, as was the new sound of blades meeting and shotgun blasts, signaling Squall and Irvine’s arrival. Harry knew that was bad. He was so much further from waking up now, yet he still retreated. He had the passing thought he should try to stop her, but he was tired and alone and…He yelped when Edea dug her nails in and pulled.

Edea’s smile turned into a smirk as she dragged her hand from the top of the blood-red lightning bolt to the bottom. “I wish the records had mentioned this. Such a useful weakness. I could have made use of you from your first moment here. Instead, I let that foolish SeeD take you away from me,” she murmured, stabbing the lightning bolt with her nails. A few drops of blood leaked free from the wounds and dropped onto the growing puddle on the black floor.

“You are a far better toy than this one. So much untouched potential.”

No.

Half-healed Dumbledore and Scrimgeour shaped wounds tore open, releasing several small ripples of emotions.

Intellectually, Harry knew Dumbledore had never seen him as a toy, but as a grandson or prized student. He was one of the few people Dumbledore had trusted enough to let in on his secrets, even though most of that trust had only been shown after the old man’s death. Secrets in the form of an old pensive full of memories and old records left to Harry in Dumbledore’s will, most to help him find and destroy the last Horcruxes, one a posthumous apology.

Secrets that caused the very wounds Edea’s words reopened.

Harry stopped, almost completely swallowed up in the dark.

He didn’t want to face the pain again. The pain was a distant thing in the dark shadowy corner of his mind Harry had retreated to. Everything was distant—the sounds from outside his body, the pain of Edea touching his scar, the knowledge and old hurt of everything Dumbledore had done mixed in with the love and respect Harry had for the man. Even the anger and refusal to be used again by anyone were distant, vague things, hardly worth noticing.

But they were there all the same, demanding to be noticed where the others were willing to be lost in the dark.

Edea, now solid and whole and capable of doing so much more than her ghost, traced his bleeding scar with her nails, smiling at the idea of using him…No, not him, just his body and his magic. Just like the Minister had wanted him for his image, not himself.

'Not again,' Harry thought desperately, his body automatically taking a step forward. He was no one’s toy. He had refused to be one for Scrimgeour; he wouldn’t be one for this bitch who didn’t so much as have Scrimgeour’s well intended, if somewhat pompous, arrogant and selfish, motivations behind her.

He wanted to go back—the pain was worse now, hot knives instead of needles, but he forced his body forward. He had made a mistake by retreating; he knew that now. He had given Edea a chance to take advantage of Voldemort’s old link to his mind and, if the ripping disapproval he felt was anything to go by, the woman was rapidly learning how to manipulate the more painful aspects of it.

But Voldemort had opened the link by accident when Harry was a little over a year old and had taken advantage of it in the hopes of controlling his future enemy. Harry wasn’t that weak toddler now; he was a seventeen year old, pissed off wizard who hated snakes, politicians, and power-hungry morons who liked to play games with his life—all things Tom Riddle had, been or done at one point. Edea qualified as two out of three. All she needed was a pet snake to fulfill all Harry’s mortal enemy requirements.

Harry took another step forward, this one far more determined when compared to his previous shuffles. He smiled grimly, remembering he wasn’t as alone as he had thought, and a faint sea-green light appeared under his feet. A hole opened up in the floor in front of him. A large, sea-green rabbit-squirrel jumped out and into his arms, sniffing Harry’s face and nuzzling him affectionately. Harry returned the gesture with an ear rub and cuddled Carbuncle close as he walked forward.

It would be a cold comfort, but if he lost, knowing he had tried was better than simply giving up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Squall motioned for Quistis to stand guard with Irvine over the two morons propped against the wall farthest from the door (Zell was already guarding the door). Quistis frowned slightly, her eyes flickering to where Rinoa and Selphie were kneeling next to Harry’s unconscious form and whispering about how to wake him, but she did move to stand next to Irvine, her whip ready in her hands. Squall mentally added reluctance to follow his orders she didn’t agree with to his list of Quistis Trepe quirks, and then proceeded to ignore it for the moment—asking why she didn’t care for that particular order after forcing him to make so many over the last few days was pointless and unprofessional.

For the moment, he would ignore her behavior. He had plans to corner her as soon as they were relatively safe and had a decent chance of being alone for five minutes, though.

With a reproving glance at Quistis for her hesitation, making her blush faintly, Squall wiped his gunblade clean on what was left of the sheets from the bunks, and sheathed his blade as he walked over to the huddle around Harry. He had, with one of his quick ‘Do they need a Cure?’ glances during the fight, seen Harry had a small, steadily bleeding cut on his forehead and Rinoa had two or three bullet grazes on her left arm. He had thrown a couple of Cures Harry and Rinoa’s way and thought nothing else of it. He was surprised to see Harry’s wound still there and bleeding.

“Cure spells don’t work,” Selphie said to Rinoa as Squall stopped behind them. “I tried an Esuna in case it was poisoned, then a Cure, and it still didn’t heal. Are you sure one of Biggs’s bullets did this?”

“It’s the only thing that could’ve, isn’t it?” Rinoa said, sounding lost. “I was guarding him the whole time, and I didn’t see anything hit, but…I even cast Protect on him when he didn’t wake up. A Protect should have prevented this, so I don’t know what it’s really from,” she added sheepishly when Selphie gave her a hard stare.

Squall stared at the slowly growing wound, trying to figure out why its placement made him feel uneasy. Head wounds always bled more than other wounds…The growth could simply be a trick of the light and blood…

Shiva nudged an image of Harry hesitantly touching his scar to the front of Squall’s mind. Harry’s mysterious wound was in the same place his scar was, and Seifer did say Edea wanted Harry’s powers.

Shit.

Squall stared at the bloody wound with a growing sense of impending doom. He could kill Harry or let whatever was going on play out. If Squall killed him, there was a good chance Edea would receive Harry’s magic if one of the girls wasn’t capable of holding his magic. If he let it play out and Harry lost, Edea would have Harry’s power in addition to her own and a puppet. It was a lose-lose situation unless Harry won whatever battle was happening in his mind.

Despite the soothing sounds Shiva was making, something in Squall’s gut dropped at the thought. Theory said the two were equals, but Squall didn’t know enough to know the odds of Harry winning any sort of fight against Edea, let alone a mental one. Dreams supposedly could be controlled by the dreamer and if that was true, Harry might have the same control during a mental battle of wills, but it was obvious to any who looked Harry was mentally and emotionally exhausted by the fight he had been in right before landing here. Home turf advantage meant nothing if the fighter didn’t have the will to use it.

Fuck!

Squall scowled at the wound. He knew this had to do with one of the hundreds of things Harry had left out of his story, and he had let Harry get away with not being at all detailed because Squall had been tired and not in the mood to listen to someone’s pitiful life story. It was a stupid oversight Squall planned on correcting.

If they survived and Harry wasn’t under Edea’s control, Squall planned on correcting his stupid mistake.

With how fixated he was on the bloody scar and calling himself eleven different kinds of a fool, it was sheer dumb luck Squall saw the pool of sea-green light under Rinoa and Selphie.

With speed he didn’t know he possessed, Squall grabbed the backs of Rinoa’s duster and Selphie’s dress and pulled the girls back as a giant hole opened in the metal floor. Carbuncle, about three sizes smaller than normal, roughly the size of a child’s small teddy bear, jumped out of the hole, crawled onto Harry’s chest, and rested his red gem right over the wound.

Squall blinked at the sight of Carbuncle and the smug ‘I was right’ feeling from Shiva, complete with a mental wiggle-shake happy dance. He outright stared when tiny Reflects sprouted from Carbuncle’s gem, slowly covering the bleeding scar. Summoning itself while the summoner was unconscious was not normal Guardian Force behavior. Nowhere near normal. Not that Shiva was ever normal for a Guardian Force and he had rarely used Siren and Ifrit before loaning them out to Selphie and Rinoa for the mission, so it wasn’t like Squall had much to go by other than his teammates’ reactions and what he had been taught.

From the corner of his eye, Squall saw Selphie readying her nunchaku and glaring a hesitant Rinoa into readying her slingshot, and he sensed the others were shifting their positions in case they needed to attack the sorcerer. In contrast, Squall felt his agitation calming. Whatever was going on in Harry’s head was being handled by Carbuncle and Harry.

Shiva giggled in the back of his mind. For the first time since junctioning the ice spirit, Squall firmly and forcefully told her to shut the hell up, following the order with a threat to lock her away in one small portion of his mind. He didn’t care if she was over a thousand years old, wiser than he would ever be and more than a touch crazy. Quite frankly, he didn’t need her finding everything about his life amusing, and he definitely didn’t need her giggling her way through what was bound to be an annoying argument with Quistis where she questioned his decision to take Harry to Garden without actually arguing with him, only suggesting, which would leave Squall looking like an ass when he ordered her to back down.

A picture of Shiva cradling a scratched hand, one eyebrow raised as she looked down at a pale brown kitten with blue-grey eyes, appeared in his mind; the GF equivalent of ‘Oh, my kitten has claws after all.’ Squall, reluctantly amused, snorted at the image before he could stop himself.

“Squall?” Selphie asked, taking her eyes off Harry’s prone form to glance at him. Her always open and easily read face showed concern and worry, something echoed in Rinoa’s expression and probably the others’.

“Shiva,” Squall said, waving their concern off. He turned his back on Harry and Carbuncle—blatantly demonstrating he didn’t believe Harry was a threat, while silently hoping Carbuncle would warn them if something went wrong—and scowled when he saw Zell was paying more attention to what was happening inside the cell than the halls.

“If Seifer comes back, you’ll be on the receiving end of a sucker punch.”

Zell flushed. Whether it was from his callous remark or the thought of Seifer getting one over him, Squall didn’t know, but it did make Zell return to watching the hall from the door they couldn’t risk closing. Irvine, Squall was both surprised and confused to see, still had both his eyes and his gun aimed at the Galbadian soldiers. He was disappointed to see Quistis’s attention was divided between him and Harry with glances here and there at Biggs and Wedge. Squall felt a tic developing when he was forced to glare her, blushing once more, into doing what she should have been doing in the first place—watching the Galbadian moronic duo. He ignored her frequent and suspicious glances at Harry and Carbuncle. If it wasn’t for Shiva’s constant smug, confident attitude about the pair, he would be doing the same thing.

In the corner of his mind he let Shiva live in, so the thought probably wasn’t completely his, Squall found it highly amusing the only ones who showed any signs of trusting the sorcerer, other than him, were the ones that drugged him—Shiva and the squirrel-rat didn’t count.

Squall looked at his watch and frowned. He and Irvine had shot a series of Blizzard spells at the cameras (something they wouldn’t have been able to get away with if the guards hadn’t been occupied with Seifer’s departure, and Squall still expected to find twice as many guards between them and their exit than they had encountered on the way in, especially if they found their comrades he and Irvine had left behind), and the max time limit of eleven minutes before the spells melted was rapidly approaching. A max time limit they had no chance of having with how hastily they had flung the spells as they opened the cell door. If Harry didn’t wake up in the next thirty seconds, Zell would have to carry him out, and Squall’s fight with Quistis would be twice as annoying. And Squall so didn’t want the headache of convincing Zell to carry Harry on top of ordering Quistis around, which still felt awkward as hell.

There was a pained scream turned gasp that could have only come from Harry, and Squall spun around, absently noting Quistis, Zell, and Irvine had also turned at the sound and Selphie shifted her stance, ready to swing her nunchaku at the sorcerer at the slightest hint of danger.

A sorcerer who looked pitiful as he hugged Carbuncle and made half hearted attempts to wipe blood from his face.

Squall let out an impatient sigh, snatching what was left of a pillowcase from one of the destroyed bunk’s pillows off the floor. He stalked over to the bullet dented sink, one of the two inanimate objects Biggs hadn’t completely shot to hell (the other being the toilet), and ran it under cold water. With what was left of his dwindling patience, Squall grabbed Harry’s face and wiped most of the blood away, ignoring Harry’s attempts to pull away when Squall touched the surprisingly healed and tender scar, before throwing the ragged pillowcase on the floor.

“Better?” Squall demanded, unable to keep the sarcasm and his growing annoyance with almost everyone in the room from his voice.

Not that he had tried.

Not that the sensation of Quistis, Zell, and Selphie’s eyes on him, staring in shock, was helping.

Harry’s expression quickly shifted from tired, shocked, and somewhat grateful to a tired, nonverbal “Fuck you, asshole!”. Carbuncle also tried to get in on it—Squall was sure the squirrel-rat was attempting to manipulate one of his paws into forming the universal symbol for what Harry’s expression so clearly said.

“Can you walk?” Squall asked when he noticed Harry was trembling.

Harry’s expression turned stubborn. He nodded and used the wall to pull himself up, one arm always firmly wrapped around Carbuncle, who was still trying to flip Squall off. Squall ignored the squirrel-rat and tried to help Harry (they were running out of time), only to get his hands slapped, and clawed via Carbuncle, away.

Squall rolled his eyes and motioned to the others it was time to leave. He gave it five minutes before Harry collapsed on the floor and he had to carry him, and he would wait for the stubborn idiot to realize that. The argument if he didn’t would just be a waste of precious time.

Quistis wavered for a moment, giving Harry and Squall the same sad, suspicious, hard look, before turning on her heel and following Zell, who had shot one very confused look Squall’s way as he ran out and towards the stairs. Squall couldn’t help but feel grateful they had left, putting the mission first; those were two conversations he was not looking forward to.

Irvine, who had recognized the moronic duo’s names from Selphie’s conversation with Rinoa about their exam, hit Wedge, then Biggs with the butt of his shotgun to make sure they really were out cold. Wedge did nothing more than fall over, but Biggs groaned as he was knocked out and slumped to the floor, causing Irvine to smirk as he offered to escort Selphie and Rinoa from the cell. The girls shared a look and pushed the pervert out the door. Squall just grabbed Harry’s arm and helped the pissy sorcerer navigate the debris from the fight.

Squall wasn’t surprised when Carbuncle took this as his cue to leave—he had been around far longer than a Guardian Force should. The squirrel-rat started wiggling in Harry’s arms to jump down to the floor, and Harry let out a panicked shout of denial. Instead of following Irvine out of the cell, Selphie and Rinoa turned back to see what the latest Harry related problem was.

What happened next was what Squall would always say convinced Selphie Harry was one hundred percent harmless. It also confirmed Squall’s suspicions as to why Harry hadn’t woken up during the fight and why his scar had bled.

Harry shamelessly begged the squirrel-rat not to leave until they were far, far away from the “bitch from hell”.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fleur Delacour’s mother was deathly afraid of werewolves.

During the last minute wedding preparations, the woman had avoided Remus Lupin by any means necessary, coming just short of hexing Remus to get away, thoroughly pissing off Tonks, Harry, and numerous Weasleys and causing Fleur no end of embarrassment. After she heard of Bill’s encounter with Greyback, it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone when Mrs. Delacour stunned Bill and forcibly checked Bill into St. Mungo’s long term incurable diseases ward in an attempt to save her baby girl. The two week delay it took to get Bill out had been enlightening for everyone, as Fleur displayed her hidden cunning side and Harry learned why Fleur had been chosen to represent her school during the Triwizard Tournament.

It was also during this time Harry met Gilderory Lockhart’s newest roommate, Mr. Dewitt Haymers, a former Unspeakable.

Dewitt Haymers was the sole survivor of a Death Eater raid. The man had been forced to watch as his entire family was murdered and tortured, and the poor man had also been tortured himself, the unlucky victim of an extended Cruciatus curse. As a result, the man’s mind had retreated to a time before he knew of magic, the age of five years old. Harry had run into him several times, as Haymers was a better escape artist than Lockhart and prone to wondering the hospital calling for his mother while carrying a small pink teddy bear—a nurse had confided to Hermione the man went into violent screaming fits anytime someone tried to give him a toy remotely associated with magic, including stuffed toys of the symbols of the four houses of Hogwarts.

As he followed Squall through the prison, obediently staying back as Squall sliced through the soldiers and guards the others had left behind and avoiding being captured or used as a hostage, Harry was uncomfortably aware he was doing a fair imitation of the man he had almost become minutes before.

That didn’t stop Harry from clutching Carbuncle like the sanity preserver he was, despite knowing the animal’s continued presence was only possible due to the thin thread of magic Harry constantly fed him.

By the time they reached the tenth floor, Harry was reasonably sure Squall thought he was useless and only keeping him alive so Edea wouldn’t have a chance at his magic. The glances Squall threw his way had more than a touch of disgust and frustration under the professional concern. It made Harry’s large chunk of shame and embarrassment that he wasn’t doing anything to help hard to ignore. It wasn’t like he couldn’t help. Although Gryffindor’s sword was enchanted so he wouldn’t accidentally kill himself with it and far away in another reality, Harry was sure he could wield one of the dead soldier’s swords without looking like too big of an ass or killing himself with it, and his magic was eagerly awaiting his command to do something, anything.

But Edea scared Harry, in some ways more than Voldemort, and he didn’t want to do anything to attract her attention. Voldemort had tried to posses him as well, but where Voldemort would have been satisfied with releasing Harry from his control and letting Harry remember later what he had done with his body and deal with the consequences, Harry suspected Edea would have forced him to watch as she used him and enjoy breaking him at the same time, leaving him with the memories and the knowledge he had repeatedly tried and failed to stop her. In abstract, it was a difficult choice which was worse, but as Edea was alive and Voldemort was dead, any situation involving her automatically became worse.

Edea could also stop bullets. Harry knew from a fragmented vision of a raid where the pain had been so great Voldemort hadn’t been able to hold his mental shields in place, Voldemort hadn’t been able to stop a shotgun blast from blowing off half his shoulder and having to apparate away to seek immediate medical attention before he was forced to create another new body. It made Harry wonder how powerful Edea was.

All those thoughts and wonderings coupled with the sheer exhaustion from his fight with Voldemort and lack of sleep the night before left Harry feeling just as useless and weak as Squall’s glances implied and wishing bravery and stamina could be bottled and sold as a potion in this reality. He could use a shot or two to last him until he got somewhere safe for another breakdown. His five minute fit in the showers last night was not enough.

Six meters or so from the stairs leading to the eleventh floor, a loud alarm screeched, rows of red lights fell from the ceiling, and suddenly there was steadily increasing sound of several people—soldiers, Harry’s mind corrected—running in their direction from the floor below.

“Warning! Escapee alert! Monsters will be set loose…”

Harry blanched. There was more to the automated message, but Harry’s mind was stuck on the word ‘monsters’. As a result, he didn’t protest when Squall grabbed his arm and started a mad dash towards Irvine and Selphie’s somewhat shielded spot on the stairs. Squall recklessly flung sleep and thunder spells in the direction of the three soldiers still alive as they passed the slowly opening doors on the right. One brief glimpse of a blue creature with a skull-like head trying to squirm free before the door fully slid back was enough to give Harry’s muscles the energy to easily keep up with Squall.

A panicked squeak escaped his mouth when Irvine aimed his shotgun in their direction; then an angry gasp when Squall purposely tripped him, sending them both crashing towards the metal floor as Irvine fired his shotgun.

He wouldn’t remember it later, but after they fell to the floor, Harry unconsciously cast a series of Protect and Shell on himself and Squall when he looked back to see a Fira spell traveling down a dying soldier’s sword. Right as Irvine moved to the left so they weren’t in his line of sight and Squall moved to stand and start running again, Harry automatically yanked Squall back to the floor and curled around Carbuncle and the bag, half laying on Squall to hold him down as the spell traveled over them.

Unaware of the measuring look Squall was sending giving him as he pulled free of Harry’s grip, Harry’s eyes followed the path of the Fira. He gasped when it hit Irvine in an explosive tornado of red and yellow flames with a small star shaped burst of hot blue flames in the center, and gapped when Irvine jumped free of the spell, still pale skinned with only the hem of his leather coat barely singed.

“Not possible,” Harry breathed, everything he knew telling him Irvine should be nothing more than a blackened husk of a corpse.

“Deal with it,” Squall snapped, jerking Harry up and dragging him forward.

Harry let Squall pull him along like a rag doll, the shock making it all that much more difficult for his brain to process and send the ‘Monsters are almost free. We don’t have our wand; time to run like Dudley, Voldemort, and a pack of Dementors are on our heels’ command to his muscles.

Then Squall shouted, “Thrustaevises, Wendigos, GIM52A models!” as they reached the bottom of the stairs, someone else shouted back “Clear!”, and they followed Selphie and Irvine up. As Squall hit a red button to close the gate to that floor, Harry just had to look back to see what monsters looked like. He let out a nervous laugh when he saw what was running and flapping their way. Those things could not be real.

Harry knew his way of coping was strange and morbid, but he was surprised when his brain supplied the image of him at eleven and in Hagrid’s hut as a coping mechanism. Hagrid was cooing as a baby blue lizard-bird with too many wings wiggled its way free of a bright blue egg while a much smaller version of the tan and dark moss green, flat faced gorilla-things growled at a parody-of-a-human navy robot hiding under Hagrid’s bed. Surprise aside, it delivered the results Harry needed. His system got a jolt of adrenaline and he was almost keeping pace with Squall, even as he bit his lip to stop the panicked, frustrated shout of “Could this reality be more fucked up?” from escaping.

A gorilla-thing (Harry guessed it was a Wendigo; Thrustaevis sounded like a flier and G-whatever sounded like a robot’s name) slammed into the gate, warping the metal, and yanked at it with its hands. Hands, ‘cause those appendages were nothing like paws or claws.

Harry didn’t need Squall to tug his hand or glare now. The scream of metal on metal as the Wendigo ripped the gate free was more than enough for Harry to find his second wind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The second Squall and Harry reached the thirteenth floor, a trio of Moombas pulled a large switch down and a thick metal door to slid over the stairs, sealing the room off from the rest of the tower. Squall resisted the urge to turn around and smack Harry when the boy squeaked in surprise for what had to be the nineteenth time since leaving the cell. Yes, Selphie could break a man’s neck in one move; yes, Quistis could slice a Thrustaevis’s wings off with her whip; yes, Zell could knock a Wendigo back three feet, and yes, there was a herd of little lion things helping them, but was it necessary for Harry to squeak at every little Hyne damned thing?

Even as he let go of Harry’s hand and started towards the stairs to the control room, Squall could hear Quistis and Zell arguing, about what he couldn’t tell, and Rinoa trying to convince the two to calm down. Irvine’s distinct drawl broke in and mentioned Selphie and computers, and Selphie was…

“You don’t look good. Come on, let’s get you upstairs. There are chairs there.”

“Thanks. Um, what are…?”

“They’re Moombas. Cute, huh?”

Selphie was with Harry.

Halfway up the stairs, Squall mentally cursed as he turned around.

Selphie had an arm wrapped around Harry’s waist and was helping him walk through the herd of Moombas, who were also trying to help while avoiding Selphie, and towards the stairs. Harry was pale, almost grey, sweating, and breathing heavily. He had been fine that morning and he was in decent shape—fit for a civilian and more than capable running for a good while, so it was a bit of a shock for Squall to find he looked like a gentle puff of wind would knock him over. When Squall added in last night with what they were doing now, Harry’s condition made more sense.

Hiding a wince, Squall walked down the stairs. He could get Harry back up to escape condition; Selphie was needed upstairs if Irvine’s ramblings were right. “Selphie, what do you know about chip keycards?”

Selphie frowned at him, the same disapproving frown from the Timber-Rinoa incident, as she said, “The outdated things Galbadians use? A little. Enough to enter new commands, but I don’t know enough to overwrite any preexisting ones.”

“Can you use some of the keycards Irvine’s collected to get us access to the Missile Base?” Squall asked as he gently nudged the Moombas away and moved to Harry’s left side. He wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist and pulled him free of Selphie’s grip. Squall found it disturbing the Moombas were now muttering Laguna’s name in-between growls to each other and following him as he slowly guided the exhausted sorcerer to the stairs. “We need to get in. Seifer’s launching missiles at the Gardens late this afternoon.”

Squall twitched when Selphie whimpered—he was reaching his limit of helpless noises—and ran past them. She briefly turned back, glaring at him fiercely, and waved her hands at Harry. Repressing an annoyed sigh, Squall nodded, and Selphie spun back around and leapt up the stairs. There was a chorus of frightened yips and five new Moombas raced down the stairs to join the ones surrounding Squall.

“Damn it, Selphie! Why did you have to threaten to skin one of ‘em?”

“Not now! Get out that chair! Irvine, keycard!”

“Why? I need to-”

“Move, Zell! Squall says Seifer sent out orders for the missile base to fire at Trabia and Balamb Gardens.”

“You can’t be serious. Irvine, where…”

Keeping one ear on the conversation going on in the room above, Squall sat Harry down on the stairs and knelt down in front of him. Ignoring Harry’s weak slaps and protests that he was “Perfectly fine; go away, jackass” and the squirrel-rat’s nips, Squall grabbed where he thought the bag was, luckily found the zipper on his first try, opened it, and dug around till he found the stash of potions wrapped inside the clothes.

Squall ignored the regular Potions and Hi-Potions. Instead, he went straight for the emergency stock of Elixirs. He pulled out one of the half doses he had prepared in case Harry needed one and unscrewed the cap. “Sip it. Too much too fast and you’ll get a head rush. If there’s any drug left in your system, this should clean it out,” he said, adding the explanation to soften the order as he handed the small plastic bottle to Harry.

Green eyes blazing, Harry opened his mouth, presumably to verbally tear into Squall, and then shrugged and sighed tiredly. “Is there a reason you didn’t give me this earlier?” he asked, his gaze alternating between warily eyeing the bright blue-green liquid and glaring at Squall.

“Elixirs are expensive, and I have no idea how you’ll react to it,” Squall explained. He frowned when Harry’s gaze turned from mildly wary to fearful. “We don’t have time for this. Seifer’s ordered the missile base to fire on the Gardens. We need to leave soon, and I can’t keep dragging you along,” he said, aiming for the other boy’s pride.

It worked.

Harry glared at him as he started sipping from the bottle, grimacing at the horrid taste. “Why would he want to destroy a garden?” he asked quietly in between sips, obviously hoping his question wouldn’t be heard by the others.

Squall’s initial thought was ‘What kind of moron is he?’. Then he saw the honest confusion on Harry’s face and realized none of them had explained what they were or where they were from. “You know we’re mercenaries, right?” Squall asked, hoping Harry was smart enough to enough to have at least caught on to that little fact. With all the hints and clues they had inadvertently dropped and Rinoa’s blatant demands they follow her orders because she was their client, Harry was either extremely stupid or in severe shock if he hadn’t.

Harry made an ‘I don’t want to think about that’ face as he muttered, “I figured it out. A little late, but yeah, I know.”

“We’re called SeeDs,” Squall said.

Several new questions were added to his mental list when Harry’s face managed to go paler, almost a true grey, despite the Elixir and he came close to dropping the bottle at the name. After a moments thought, Squall decided to save his newest questions until Harry understood why it was so important they stop the missiles. “There are military schools known as Gardens in three different countries: Trabia, Balamb, and Galbadia. Edea plans on using Galbadia Garden as her base of operations since it’s primarily used for training Galbadia’s military. The Trabia and Balamb Gardens train SeeDs, and she appears to hate SeeD. Having Seifer order a missile launch is the easiest way of getting rid of us.”

Harry nodded in understanding, his expression vaguely apologetic, as if he thought they wouldn’t be able to stop the missiles in time. Squall ignored his desire to punch Harry for that and went right for what he wanted to know. “Where have you heard of SeeD before?” he asked, taking note of how Harry flinched and turned away. “Harry, I need to know.”

“Edea,” he whispered, looking down at the floor, briefly letting go of Carbuncle so he could rub the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He glanced at his hand, as if checking for blood, and then wrapped his arm around Carbuncle once more, hugging the GF like it was a stuffed toy. “She said I was good toy. Said she’d made a mistake by letting you, a ‘foolish SeeD’, take me from her.”

Squall sat back on his heels. Harry’s voice had turned somewhat mocking when he had mimicked Edea, but the primary emotion behind his words had been fear. At that moment, everything about Harry, from the way he was now clutching Carbuncle to his chest to his defensive posture to the way he wouldn’t meet Squall’s eyes, said Edea terrified him. Squall considered asking why—Harry had the same powers as Edea; he should, theoretically, be able to fight her head on even if the fight would end in a stalemate—and then thought better of it. The terror that had been so clearly displayed just seconds ago was gone, and Harry was now calmly finishing the last of the Elixir. Squall didn’t know how Harry had suppressed it so quickly, but he didn’t want to deal with it if his question brought it back, either.

However, Harry must have noticed Squall’s confusion, because as he tucked the empty bottle into the bag he said, “I’ve had a breather. As long as Edea doesn’t whack me with another Bludger to the head, I can take a few more surprises before I break again.” He paused and smiled wryly before amending his previous words, “As long as there’s someplace I can breakdown in private coming up soon, I can handle a bit more.”

“Can you last until we get Garden evacuated?” Squall asked as he stood, mentally adding ‘What’s a bludger?’ to the unimportant but odd section of his list. A section he knew would grow far beyond the two questions already on it (the other being ‘Who’s Merlin?’) with every conversation he had with Harry.

A shrug accompanied the wry smile this time. “Don’t have much choice, do I?” he muttered, pushing himself up. He was a little shaky as he stood, but the Elixir was doing its job. His skin was back to its normal tone and his eyes no longer looked like they were staying open by sheer force of will. He lifted his right leg and shook it, doing a full body shiver. “Is it supposed to feel li-“

A loud bang on the door over the stairs cut Harry off. Squall stumbled as he turned around, the Moombas huddled around him making it difficult to move and impossible to draw his gunblade. Another bang had Squall instinctively taking a step back, bumping into Harry.

A third loud bang against the door panel, this one causing the Moombas to run up the stairs and forming a rounded hand shaped warp in the metal, was followed by a short whimper from Harry that had Squall wrapping his hand around the hilt of his gunblade to avoid physically reacting to the sound. Never mind Harry’s confident words, he still wasn’t ready to deal with monsters.

“That’s one of those Wendigo things, right? Humans can’t do that, so it has to be a Wendigo, right?” Harry asked, poorly concealed panic in his voice.

“Humans who have powerful magic junctioned to strength can do that, but yes, that’s a Wendigo,” Squall replied as he turned to face Harry. He could see cracks in the calm mask Harry wore, but didn’t comment on them as Harry gifted him a strained smile and then raced up the stairs.

Squall followed at a slightly more sedate pace, but still at a run. He was once again greeted by Moombas hovering around by the emergency switch to activate the door panel to close off the floor from the rest of the prison. But instead of closing the door, the Moombas, who were watching Selphie with fearful eyes, were huddled there because it was the farthest spot in the room from the computer everyone except Harry was huddled around.

Looking around the room, it took Squall a moment to spot Harry in the middle of the Moombas, trying to calm them as he asked about the switch. Harry was failing, as he was just as frightened as the Moombas but for a different reason. A muffled roar from below had Harry doing a full body flinch, without a squeak or whimper this time, and Squall rolled his eyes.

“Zell, pull the switch to close off this level,” Squall ordered, walking over to the computer.

“Huh?” Zell looked up from where he was hovering over Selphie’s shoulder and grinned at Squall. “Man, where have you been? Selphie’s a computer genius or something. You should-”

“The switch, Zell,” Squall ordered again, pointing towards the Moombas.

Zell looked at where Squall was pointing and scowled briefly at Selphie before running to the switch, muttering under his breath about poor Moombas and botched skinnings. Seeing the amused smile on Quistis’s face and smirk on Selphie’s, Squall decided he was better off not knowing the full story. “Selphie?”

“I’ve taken care of the keycards,” she said, nodding her head towards the cards Irvine held up, not taking her eyes off the computer or her hands off the keyboard. “Now I’m arranging things so they’re expecting three new arrivals. I need to know who you’re sending.”

“You have the uniforms?” Squall asked, both curious as to when they had decided to sneak in dressed as Galbadian soldiers instead of breaking in and relieved they had managed to come up with a plan on their own.

“We still need to get to the garage in the east tower,” Rinoa said, briefly looking away from watch Selphie to smile at him. “Irvine and I have more than enough sleep spells for us to knock out a few guards and swipe theirs on the way.”

Squall looked at Quistis, who shrugged and said, “Security’s tighter there. This is the only way in with a decent chance of success.”

Squall nodded thoughtfully, vaguely aware Zell, Harry, and the Moombas brave enough to approach Selphie were coming up behind him. “Is anyone here better than Selphie at hacking or with computers in general?”

Rinoa, Zell, and Irvine all shook their heads, and Quistis sighed. “If you had asked me before this,” Quistis motioned to Selphie, “I would have said I was good, but…” She shrugged in a way that would have been sheepish from anyone else.

Squall glanced at Harry, but the awed expression on his face as he watched Selphie’s fingers fly across the keyboard said he was completely clueless about anything computer related. Not that Squall would have sent him, even though he was mildly tempted to so he wouldn’t have to listen to Harry’s squeaks when something else shocked his already frayed nerves. Of course, if he gave into that temptation, he’d have to send Rinoa as well for the way she kept poking at his barriers and forcing him to do things her way, Zell for how he was determined to be best buddies no matter how many times Squall shot him down, Irvine for his perverted behavior and tendency to flirt with anyone wearing a skirt in a five mile radius, Selphie for how she kept trying to force him to be nice, and Quistis for how she pushed most of the decisions his way and her habit of mimicking him. No, if he filled the missile base team with everyone who annoyed him, he would be the only one returning to Balamb Garden.

Quistis was his first choice. Not because Squall was annoyed with her, but because he needed a cool head on the team. Selphie was automatically in because she was the best with computers and had the highest chance figuring out how to stop or, at worst, delay the launch, but she also a little too emotional. Squall needed Quistis to balance that. Zell and Irvine would both encourage Selphie at her worst, but those were his only choices. He didn’t think Rinoa’s dedication to her cause drifted towards fanaticism and the Forest Owls’ goals had essentially been achieved when Edea killed President Deling, but that didn’t mean he wanted to risk having her anywhere near missiles capable of wiping out Galbadia’s capital.

Selphie suddenly stopped typing and tilted her head back to look at him. “Who’s gonna go, Squall?”

“You, Quistis, and Irvine,” Squall said, going with the idea that someone from Galbadia Garden would have the most experience with their military and could help the others act their parts. Irvine made a pained face and Squall turned to look at him, but that was Irvine’s only protest.

“Gotcha,” Selphie said, grinning at the computer. “Give me another few minutes and we can go.”

Squall nodded, even though she didn’t see it, and tapped Quistis’s arm. This wasn’t the best time, but he wanted to have this talk with her before she left. He jerked his head towards the other side of the room, and she nodded, subtly glancing Harry’s way, before she stalked towards the other side of the room.

Unaware a group of Moombas was following him, Squall frowned as he followed Quistis. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had something to get off his chest.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry’s first instinct was to join the group of Moombas trailing after Squall, but he had caught the look the blonde woman (Quistis, maybe? It was the only name on his list of Squall’s friends that he hadn’t heard since waking up, but Harry didn’t know if it was her name. These people were horrible at remembering to introduce people.) had sent his way and it had not been a nice one. So he stayed where he was, clutching Carbuncle and hoping he didn’t look as lost and as miserable as he felt.

Harry wished he could explain he normally wasn’t this useless, that he was fully capable of facing a pack of Inferi and a couple of Death Eaters with nothing more than his wand and a small carry tank of gas. Unfortunately, he couldn’t without sounding like he was lying or bragging, and with his recent actions, it would definitely sound like a lie. A very big, fat lie.

The blonde woman gestured towards him with a short angry flip of her hand and then crossed her arms over her stomach. Harry winced and turned back to watching Selphie (At least he knew who she was from the Moomba thing) do whatever she was doing with the computer. Harry hadn’t used a computer since grade school and that was just once while helping the school’s librarian with something. After that, the closest he had been to a computer was cleaning the windows in Dudley’s room while Dudley shot box shaped aliens into smaller boxes. With his lack of exposure to muggle technology, Harry thought it was a major accomplishment he even recognized the machine that was part of the workstation Selphie was sitting in front of as a computer.

Actually, there were what looked to be six different or connected computers inside the workstation, and it was the same in the workstation on the other side of the round room. The whole thing, except for the monitors and keyboards, was covered in the same dark blue metal as the rest of the prison. Even the swivel chairs bolted to the floor were made of the same metal, with small, matching, worn cushions on the seats. All in all, the room kinda reminded Harry of a futuristic space travel show or movie he had seen a glimpse of once while dusting in the living room. A very metallic, archaic version of it, but it still made Harry think there should be a large video screen showing a field of stars where the stairs to the outside were.

Smiling at his thoughts, Harry absently ran his fingers through Carbuncle’s fur as he stared at the stairs, resisting the urge to go hide behind Rinoa and Irvine and strike up a conversation about para-magic or something. The blond man, Harry was pretty sure he was Zell, was staring at him and bouncing on his toes. Harry didn’t know if Zell was staring at him because he was worried Harry would loose it again like he had with Seifer or because Zell was working up the courage to talk to him, but it was making Harry nervous. Although, Harry was almost positive it wasn’t the second; the blond didn’t strike him as the type to get nervous when talking to new people, even if said new person had almost blasted someone else with giant chunks of hail.

Zell bounced one last time in a decisive way, sort of like a full body nod, and started to approach Harry, his mouth opening to say something. Panicking, Harry said the first thing that came to mind. He considered himself lucky it was actually relevant to their situation.

“Does anyone else think it’s weird no one’s come storming in here from one of the other towers yet?” Harry blurted out, looking at Rinoa and Irvine for help. That right there told Harry how desperate he was, but the way Zell had just stared at him for minutes on end made him nervous and willing to reach out for any allies. “I mean, shouldn’t we be overrun by now with soldiers? It’s not like any of us have been keeping watch and the door’s wide open,” he finished, nodding at the open door at the top of the stairs leading outside.

Zell swore softly under his breath, Irvine didn’t bother with being quiet about it, and Squall and the blonde woman stopped arguing and turned their heads to stare at the door, Squall throwing a surprised look Harry’s way before frowning at the door.

Harry felt guilty for disturbing the quiet, almost peaceful mood of the others, but he was more relieved than anything. Then he realized why everyone, including Selphie as she shut the computer down, was staring at the door. The door that led to the collapsible walkway they needed to cross to reach the garage on the other side.

“They’re setting up a trap,” Rinoa said flatly, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

AN: I planned on getting through the rest of the breakout in this chapter, but this seemed like a good place to end the chapter. In the next chapter, I promise they'll finally leave the prison.

Fic: Life's Constants

Fri, 08 Jun 2007 01:57:56 GMT

Title: Life’s Constants
Disclaimer: I don’t own Kingdom Hearts.
Summary: He’s not her Sora.

Life’s Constants

Life doesn’t have a lot of constants. Everything changes every moment.

We age. We die. We learn. We grow.

Sora was my constant for a long time. I never imagined he would change. He was always that bright, sunny boy with a heart of gold who would move mountains if it meant making someone smile.

He’s not that boy now.

My Sora always lived in the now, the moment. This Sora lives for yesterday.

He still smiles, acts goofy, and would give me the world if it meant I would smile, but he’s not the same. The Keyblade changed him. I can tell.

You see, Sora’s always watching the sky, night and day, wondering how his friends on other worlds are doing and if he’ll ever see them again. He comes out of it every now and then and joins the rest of us, but no matter where he is (school, home, the play island), I know his heart isn’t with us.

I think the happiest day for Sora since his return wasn’t reuniting with his parents like it was for Riku, but the day we received that letter from the King. His whole face lit up as he tried to hide his smile. There was trouble brewing out on the other worlds, and all Sora could think was he would get to introduce us to his friends, he would get to see his friends again, he would get to see them again.

You have no idea how much it hurt when I heard that. I don’t know who on Radiant Garden means so much to him, but I know I’ve never made him glow like that.

I think I finally understand why Riku gave himself to the Darkness that day. Wanting something you can’t have and having it hurt so much…

“Kairi? Time to go. Donald and Goofy are here,” Sora says, practically bouncing with anticipation.

Kairi forces herself to smile at her friend and closes her diary. “I’ll meet you at the beach.”

Sora grins at her before he turns and races out of her room and down the stairs. As she hides her diary in her backpack, Kairi can hear her mother yelling for the boy not to run in the house. It’s almost like Sora hasn’t changed, but Kairi knows he has.

He’s not her Sora now. He belongs to the worlds.

Fic: Snapshot Sixteen

Thu, 07 Jun 2007 18:06:40 GMT

Title: Snapshots
Disclaimer: I don’t own Yu Yu Hakusho or Harry Potter.
Notes: This isn’t what I wanted when I originally plotted this one out, but it introduces Yumiko and she’s turning out to be a semi permanent fixture so I’m sticking with it.
Snapshot Sixteen: Explosions

Explosions

Yumiko’s job was a dull one. She watched the shelves, marked any changes in the monitoring devices, sent out the occasional warning, and made the once in a blue moon visit to a surprised muggle family years before their child was supposed to start magical schooling. There were the very rare times she sent an emergency memo to a case worker when a family had a severe negative reaction, but Yumiko didn’t like to think about those until she had to. She had a hard enough time controlling her temper without tempting fate.

Looking up at the clock, Yumiko sighed softly. This day was proving to be beyond dull. It was mind numbingly boring. There hadn’t been one single disturbance, not even from the children who were shopping for wands for the upcoming school year—muggle born children never could resist the urge to try their wands out once, just to see if magic was really real.

Yumiko sighed again. What she wouldn’t give for something to happen.

‘Be careful what you wish for’ is a muggle saying, but everyone can use wish magic and the word wish isn’t required to call on it.

It started off as a delicate ping-ping that sent Yumiko running down the aisles, looking for the source. The sound kept growing as she got closer to the device. By the time she found the right aisle, the pinging was gone, replaced with a constant screech. Yumiko cast a muffling charm on her ears, put her hands over that, and raced down the aisle to the glowing and screaming Accidental Magic Monitor.

AMM’s were typically very imprecise unless they were set to monitor a specific child. Most of Yumiko’s time was in fact spent figuring out which child was responsible before sending off a warning or leaving to meet with the parents of said child to explain why children were not allowed to use magic during the holidays.

The AMM currently screaming its magical lungs out was far from the typical AMM. It was designed to monitor accidental magic and to monitor the child in question for any magic cast on the child as well. The thing had driven Yumiko nuts for the first year after the child’s guardian had brought the young boy in and paid for the upgraded device, which went off every time the boy was taken to a Healer, something that had happened quite often during that first year as the damage the boy’s first guardians had done was healed.

But the constant alarms had eventually slowed to the standard three month check up, and Black always sent an owl to her to warn her when those were. After the prank on the boy’s sixth birthday and her personally visiting their apartment to chew the man out, there hadn’t been another alarm beyond the boy’s visits to his Healer.

Yumiko stared at the silver device in shock and anger. It wasn’t an attack and it definitely wasn’t a standard visit to the boy’s Healer.

This was an explosion of accidental magic from a very powerful child in front of a muggle child.

Growling under her breath about stupid males, Yumiko flicked her wand several times, sending off a Patronus memo to her department head and summoning her bag, before Apparating directly to the site.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For Yumiko, it was a simple fact of life that all men were idiots. It was just an accepted law of nature in her mind and nothing would change that. The only difference was how much stupid God had given the males she encountered.

Three minutes into Black’s babbled explanation of what happened and Yumiko was positive Black had received five times the normal amount of stupid. The one good thing Black had going for him at the moment was he hadn’t asked her out on a date yet like he had the first time he had walked into her office. If he did and proved he had six times the normal amount, not five, Yumiko was sure she would give into her urge to hex the moron.

“Just shut up! You knew this would happen and you still didn’t bring him to the Ministry so you could use one of the wards rooms.” She poked him with her wand when he opened his mouth, and smirked when he held his hands up in surrender. Then she noticed how he edging backwards to where she had knocked his wand earlier. “Don’t even think about it. I don’t care if you warded your apartment when you moved in; setting him off like this was still a monumentally stupid thing to do. That boy has the power to blow this whole block up!”

Yumiko knew her temper was the reason she was in the Accidental Magic Department of Magical Children’s Services and not a case worker, but when she was confronted with stupidity like Black’s, it was difficult to ignore her need to scream.

“Come to think of it, why are you in a muggle neighborhood? Don’t you know how dangerous this is? What if some muggle caught you practicing magic? What if your apartment wasn’t soundproofed and the muggles had heard this?” She waved her wand around to indicate the mess of broken glass, wood, fabric, metal, and stuffing strewn across the apartment. “Do you have any idea how much work that would make for me?” she demanded, glaring at him for all she was worth.

Black matched her glare for glare, and crossed his arms as he stared her down. “Do you have any idea who my godson is? It’s safer for him to live in a muggle neighborhood. If we lived with wizards, we’d never get a moments peace in between dark wizards trying to kill him and idiotic fangirls beating down our door. We had enough trouble in London with that and Dumbledore. I’m not repeating the experience here.”

“Oh please,” Yumiko scoffed, rolling her eyes and vaguely aware the two boys were watching them argue, the underage wizard still pale and shaky as his friend tried to push him back towards the bedrooms and away from her. “You expect me to believe you were harassed by Dumbledore because the boy is named after the Potter boy? Everyone knows the kid is in hiding with his aunt. Try again, Black.”

Black smirked at her. Smirked. At her. Yumiko fingered her wand, debating what hex would be best to knock some of the stupid out of him. She had no illusions she was capable of completely removing the stupid—men were far too attached to their stupidity.

“Not named after. Is.” He walked over to an exploded filling cabinet, dug through what was left, and pulled free what was clearly a spelled file folder as it was still in one piece. He flipped through it before pulling out a piece of parchment and handing it to her.

“Harry James Potter, born July thirty first, nineteen eighty at three twenty seven in the morning. Lily broke James’s hand halfway through popping Prongslet out. I had to take over hand squeezing duty until another Healer fixed James up and sent him back in. I still have scars from her nails…”

Yumiko paled as she read the birth certificate, hearing Black’s babbling but not registering it. The Potter boy lived in her district. Hers. Not Rukia’s, not Akio’s. No, the brat lived in hers, and Black had not once mentioned or asked about warding or security companies in all the times he had been to her office. Imagining the worst, Yumiko shoved a bit of magic into her eyes to activate her family’s magic sight and looked at the apartment, really looked at it.

Nothing. There was nothing beyond magic absorbing wards and basic home security spells. No secrecy spells. No notice not. No muggle repelling charms—she had to admit those would have set off alarms since this was a muggle neighborhood, but still, the moron was playing games with his godson’s life.

“Have you lost your mind, you inbred, pureblood fool!” she screeched, knocking the file from his hands and scattering papers everywhere. She advanced on him, poking him with her sparking wand every other word. “You have the Boy Who Lived in your care and you don’t have one ward against dark magic in place. You don’t have spells against reporters! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Black opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut, frowning at the hallway behind her. “Where did the boys go?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Yusuke barely got his hands out in time to stop himself from face planting into the floor when Harry suddenly squeaked and ran to his bedroom. He blinked at the torn up carpet and padding for a moment, then stood up and ran after his friend.

Yusuke was a little surprised Harry had taken off, but he was more surprised it had taken as long as it had. He wasn’t old enough or mature enough to truly understand, but as a child of a broken home whose mother drank more than she slept some weeks, Yusuke instinctively recognized when someone else had their own family problems. Harry was cool with Sirius and Keiko’s dad, but anytime Keiko’s mom raised her voice like the strange woman just had or they were around a really heavy weight man, Harry got twitchy. Yusuke thought it had something to do with the people Harry had lived with before Sirius and pretended Harry’s issues didn’t exist most of the time.

Pretending it didn’t exist was exactly what Yusuke was going to do now. It was the only way his was going to get some answers.

Everything in the apartment was ripped apart except for walls, them and the beds. Yusuke figured it had something to do with magic and he was a little upset Harry hadn’t told him before…Okay, he was royally pissed off Harry hadn’t told him before, but he’d try to wait until Harry explained why. He was more concerned with making sure Harry didn’t have another fit. Yusuke didn’t know if Harry would have enough control to not blow him up.

Although, Yusuke did have to admit if he had the ability to blow stuff up and someone had told him one of his parents’ friends was responsible for their deaths, he would have blown everything up, too.

Even with that thought rolling in his head, it was difficult for Yusuke to walk into Harry’s room with his normal cocky walk but he tried. Harry, who was curled up in the corner farthest from the door, flinched and curled up a little more. Yusuke felt guilty. He didn’t know why he felt guilty, Harry was the one who could blow stuff up and had scared years off Yusuke’s life, but he did.

“So...” Yusuke looked around the room, seriously awed at the sheer destruction of everything, and decided being a smartass about Harry being a walking bomb was a bad idea light years past the time he had eaten Keiko’s clay and worm sweet buns. “Magic, huh?”

It was a lame thing to say, but it got a hesitant nod and a tiny, insecure smile from Harry. Yusuke walked over, being as casual as he could. He cleared some junk out of the way and sat down on the floor next to Harry. He nudged him with his shoulder in a friendly way, silently saying they were cool even though Yusuke wasn’t sure if they were.

Yusuke sat there in awkward silence, not knowing what to say but knowing one of them needed to say something. It was like the time they had fought at school and then were locked in a storage closet via Keiko until they worked things out, and just like that time, Yusuke didn’t want to be the first one to speak. This time it wasn’t from pride; no, this time Harry owed him an explanation.

“My aunt and uncle hate magic,” Harry whispered, making Yusuke jolt slightly in surprise. “Th-they told me it wasn’t real and punished me any time I talked about weird stuff that sounded magicy. I-I didn’t know why, but they-they…” He sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve, and Yusuke realized he was crying.

Yusuke shoulder bumped him again. Harry stiffened at the contact, and Yusuke muttered something Sirius had taking to frowning at him for and wrapped an arm around Harry in a hug.

Suddenly, Harry had his arms wrapped around Yusuke's waist and was crying and babbling everything out in one huge rush. Yusuke’s arms automatically wrapped around him and rubbed his back even as Yusuke thought about calling him a girly-boy and pushing him off—he was heavy and Yusuke was pissed about Harry keeping secrets. But Yusuke sat there and listened and put the pieces together. All of Harry’s little oddities, like how he got uncomfortable when teachers praised his work or when Sirius bought him something and why he didn’t like playing tag and hide-and-go-seek, started to make sense to Yusuke.

Yusuke wondered if it was possible to send someone a paint bomb without the postal service catching on. He was too small to kick this Vernon guy’s ass now, but he could prank the hell out of him. He would have to talk to Sirius. He needed this guy’s address and there had to be some really cool magic pranks he could use, too.

Calmer than yesterday, but...

Fri, 01 Jun 2007 10:44:27 GMT

Now that I'm not stuck in 'Oh God, I don't want to do this!' mode and researched for more than ten minutes what went on during the past couple of days and took some time to think, I'm a whole lot calmer but a bit more pissed off at the massive stupidity of people in general. Specifically, I'm pissed off at the owners of LJ and their imitation of fanfiction.net when it's being stupid. I'm also annoyed some moron who shall remain nameless who decided screaming FIRST! was an appropriate response to the apology post.   ~~I'd also like the smack that woman from the vet's office, but I'll be the first to admit that's a completely emotional response that needs to be restrained.~~

I started posting here because ffnet has/had (I haven't heard about any account/story deletions lately that have no real reason behind them, but I haven't exactly been active at the Pit lately) the habit of deleting people's work without checking if the complaints are valid. I wanted to be surprised LJ did the same, and I guess I was a tiny bit, but I'm really not. People do rash things when their income is threatened, and a group of morons threatened LJ's source of income.

I'm a realist most of the time. I'd like to think my refusal to renew my paid account would have an impact. Realistically, I don't think it would. I'm one person among millions. A number of people are completely moving to other sites; I'm tempted to move to another site. But I don't think it's going to be enough to make LJ realize how badly they screwed up, as they now have advertisers to back up our money. They mess up again and more people leave, then they might have some idea.

Free speech is important, but it ends when one person threatens another, whether they're an adult or a child. LJ attempted to curtail some of the more dangerous people using their site. I commend them for that. However, the way they went about it was extremely irresponsible. Not only did they suspend/delete many innocent people's accounts/communities, they let the predators know what not to put in their profiles and to friend-lock their journals so others who stumble across them don't have the information they need to report them to LJ admin and/or the police. For that, LJ's owners won the second place spot in the Darwin Dumbass Awards, internet only version. First place is a tie between the morons who started this whole thing and the creators of FanLib.  LJ's owners also made the mistake of going to the media before us, but in the grand scheme of things that mistake is minor compared to the other, much bigger one.

With all that said, I am, for the moment, sticking around while posting at other sites as well. I'm still going to use this site and post here, but I've also started journals at other sites to test them out and see which one I like best in case something like this happens again. I may or may not renew my account here. I find the ads annoying, but I'm also comfortable here. Right now, it all depends on LJ's ability to learn from their mistakes and their ability to remember to research is necessary, so the next time a group of nutcases come along LJ knows better than to react from the gut.

Other journals:
http://nightseer.insanejournal.com/profile
http://www.greatestjournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=brennanight

ETA: http://news.livejournal.com/98733.html?thread=47214509#t47214509 Frickin' Hilarious. Not for kiddies 'cause it's porny. Someone was gonna do it eventually, I'm just glad I saw it. I needed a laugh.

Just in case and Nikki update

Thu, 31 May 2007 11:07:11 GMT

I'm sure everyone knows about LJ's recent stupidity. Hell, I just signed on this morning for the first time in days and I found out how bad it was in under five minutes. Some people are friend locking their journals in case these morons who went on a wide spread report spree try to come after their journals. From what I understand, though I might be wrong, these people are hitting google and other search engines, searching for things on interests lists and reporting the LJs that they get.

While I'm cleaning out my interests list (not like there's anything particularly damning in there but my momma taught me never to underestimate stupid people in large groups), I'm not friend locking this thing. Nothing I have here could be considered above an R, and I personally think that's pushing it.

However, just in case, I did get an account at Greatest Journal. I'll upload everything there over the next week. So if for some reason this thing disappears, my fics will soon be at http://brennanight.greatestjournal.com/ There's nothing there now, but tomorrow or much later this afternoon there should be.

On a more personal note, I'm taking Nikki to the vet in a few minutes and having her put to sleep. I still don't like it and my gut is screaming its wrong, but she's into much pain for me to be selfish. I'd like to get back to everyone personally, but I don't think I'm going to be in the mood when I get home. So thank you to everyone who helped me stop and think about everything clearly.

Mon, 28 May 2007 04:29:28 GMT

Title: When I Grow Up
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or Final Fantasy VIII
Summary: It’s time for first year Garden cadets to pick their weapons, and Harry is forced to accept something he’d rather not.
Warnings: Nothing much, just some morbid thoughts from Squall and Harry.
Universe: Connections
Timeline: This falls between ‘Little Terrors’ and ‘Nightmares and Chocolate’. Squall’s been at Garden for six and a half, maybe seven months and Harry’s been back in the HP verse for roughly six months by this point.
Author’s Notes: Something involving Harry and the Dursleys pops up in this that I didn't know about. When I tried to take it out, my muse said no, it was staying. Then she provided me with another little story that gives a little background on what happened.

When I Grow Up

The videos describing the various weapons of choice were stupid. Squall spent most of the four hours doodling next to his notes.

The lectures on weapon safety were boring and repetitive. After the first six SeeDs came in with a personal list of horror stories, Squall spent the rest of that day wishing he had Seifer’s talent of sleeping with his eyes open.

The demonstrations were beautiful. The SeeDs Squall and his classmates were watching from the Training Center's observation room were some of the best in their fields, and it showed with every swing, shot, throw, slice, and punch. Squall stared at the video monitors in awe for all of three seconds before he snapped out of it and focused on each screen in turn, analyzing the weapons used and the damage they were doing.

The nunchaku and whip were immediately stricken from his mental list. Except for one woman’s weapon, every nunchaku was simply a blunt weapon, no blades to be found anywhere. Blunt weapons, in Squall’s opinion, belonged on coroner reports and in mystery novels. Whips were something Squall associated with the history of slavery Matron had lectured on during lessons. Every swing and slice the man did brought to mind the thin strips of blood and screams he had imagined, and the idea of using one made his stomach churn. Any kills he made as a SeeD were going to be clean and quick, not slow torture.

Guns were the next set of weapons to be crossed off. The shotguns were doing a good amount of damage, but gun specialists were also trained in assassination. Squall had no intention of becoming a cold blooded murderer. Killer, soldier, living weapon: yes; murderer: no. He wanted to fight, give his opponent a chance to survive, not take a life from a distance. He didn’t want that distance to separate him from what he was going to become.

The slingshots and boomerangs were interesting and Squall wanted to know how they worked, but they were also limiting. They worked best against less intelligent monsters, not humans who could predict their actions and certainly not against the older monsters with years of experience—the screen on the far right showed that clear enough when a young woman with the giant boomerang had to be rescued after an old T-Rexaur snapped her weapon in two with its tail. Squall turned his attention to the next screen.

The hand to hand fighters were brilliant, literally poetry in motion. They were working in teams of two or three, or assisting other fighters, some doing major damage, others small glancing hits to draw the monster’s attention so another fighter could deliver the killing blow. Squall considered the idea for a few minutes, before deciding to sign up for an extra hand to hand class beyond the basic course everyone was required to take. He didn’t want it to be his main weapon, but he wanted to be able to hold his own in a fist fight.

Choosing a sword was a possibility, but he already knew how to use one. Matron had started fencing lessons after Seifer had seen ‘A Sorceress’s Knight’ and begged to learn how to use a sword, and the SeeDs who came to pick up new cadets had always been willing to give a quick lesson. He was far from perfect, but he knew too much for it to be a challenge and he wanted a challenge. A challenge would help him stop thinking about the others so much and worrying if Harry was okay away from everything he knew.

Squall scanned the screens, looking for a particular weapon. He frowned when he got to the end. Where was it?

“Instructor Xanaxay?”

The woman looked up from writing down another cadet’s choice. “What is it, Leonhart?”

“Where’s the gunblade?” Squall asked, still looking from screen to screen incase he had missed it.

Xanaxay moved to stand beside him, her eyes scanning the television screens. She frowned at them and checked her clipboard. “Allic, isn’t Mark in there?”

“He was sent out last night,” the other instructor replied.

“Sorry, Leonhart, he’s the only gunblade specialist we have on active duty. I still have the video of last year’s demonstration in the classroom if you’d like to watch it again,” she offered half-heartedly. Squall shook his head, and as she moved back to her post by the door, Xanaxay added, “You should choose something else. A gunblade is one of the more difficult weapons to master, and you’re starting later than most.”

That made up Squall’s mind; he was choosing the gunblade. He didn’t know if he could trust the opinions of the SeeDs who had spoken to his class, but Instructor Xanaxay was always honest, sometimes brutally honest. If she said the weapon was difficult, it was. There was also the added challenge of it being similar enough to a sword to help him with some of the basics, but different enough that he would need to learn a whole new set of skills. He hoped, at any rate, there would be plenty of new things he would need to learn. If the only thing he had to relearn was how to grip his blade, he was switching to hand to hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry slowly walked through the library, his hands stuffed in his robe pockets to avoid the temptation to touch the books as he scanned the titles. He was here to decide what field of sorcery he wanted to specialize in, but with Madam Pince watching his every move it wasn’t worth the scolding to touch the books. It didn’t matter that she had carefully inspected his hands and pockets for chocolate and other sticky substances and ordered Rabbit to stay outside before she let Harry in. All she saw was a child too young to be a student and just from the Great Hall. In her eyes, he was a tiny messy thing and should not be touching her precious books.

Even with the dragon guarding the books, Harry thought the library was the best place in Hogwarts. It was a nice change from the Weasley twins, who dragged him along on their pranks, and their older brother Charlie, who thought Rabbit was “absolutely brilliant” and kept taking Harry and Rabbit down to the Gamekeeper’s hut so Hagrid could examine her. Here there was no Dumbledore or McGonagall constantly asking him how he was adjusting to the school, or Madam Pomfrey asking him to come to the infirmary to give him one more check up so she could try another remedy or spell to fix what his “beastly family” had done to his knee, or other teachers asking him what he had decided to focus his training on and maybe he should take another look at their subject. The complete lack of Snape and Filch, who both hated Rabbit and Harry with a passion, made the library a wonderfully quiet, peaceful place.

Harry cast what he thought was a discreet glance back at Madam Pince. Her head was down as she went through the checkout records, making a list of some sort. Taking his chance, Harry did an odd limp-dash up the staircase to the second level where the sorcery books were kept and quickly hid behind one of the shelves.

Magic back home was clear cut, divided into two separate categories: para-magic and sorcery. Para-magic came from the planet, sorcery was passed on from wielder to wielder, and both types focused on healing and fighting, although sorcery could be used for other purposes.

This reality’s magic was confusing, muddled, and divided into so many separate categories and types it made Harry’s head spin. And a person’s status as a sorcerer or sorceress wasn’t based on whether they had magic or not, but how much magic they had and the line that divided a witch from a sorceress and a wizard from a sorcerer was blurry. Harry didn’t understand how it was measured, but he did know he was barely considered a sorcerer according to this world’s standards—just powerful enough to learn weaker sorcery, but too powerful to master the basics of wizardry without serious effort.

According to Dumbledore, his power would increase somewhat by the time he was eleven and continue to grow until roughly around his seventeenth birthday or something like that. Harry had quit listening after Dumbledore told him he had to choose a specialty now, and tuned in again just in time for the old man hear the old man start pushing him towards becoming a Battle Mage.

Harry didn’t want to become a Battle Mage. Fighting was Squall’s thing, not his. While Squall had been practicing with his sword, Harry had studied with Matron. He had learned a few attack spells, loads of healing and defensive spells, and the few anti-monster wards Matron had developed over the years, and the wards had been the most fascinating. All the twists and turns and traps and puzzles…

Harry sighed, tracing his fingers over the books now that Madam Pince couldn’t see him. He smiled at the books as he scanned the titles, looking for something that could help him decide what to study for the next nine years. For some reason, most likely Quistis and her naptime stories, books relaxed him.

He didn’t know if it was possible for him to specialize in wards. He didn’t even know if his magic could be shaped into wards and bindings here, but that was what Harry wanted to do. He didn’t want to become a doctor or whatever the term here was, and he didn’t want to become a fighter, either. He wanted to study and create difficult versions of the puzzling traps Matron had taught him. He wanted to able to protect and defend without being on the front lines.

If Harry was a little older, he might have realized his desire not to fight could be traced back to Matron’s constant teachings to never put himself in a situation he had to use magic to get out of, to never let his magic become only weapon. As it was, all he saw was his love of puzzles.

Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew the wards he had made under Matron’s guidance would kill if broached by what they were meant to defend against. He also knew any wards he made could do the same, but it wasn’t the same as slicing open another person or a monster and seeing all that blood come rushing out.

His fingers landed on a thick book with raised lettering, one not as dusty as the others. Harry turned his head and stared at the title, not quite believing his luck. He kept staring at it, his eyes focused on the title.

The Protections of Hogwarts

Harry eagerly pulled it off the shelf and sat down on the floor to read. Matron had once told him protections was an old term for wards. He hoped it was the same here. If it was, he could find the name for what he wanted to do and finally get the old man to leave him alone.

When Charlie found him three hours later, Harry was pouting at a large stack of books. He would have to train as a Battle Mage after all, if a somewhat specialized one. They were the only ones who had any decent training in wards.

Fic: A Flip of the Broom

Sun, 27 May 2007 14:16:57 GMT

Title: A Flip of the Broom
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or Final Fantasy VIII
Summary: A flip of the broom. In Quidditch, it’s a sudden gust of wind that can make or break a game. In life, it’s a twist of fate that can change everything.
Author’s Notes: I feel icky since this idea smacked into me while writing Side Effects. It just…*shudders*. I feel like Side Effects is incest and I know it isn’t. Also, this plot bunny is free to anyone who wants to adopt it. I might write more in this universe one day, but I don’t see it happening anytime soon.

A Flip of the Broom

“What’s your name, son?”

Harry’s jaw dropped. He was bloody famous. He had killed the bloody Dark Lord. There wasn’t a witch or wizard alive who didn’t know his name.

Keywords there being witch and wizard.

“Where am I? And why am I here?” Harry shot back, earning himself a frown from the muggle doctor. He looked around the small hospital room and twitched at the oh-so-happy pink and purple bunny wallpaper before his eyes zeroed in on the bathroom door. He hoped this didn’t take long; he had to go.

“Galbadia General,” the doctor snapped, and tapped his clipboard with his small flashlight Harry knew would be flashed in his eyes the first chance the doctor had. The man was tapping it the same way Poppy did when he had a concussion. “You were brought in yesterday with a concussion. Your name, please. I need to get in contact with your parents.”

Harry nodded absently, looking down at his small hands. A concussion explained why his head hurt…

‘Hold the Thestral.’ What parents? And why were his hands so small?

Harry lifted one hand and wiggled his fingers. Fingers that were missing the distinctive calluses from flying and wand waving. Fingers attached to hand that belonged to ten year old Harry Potter, not twenty-three year old Harry Potter at the end of his Auror training. And his feet, his feet were at least two feet away from the end of the bed, so he had either been shrunk or de-aged. Most likely de-aged—the doctor was asking about parents and he was in a child’s room with pink bunny wallpaper.

Harry scowled at the wallpaper. He hated pink bunnies. Rabbits were okay, pink bunnies in all their cute, cartoon glory were wrong. Not evil or gross, just disturbingly wrong. He blamed that toy Bill’s youngest liked throwing at him for the wrongness of pink bunnies.

“Your parents?” the doctor prompted irritably.

“They’re dead,” Harry snapped, glaring at the doctor. He had a crisis here. Couldn’t the man back off until he changed the bunnies into nice little yellow ducks?

The doctor sighed, looking up as if praying for divine intervention. Harry was tempted to tell him the clipboard he was using a shield ruined the image an exasperated adult, leaving behind the impression the man was scared of children. Or just Harry. Harry scared a lot of people, so it was entirely possible. “Your name then, if you don’t mind.”

Harry opened his mouth to tell the man, then snapped it shut. He was roughly ten years old, missing his wand, and in muggle hospital. Anyone with a grudge could find him and kill him before he figured out how to fix his problem and found his way back to the relative safety of the Ministry. There was also the small problem of not knowing exactly where he was, since the last thing he remembered was being with Kingsley in an abandoned warehouse in London trying to stop a ritual of some sort. If something had gone wrong, Kingsley wouldn’t have taken him to a muggle hospital; he would’ve taken him to St. Mungo’s.

Of course, if he didn’t know where he was, no one else knew where he was, either. And he was ten. The last time he was ten, it had sucked…

Huh.

‘This has possibilities,’ Harry thought with a small smile.

“My name’s Laguna,” he said, falling back on the codename Ron had jokingly given him during the war. A rather spiteful joke in Harry’s opinion, since it came from his fear of all forms of water short of showers and rain after encountering one too many lakes and ponds filled with Inferi.

“Surname?” the doctor said, as he tucked his penlight into his lab coat pocket and pulled out a pen.

Crap. He hadn’t thought of one yet. He made squeaky moan/whimper noise and did his best ‘deer in the headlights’ expression, trying to appear panicked and failing horribly. The doctor humphed, and his pen was instantaneously replaced with the penlight. Harry tried to squirm away as the man flashed his eyes with the thing, and then took his pulse. Harry had no clue how these two actions were supposed to help him suddenly remember his name. Then he heard the man mutter something about arranging a CAT scan.

“For now I’ll give your first name and description to the police. Maybe they’ll have better luck,” the doctor said to his clipboard once he let go of Harry’s wrist. He looked up and stared at Harry, obviously not believing Harry didn’t remember but willing to play along for the moment.

Harry just stared back. After Poppy Pomfrey and her Potions of Doom, this man was a negative twelve on the intimidation scale.

The doctor gave Harry another tight frown, before warning him not to leave the room and walking out.

The instant the door swung closed, Harry jumped out of his bed and quickly walked to the small bathroom, ready to burst and needing to escape the bunnies. Sure, he had a concussion and the world wobbled with each step, but it was a thousand times better than asking Mr. Grumpypants to hold the plastic jug while he did his business on front of the bunnies.

Considering how big the mirror was, Harry was later surprised he didn’t notice something beyond being thirteen years too young was wrong until he discovered the soap dispenser on the wall was empty. He was poking the stack of clean washcloths to see if a bar of soap was hidden underneath, when his too straight hair flopped into his eyes.

Harry blinked at it, lifted his eyes from the counter to the mirror, and squeaked. His trademark messy black hair was still black and messy, but it was missing the waves that gave it its poof. The mess it was now came solely from a bad cut. And it was shiny—not Snape grease-shiny, but sleek-shiny. It made a startling contrast against his pale skin.

His skin was another surprise. He had always been pale before Hogwarts, but it had been a sickly pale, as his olive-toned skin needed a slight tan to look healthy. After getting his letter, Vernon had started giving him all the outside chores in an attempt to keep his freakiness from contaminating the house further, and he hadn’t looked so horrid, but this kind of peaches and cream, burn-the-second-the-sun-touches-skin kind of pale had never been Harry’s.

There were other changes—no lightning bolt scar, no glasses or contacts (Harry’s inner child did the ‘no more eye pokey’ dance), his nose was a bit thinner, his lips a little plumper, and he didn’t have the near starved, pinched look he had always had during his younger years. If it hadn’t been for his too bright green eyes, Harry wouldn’t have recognized himself in the mirror. He was damn sure no one else would recognize him.

Harry had a brief moment of panic before he smiled at his reflection. Harry Potter was gone, and Laguna whatever-surname-he-ended-up-choosing was left in his place. Until he found a way back or his friends found him, he was going to have fun.

Giving up on ever finding soap by the sink, Laguna grabbed the small bar from the shower and used it, already plotting on how to convince the police and doctors he truly had amnesia. This was a second chance at childhood, and he was determined to enjoy it this time around.

But first, he needed to find some pants. If there was one thing Poppy did right, it was giving her patients pajamas. Muggle hospital gowns with their open backs were cruel.

Not that the breeze didn’t feel nice. It felt quite good, actually. Laguna was tempted to find an air vent and stand over it.

The nurse giggling as he ran back to the bed, blushing all the way, nixed the idea, though.

Real Life rears its ugly head, and fic progress update

Sun, 27 May 2007 14:06:25 GMT

I'm putting the first part here because I keep getting 'Are you stupid?' looks and various forms of "You do know she's like six hundred in dog years, right?" from my mom and friends for the past month and a half. I really need to get a journal for RL stuff. Feel free to skip it. I just needed to get it off my chest without getting The Look.

I've had my baby, Nikki, for ages and ages and now things aren't looking so good. Nikki's ancient in dog years. I know this, I really do, but...She's my baby, damn it! Just a few months ago she was outside playing with in the snow and acting like puppy and now she's just...I don't know how to put it into words, fading I guess is the best way to put it.

The vet sort of gave me this pitying look and offered to put her to sleep. I violently rejected the idea, but now I'm not so sure. I know a few people who have put old pets to sleep, but this is the same dog was with me in my first car wreck, my first major break up and there to cuddle up next to me while I cried my eyes out, she was with me when things went to shit with my father. She's been here with me for everything and I can't let go.

But at the same time, I'm wondering if I'm being really selfish because I can tell she's hurting. But the idea also feels like murder because she is my baby. Ever since I got her, I took her to Wendy's once a week with me to get Jr Bacons, and we'd drive around while listening to crappy music and then walk through the park for a change of pace from the neighborhood walks. But starting a few months ago, she can't stand being in the car and actually threw up before we got out of the neighborhood on the way to the vet, and she's never been motion sick before. She used to love being in the car and barking her yips at other drivers and scamming biscuits from bank tellers.

I don't know what to do. I really, really don't.

*takes a deep breath*

*calms down*

Okay. Okay...

Chapter Six of SE is roughly half done, but I might have to cut the latest bit and redo it as it's refusing to go the way I want it to. This muse is occasionally taking trips to the future and binged on chocolate a couple of days ago, hence I have their first kiss written and some of the lead up, but not much extra stuff I can use for this chapter.

My muse for Snapshots is skipping through time again. I have stuff for later, but the next snaphot is still in its rough outline form with bits and pieces. Connections is doing the same thing, but I haven't been posting that in order to begin with, so there will be one from that verse later today, just not the follow up to 'A Furry Perspective' but something that comes earlier in the time line. The follow up to Furry will be split into two pieces, I think, with one from each universe.

The immediate follow up to Unfulfilled Wishes is almost done, so that will be up tonight or tomorrow. I also have another FF/HP bunny I'm posting right after this I most likely won't be touching again anytime soon. If anyone feels the urge to play with it, go right on ahead. Quite frankly, I'm disturbed by it. It interests me, I just can't write it without getting the willies because of Side Effects.

I have a couple of little one shots in the works, one of them is a sequel to one of my fic reacts and is currently titled Living Family Portrait, that I'm working on. I should have those up sometime in the next two weeks.

I think that's everything. See guys in a few minutes.

Fic: The Furry Perspective

Sun, 01 Apr 2007 14:07:21 GMT

Title: The Furry Perspective
Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy VIII or Harry Potter.
Summary: What happens when someone attacks a sorcerer with Legilimency?
Universe: Connections
Author’s Notes: My cat prompted this one and is completely responsible for it being from Rabbit and Angelo’s POV. Mr. Cuddles talks to me a lot, and I keep wondering what he’s saying. You know, other than, “Hey, human slave, my litter box smells and I knocked over the dry food. Clean it up. And pet me when you’re done.” And yeah, I'll admit this one is a bit silly and strange.

The Furry Perspective

My little one is an idiot, Rabbit huffed as she followed the teenager through the castle and towards Stinky’s rooms. She didn’t understand why her boy forced himself to come to this place every few days, but all humans did several things she didn’t understand and her boy was no exception.

Rabbit missed the small boy she could knock down and stop from doing something stupid. He had been controllable then. A little nudge here, a growl there, a whimper when his attention wandered, and he would be distracted from whatever stupid thing he was interested in doing. If those didn’t work, she had grabbed his shirt with her teeth or gently knocked him down, letting him know she would not tolerate his foolishness.

But her Harry was human, and like all humans, he grew up into an independent pain. And he had learned to dodge her grabs.

Rabbit missed Ice. He had a way of handling her boy, making sure her boy didn’t go off alone and do something stupid.

She knew the humans called Ice by another name, but that was what the boy had smelled like when she had seen him for the first time as a pup--cold and harsh and unforgiving. He had smelled like that right up until her boy had looked at him with such a pitiful look that Rabbit had tried to lick his chin in comfort. Ice had melted for a moment, smelling more like gentle wind and spring rain, all fresh and full of promise.

Rabbit sneezed, trying to clear Stinky’s scent from her nose, and then growled at Stinky. Offensive though they were, the scents and perfumes the little girls in her boy’s tower covered their bodies with were far more pleasant smelling than the things Stinky played with all day.

“That thing is not allowed inside my classroom, Potter,” Stinky growled back.

Tried to growl, really. The only human Rabbit had ever heard do a real growl was the one who had been locked into a trunk for months. Rabbit missed him; she had had great fun exchanging growls with him in the too clean place after her boy had returned bleeding and bruised months ago. Rabbit was still angry at the Old One for refusing her access to the maze of bushes when her boy had disappeared.

“Yes, Professor,” her boy sighed as he knelt down in front of her.

Rabbit thought it was silly of her boy to do this, he had his back to Stinky, but he was smaller than her now. Maybe she could drag him away? Rabbit’s tail wagged at the thought.

“I have to do something, Rabbit. You can’t come with me,” her boy whispered, his scent full of nervous fear and grim determination.

Rabbit whimpered and sniffed his face, making him smile briefly and scratch her behind her ears. She didn’t like this; she didn’t want her boy to be alone with Stinky. Stinky smelled of glee and anticipation under all the oil, smoke, and dead things. He was planning something for her boy, something to hurt him.

“Potter. Now.”

Her boy sighed as he stood, and with one last pat and scratch, her boy walked into the room, leaving Rabbit out in the hall.

Rabbit growled at Stinky as he shut the door, promising him pain if he hurt her boy, and Stinky sneered in reply.

Alone, Rabbit did not lie down on the ground as she normally did, but paced up and down the hall. Stinky was planning something for her boy, and she need to be ready to knock the door down and bite him when he did.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Angelo growled softly in annoyance as her girl continued to put her things into the box. Where was she going to sleep if her bed was in a box?

Angelo didn’t want to leave. She liked this place, so many different smells and people to pat and scratch her and places to explore. Of all the places her human had taken her, this one was her favorite. Angelo knew her girl didn’t want to leave, either. Her girl loved this place and Snow, the human who shared these rooms.

Her girl loved Snow, and Snow loved her girl, but Angelo wasn’t sure if she liked him. Snow was too soft and malleable around her girl, too easily molded and changed. His scent was all wrong for her girl.

Angelo had liked Snow’s scent once, when he had smelled of ice and harsh winters, smelled of someone who could stand strong in front of her Rinoa’s inner flame. He didn’t smell like that now. Now he smelled like the fluffy white drifts Angelo played in every winter, the stuff she crushed under her paws and her girl molded into silly shapes.

Her girl liked Snow when he smelled that way and gave into her desires. Angelo knew better. Snow was meant to smell like the harsh cold outside the Shumi’s home, not like the white stuff.

“You…I…” Her Rinoa shook her head at Snow, her lower lip trembling in a way that made Angelo growl. “We need to take a break from each other.”

Snow glanced down at Angelo when she growled, but his eyes immediately focused on the girl again. “Rinoa, it was an accident. I wouldn’t-”

“That’s not what this was about,” her girl said, angrily tossing Angelo’s favorite chewing bone into the box, and Angelo huffed when she smelled the obvious lie. “I just…You’ve been so obsessed with finding that boy and trying to remember your past, I need a break, okay?!”

Snow’s scent changed ever so slightly, carrying a hint of the Ice Angelo had liked so much. Perhaps Snow would stand up to her girl like he had before.

Snow’s scent changed again, back to the wet mush Angelo hated, and she whimpered. Snow was neutered once more.

“My past is important to me, Rinoa. I need to know what happened,” Snow said slowly, his scent still white mush though his words were close to what he would have said if he smelled like ice.

Angelo rubbed against her girl’s leg when she closed her eyes to ward off the tears Angelo could smell coming. It was a trick she had picked up from watching cats, but where cats did it for food and pets, Angelo did it to comfort her girl. It usually worked; not this time.

Rinoa shook her head and continued to pack Angelo’s things in the box. Angelo was tempted to jump on the bed and drag her bed out, making her thoughts about leaving very clear, but something smelled wrong.

It took a moment for Angelo to identify the strange smell: summer storms and lightning, something dark and foul, and magic, but not her girl’s magic. Angelo sniffed the air and turned towards the strange smells.

It was coming from Snow.

Snow was bent over, clutching head and grimacing. He made no sound, though Angelo could smell his pain. Angelo smelled blood when Snow bit his lip to hold back his screams.

Angelo started barking, warning her girl to run. She couldn’t protect her Rinoa against threats she couldn’t see.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rabbit didn’t have to wait long for her boy’s screams.

She ran to the end of the hall, turned around, and ran back to the door, her head tucked down to ram it. The impact made her world spin, but Rabbit didn’t let that stop her. She was built for this; Ice had trained her to defend her boy, and she always would. She repeated the process three more times, her fourth run sending the lower half of the door and splinters flying into the room.

Rabbit, despite the pain she was in, let out a happy yip when she saw the door had landed on Stinky, knocking him out.

Shaking off the pain, Rabbit walked to where her boy was curled up on the floor, sniffing the air, trying to figure what, other than Stinky, was making him scream in pain. She nuzzled him, taking in the strange scents coating him.

Dark and twisted and dead was from Stinky’s magic; hot summer storms and lightning was her boy; the melting ice and slush was…

Rabbit whimpered and nuzzled her boy, trying to ease the pain he was in and knowing there was nothing she could do, as she tried to figure out why the wet, cold smell was familiar yet not.

It…

Rabbit sniffed her boy, focusing on his scar where the scent was strongest. She reared back in surprise when she recognized it.

Ice. Her boy smelled like Ice!

And the smell was getting stronger.

Rabbit started barking at her boy, confused why her Harry smelled so different and why she couldn’t see Ice, yet determined to tell Ice he was needed to help her keep her boy out of trouble.

Her boy suddenly stopped screaming, even though Rabbit could smell he was in pain, and lifted his head, looking straight at her. Rabbit stopped barking, her lips peeling back in a silent growl.

This wasn’t her boy. He looked like her boy, he was in her boy’s body, but it wasn’t her boy.

Not-boy stared at her, his expression almost smooth except for his confused frown.

“Rabbit?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Angelo growled around a mouthful of skirt, trying her best to pull her girl away from Snow’s body.

Everything about Snow smelled wrong. There was a faint hint of the soft cold Angelo was used to, but it was overpowered by the summer rain and unfamiliar magic. Angelo didn’t like the smell. It was a threat to her girl.

Snow’s body opened his eyes, and whatever was in Snow’s body pushed her Rinoa away. Angelo tumbled off the bed and onto the floor, ripping her mouthful of her girl’s skirt off in the process.

Her Rinoa frowned at Snow, her scent full of confusion and hurt. “Squall?”

“No!” the thing in Snow’s body shouted, backing away from Rinoa, and Angelo could smell its fear. “Who the bloody hell are you?!”