Culture Shock
Encounters
By Ruskbyte
Title: Culture Shock
Author: Ruskbyte
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and IM Banks, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Orbit Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Harry Potter has just received his Hogwarts letter, but really doesn’t want to go. After all, who would want to live on a planet of all things? Especially one where the inhabitants still think nuclear energy is an advanced technology. And let’s not forget the 42,000 light year commute.
/oOo\
Chapter Five
Encounters
\oOo/
"Harry? Harry Potter, my dear boy, it is you!"
Harry looked over to the old man that had spoken. This, he knew, was Albus Dumbledore; headmaster of Hogwarts. The man had a string of other titles behind his name, most of them utterly incomprehensible to the Culture. Nothing in the English language could explain exactly what a Mugwump was. There was, however, one thing about Dumbledore that made him an object of intense curiosity on Harry’s part. He was the one that had decided, apparently on a whim, to leave a freshly orphaned baby on a doorstep, ten years ago.
The man was dressed in what was apparently standard wizarding attire; a set of colourful robes and a cloak. The ensemble was bright and cheerful enough that it would not have drawn a second glance in the Culture. From what Harry understood, by Terran standards, it was glaringly flamboyant. The other most noticeable thing about Dumbledore was his beard; a fully silver curtain that would likely have reached his knees, were it not tucked into his belt.
He was staring at Harry with what seemed to be a shocked expression, though there were hints of a plethora of other thoughts flitting about behind his twinkling blue eyes. The boy in question had a feeling that this was only a partly honest reaction, that already the man was beginning to observe and analyse. He resolved to take great care when dealing with him. Harry briefly turned his attention to the two figures on either side of Dumbledore.
The first was a stern looking woman, dressed in dark green formal robes. He immediately recognised her as Minerva McGonagall, the woman who had been present when the headmaster had left Harry and his letter on the Dursley’s doorstep. As with Dumbledore, her expression was one of shock at the most and surprise at the least. She was also looking a bit on the pale side and Harry could just make out a small amount of sway in her stance. Clearly she was feeling faint. Combined with Dumbledore’s somewhat milder reaction, Harry took this as confirmation that he bore a distinct resemblance to his deceased father.
Standing on the headmaster’s other side, was a pallid and equally stern looking man. His clothing was all black, without a hint of colour anywhere. His hair too was black and glistened slightly with what Harry hoped was some sort of artificial gel or other hair fastening compound. Even the man’s eyes were black and they were currently focused on Harry with disturbing intensity. He had, at first, worn a calm and aloof expression. That had shifted and changed after he had the time to get a good look at Harry. Now, his features were twisted into a sharp sneer. Harry knew without a doubt that this dark man held no great love for him.
The rest of those present were an eclectic mix of people. Predominantly male, but that was not unexpected in this society. Observation by the orbiting GCUs had shown the so-called witches and wizards to be slightly more gender biased than the rest of the planet, though they hid it well. One man in particular caught Harry’s eye. He looked as if he had decided to wrestle with a rabid furling and barely escaped with his life.
Turning back to Dumbledore, Harry saw that the old man had lowered the hand holding his stick. Despite this, the others remained ready. There was tension in the air, which was only growing stronger with each passing moment. With a slight motion of his hand to Sma, to let her know his intentions, Harry took a step forward and addressed the headmaster.
"Let me guess," Harry drawled. "You thought I was dead."
"The thought never crossed my mind," Dumbledore replied, having by now recovered from his momentary shock. The headmaster paused and once again looked Harry up and down. The boy was the very splitting image of a young James Potter, so much so that they could have been mistaken for twins. His eyes, however, were very much his mother’s; unhindered by any spectacle lenses and a unique shade of vibrant green. He was taller than Dumbledore had expected. It was not easy to tell, but he would guess Harry to be a good two or three inches taller than the tallest of his classmates.
Standing calmly beside Harry, one hand holding firm on his shoulder, was a strikingly beautiful woman. She was tall, slender and magnificently well proportioned, with dark brown hair that held a hint of chestnut when the light struck it just so. Her expression was one of serene confidence and her eyes, dark and timeless, reflected this steadfast composure. There was nothing to indicate that she was in any way disturbed by the appearance of a dozen witches and wizards, wands at the ready, surrounding her.
"And you are, Miss...?" Dumbledore asked of her.
"Diziet Sma," she replied with a beautiful smile. "I’m Harry’s mother."
"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "I’m pleased to hear that Harry has been properly looked after."
He, Harry and Sma ignored the incredulous looks they were getting from the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, which Dumbledore had hurriedly assembled. It was Professor McGonagall that cleared her throat and asked, "Adopted mother, I presume."
"Yes," Sma nodded.
"And where, if I might ask," said Dumbledore, "did you adopt Harry from?"
Sma levelled a look at the old man. For just a fraction of a second Dumbledore felt like a student again, being tested by Madam Marchbanks. This disconcerting feeling did not go away as Sma coolly stated, "Funny thing. I found him abandoned on a doorstep. Horrid, really. He was cut up and bleeding and bruised and had nothing to protect him from the cold but a singed baby blanket. It’d been nearly two days since he’d last eaten anything. You’d almost think the people that left him there didn’t care a wit if he lived or died. Can you believe they hadn’t even bothered to give him any medical attention?"
Throughout her mildly, not to mention politely, delivered tirade, Sma kept her eyes locked with Dumbledore’s. The old wizard felt every word, every accusation, battering against him like physical blows to his body. It was only thanks to his many years of experience that he did not stagger under the weight of her words.
"Yes," he muttered, "I can see why you’d think that."
"Albus Dumbledore," said Sma, which caused him to start slightly. He should not have been surprised that she knew who he was, almost every witch and wizard in the world knew his name, but for some reason he felt that there was more to it than that. Sma continued to stare pointedly at him as she enquired, "And what, if I might ask," she paraphrased his earlier question, "brings you and your... friends... to Little Whinging?"
"The young man at your side, Ms. Sma," admitted Dumbledore, realizing that the truth was his only option. "And yourself?"
"Harry wanted to see the place where he might have lived, had we not intervened."
"Ah. I’m afraid that number four is in the other direction. Behind you."
"We were just leaving."
"Only dropped in for a short visit?"
"Considering my Aunt Petunia’s reaction, that’s probably for the best," retorted Harry, deciding to enter the conversation.
Dumbledore’s eyes slid away from Sma and focused on him. "And what reaction was that, Harry?"
Harry shrugged and said, "Screaming in terror before slamming the door in my face."
"Ha ha," Dumbledore laughed softly. "Yes, I imagine that could very easily be the case. Your resemblance to James, your father, is truly remarkable. It is almost as if I were seeing him, standing in front of me, once again. Doubtless Petunia thought she was being visited by a ghost."
~ Ghosts. Wonderful, they’re superstitious as well as mad, scoffed Skaffen-Amtiskaw.
"Really?" asked Harry, pleased to know his assumptions were correct.
"Yes," confirmed McGonagall, speaking up again. "As Professor Dumbledore said; the likeness is incredible. You have Lily’s eyes though. I’ve never seen that particular shade of green in anyone else."
"My mother’s eyes," repeated Harry. It was strange, thinking of someone other than Sma as his mother. A thought occurred to him and he asked, "I don’t suppose you have any images or video of my parents that I could see?"
"Er, no, no video, but I do have some old photographs," admitted McGonagall.
"So, Ms. Sma," asked Dumbledore, returning his attention to the tall woman, "Where were you and Harry going, now that your visit to Privet Drive is over?"
"Strangely enough, we were on our way to visit Hogwarts," said Sma. The various Minds involved in this venture had advised against revealing their knowledge of events at Godric’s Hollow. She unbuttoned her suit jacket and reached into the inside pocket. From there she extracted the letter that had mysteriously appeared in Harry’s room on Stafl orbital. "We received this letter some months ago and decided to come have a look."
"Ah, I am glad to see it managed to reach you. We weren’t sure that our ritual had been successful."
~ Doubtless it involved a great deal of blood sacrifices and prancing around naked, commented Skaffen-Amtiskaw.
Spurred on by sudden feeling of mischief, as well as wanting to observe their reactions, Harry adopted the most innocent expression he could muster and asked, "Ritual? You didn’t sacrifice any livestock animals did you? And if so, were you naked when you did it?"
Harry watched with interest as his words registered. McGonagall’s eyes bugged out for a split second before she managed to force her composure back to the fore, though her cheeks were a tinge pinker than before and her lips had compressed to a thin white line. The unpleasant looking man’s expression grew dark and he began to mutter furiously under his breath. Harry could make out repeated utterances of the word "arrogant" and "ignorant". It was strangely amusing as well as satisfying. The rest of the witches and wizards present stared at him in gobsmacked disbelief.
Dumbledore, however, clapped both hands to his belly and threw his head by with a laugh. "Ha ha ha! Delightful!" Chuckling merrily, he looked at Harry, tears of mirth in his eyes, and said, "Rest assured, Mr. Potter; no blood was shed, nor were any virgin maidens sacrificed. And all the participants were fully clothed for the duration. You will find that any rituals involving a lack of clothing were invariably written by adolescent wizards."
"How reassuring to know that you’re not completely backward barbarians," riposted Harry.
This little wisecrack earned him an elbow to the ribs from Sma, who quietly hissed, "Be polite, or shut up."
"Sorry," he muttered in apology.
"So, Professor Dumbledore," said Sma, returning all attention to the headmaster, "shall we discuss the details of Harry’s schooling here or in a more comfortable environment?"
"Details, Miss Sma?" asked Dumbledore, affecting a puzzled expression.
Sma gave the man a predatory smile and bluntly stated, "We’re not here for Harry to attend Hogwarts, Professor, we’re here to investigate the school and decide whether or not to ignore the acceptance letter you sent to us."
Dumbledore’s brows beetled unhappily at the veiled insinuation that they might find Hogwarts unsuitable. "I’m afraid, Miss Sma, that Harry is already enrolled as a Hogwarts student. The Ministry of Magic--"
"Has nothing to do with fact that Harry or myself can choose for him to attend school elsewhere," interrupted Sma. The Culture was used to operating from a position of strength and Sma knew that this was the case here as well. Dumbledore clearly wanted Harry to go to Hogwarts. "Our research has revealed at least two other schools in this part of the world with reputations equal to Hogwarts. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, I believe they’re called."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore allowed, but countered with, "though neither of those schools hold their lessons in English."
"Harry is perfectly fluent in both French and German," said Sma.
"And nine other languages, excluding English," added Harry. He did not mention that two of those languages were from off world.
"A dozen languages?" muttered Dumbledore in surprise. "That is very impressive for a child of your age."
"By your standards it is," demurred Sma. The pride in her voice was evident for all to hear, but Skaffen-Amtiskaw and Harry (to a lesser degree) were aware of something else; the barest trace of that well hidden disdain and patronising smugness that the Culture invariably displayed when dealing with a less advanced society. Sma then tapped her foot impatiently and asked, "So what will it be, Professor? Will our discussion take place here or someplace else? Assuming, of course, that it takes place at all..."
Fully aware that Sma had him over the proverbial barrel, Dumbledore decided to cut his losses. Any attempt to force a decision upon them would not be well received and would likely only serve to alienate Harry from him. That was something that the old wizard could not allow to happen. If Harry were to ever find his true place in wizarding society, he would need the appropriate guidance.
"I would be more than happy to answer any questions you might have, Miss Sma, in my office at Hogwarts," he offered.
"That sounds reasonable," Sma agreed. "What time would suit you?"
"No time like the present, my dear."
Sma arched an eyebrow at his familiarity and asked, "And how would you propose that we get there?"
Dumbledore smiled benevolently at the young woman, pleased that he had taken the necessary precautions before the Order had left for Privet Drive. Portkeys, he knew, were a less than popular means of travel and rarely enjoyed by people making their first steps into the magical world. Most Muggleborns hated them with a passion, making them a less than ideal way of getting Harry to Hogwarts. The boy would doubtless be greatly unimpressed by such a wild journey to the school.
Apparation was a possibility, but Dumbledore had to acknowledge that many people found Side-Along Apparation almost as unpleasant as portkeys. Doubtless Sma was more than able to make the journey under her own power, possibly taking Harry with her, but the headmaster preferred the idea of controlling their approach and arrival at Hogwarts.
"I have already arranged suitable transportation for both you and young Harry," he said.
Reaching into his robe pocket, he withdrew his timepiece and checked. Yes, the timing was almost perfect.
This proved prophetic, as there was a sudden bang and flash of light at the far end of Privet Drive. In a manner very much like the public Knight Bus, the semi-official Hogwarts Headmaster’s Automobile had arrived. It was not dissimilar to the cars used by the Ministry, though it saw far less usage. Most witches and wizards could Apparate, or use the Floo, so the Headmobile (as it was dubbed by Dumbledore’s predecessor, Professor Dippet) was normally reserved for those rare occasions when a visiting dignitary was being brought to the school for an official reception.
Dumbledore himself only used the vehicle when he was called away from Hogwarts in his capacity as the Supreme Mugwump, three or four times a year. Still, it was enough to give Argus Filch, its designated driver, enough practice to get around the countryside. It had been on a hunch that Dumbledore had summoned Filch and ordered him to bring the vehicle to Little Whinging. By the look of it, it was a well played hunch indeed.
"What in the name of everything is that?" demanded Harry, staring at the vehicle in disbelief.
"It’s a motorcar of some sort," said Sma, though there was a touch of uncertainty in her voice. She regarded the machine with incredulous eyes as it pulled up alongside the pavement where they were standing, puttering noisily to a halt.
~ These wizard folk are clearly even more backward than we had thought, transmitted Skaffen-Amtiskaw to their neural-laces. ~ According to the historical records, that is a Model T automobile, produced by the Ford Motor Company, colloquially known as either Tin Lizzies or Flivvers. Production was halted sixty-four local years ago. You won’t find one of these outside of a museum or private collection, at least not anywhere on the rest of the planet.
Harry looked at the newly arrived car and then turn to regard the other vehicles scattered along the street. The differences between them were glaringly obvious, yet Dumbledore seemed oblivious to the discrepancy. The headmaster smiled happily at them and motioned to the Model-T.
"After you," he invited, waving them on.
The various members of Order, who had been watching and listening closely, were dismissed with a subtle gesture. There would be time for discussion and debriefing later, once Dumbledore had a chance to assess the situation. In ones and twos, the witches and wizards Apparated away in a series of loud cracks, something that Sma and Skaffen-Amtiskaw took close notice of; as the sounds were similar to the noise made when Harry Under-Jumped. The last to depart were Professor McGonagall and the dark man that had spent most of the encounter alternately glaring or sneering at Harry.
"I’m not being paid enough for this," Harry grumbled to Sma as they approached the car.
"You’re not being paid at all," she countered, as the car’s driver exited the vehicle and opened the rear door for them.
"I should be," he retorted. Pausing just before the car, he switched to his lace and asked, ~ Are you sure we can’t just take the module?
~ Sorry, Harry, but they’re watching us too closely, replied Sma.
~ I could Under-Jump us to the school, he suggested.
~ Definitely not, exclaimed Skaffen-Amtiskaw as Slyvester slinked into the car and used its effectors and sensors to make a thorough sweep the interior for any potential danger or treachery. ~ We want to have some idea of their capabilities before we reveal yours.
~ Great. What’s that English phrase? Bugger? Yes. Bugger.
"Oh, come on, Harry," Sma chuckled, climbing into the car once Slyvester had given the all clear. There was a moment’s pause as she processed the realization that the interior of the Model-T was evidently larger than its exterior. A quick query of the combat small-drone confirmed this. Forcefully stomping down on her initial reaction, she settled Skaffen-Amtiskaw on the floor by her feet and glanded enough Calm to keep herself from freaking out. "I’m sure it won’t be that bad."
Knowing that he wasn’t going to win this fight, Harry relented and dropped into the seat next to her. Butch flapped its way down from the nearby lamppost it had been perched on, ducking inside and settling into place on his shoulder. It took him several seconds to realize what Sma already knew. His eyes grew wide as he peered about the plush, yet greatly oversized, interior of the old automobile, trying to work out exactly what was going on.
"Thank you, Argus," said Dumbledore to the driver as he joined them in the back. "Take us directly to Hogwarts, if you will."
The driver nodded sharply and closed the door once the headmaster was settled. He moved to the front of the vehicle and gave several vigorous spins of the crank handle, which resulted in the engine coming back to life with a loud cough and rumble. Harry and Sma exchanged glances as the entire chassis began to vibrate to a degree that was impossible to ignore. The driver quickly returned to his seat behind the steering wheel and, with a violent churning of gears, set off.
-oOo-
The trip to Hogwarts was very interesting for all involved, though for wildly different reasons. Harry and Sma were extremely put off by the wild movements and insane speed that the Model-T used to transverse the distance to the school. Even the GCU It’s Not My Fault, monitoring them closely from orbit, was amazed by the pace the antique automobile managed. It reported, with a sort of stunned disbelief, that they had maintained a steady velocity of mach 1.3 for the entire journey from Little Whinging to the Scottish Highlands.
Certainly the Culture could easily have built something to match this feat, and even exceed it, but not without including some substantial amounts of technology. The most advanced machinery the Ship found in the old Model-T was an exceedingly primitive internal combustion engine, one that should not have been able to produce a speed of much more than seventy kilometres an hour. By rights the whole contraption should have exploded from the pressures required to achieve such speeds. Not to mention the fact that the vehicle itself should have burst into flames, its fragile chassis ignited by air friction alone.
The drones; Butch, Sylvester and Skaffen-Amtiskaw were also very busy. They were making a comprehensive examination of the headmaster, even going so far as the subatomic level, though such meticulous detail was reserved for the man’s brain and nervous system, rather than his entire body. Butch and Sylvester, being not as fully sentient, were far more objective about their findings that the more sophisticated Skaffen-Amtiskaw. While the escort drone was more than a little horrified by its inspection of the man’s teeth, it was soon forced to admit that Dumbledore appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary human male, albeit with a sweet tooth.
There was also the small matter of how the vehicle happened to be larger on the inside than it was on the outside. The idea of a dimensionally transcendental space was hardly a new one. Admittedly it was something currently beyond Culture technology, but the idea was there. At present the Minds were only partially able to accomplish such a feat, primarily by means of shifting portions of their own core systems into hyperspace, thereby taking advantage of faster-than-light processing that could be maintained there. But to be able to actually warp normal space and increase a finite volume...
Suffice to say, those Minds with an interest in Earth suddenly found themselves wondering if perhaps they were in over their heads. This was something that was almost unknown to the Culture, though there were a few rare precedents. After several long seconds of discussion, debate and wild guesswork (another rare occurrence) the various Minds involved decided to sit back and wait and watch. When dealing with such glacially slow creatures as human beings, a Mind had no option but to be patient. And as with everything else they did, Minds were very, very good at being patient.
Albus Dumbledore on the other hand, was watching both Harry and Sma very closely. What he found piqued his curiosity to untold levels. There was a great deal of banal and otherwise forgettable small talk. He made sure that they did not discuss anything of any true import before arriving at Hogwarts. He had no intention of accidentally putting either of them on guard until he had the home field advantage.
Despite this, he found himself learning a great deal.
The more he spoke to them both, the more he realised that he could not place their accents. Their English, while perfectly fluent, bore no resemblance to those found anywhere in Britain or the continent. There was a strange tone to their speech, despite their clear enunciation, one that he simply did not recognise. Having dealt with people from just about every corner of the globe, he was familiar with just about every variation of the English language that could be found.
Their clothing was of fine quality, but not too extravagant. Clearly they were not lacking for wealth, but did not bother flaunting it. This boded well. However, they were dressed in a purely Muggle style, without any hint of wizarding influence. Strange, considering that they were from a strongly magical background, otherwise they would never have been able to hide Harry so effectively. This suggested that they either lived in close proximity to Muggles, not unlike the more reticent half-bloods and Muggleborns, or they were simply very skilled in blending in.
Cautious probing about whether they had had an enjoyable journey to England revealed that they had made the trip by boat. Harry intimated that they had switched between two or three different ships, though no names or ports of call were mentioned. This would certainly explain the delay in their arrival, though Dumbledore could not initially fathom the reasoning behind using such a slow means of transport. After some consideration, he realized that travel by boat would make it much easier for them to maintain the wards and other defences used to keep Harry hidden, thereby ensuring his safety over the course of the voyage.
The headmaster had just learned that they had enjoyed a full breakfast before visiting Privet Drive, when Filch leaned back and announced, "We’re almost there, Professor."
"Thank you, Argus," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Please slow down so that we may enjoy the view."
Filch obeyed with alacrity and the Model-T’s gears groaned loudly as the man dropped down a notch and reduced their speed to a somewhat more sedate pace. Neither he nor Dumbledore noticed the obvious relief that their guests expressed at this.
Dumbledore waited carefully until they reached the last bend in the road leading up the castle’s main gates. He leaned forward in the seat and pointed, "And there it is; Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
It was a rare chance that Dumbledore would observe a person’s reaction to seeing Hogwarts for the first time. Being the headmaster, it meant that people more often than not came to him, meaning that he was already inside the castle when they arrived. Having such an opportunity, especially one involving Harry Potter, prompted the old wizard to watch Harry and Sma’s expressions closely. What he saw on their faces and in their eyes was not what he had expected.
Perhaps the closest word would be indifference, though there was far more to it than that.
Sma’s expression remained perfectly calm and devoid of any true emotion. It was the patiently polite face of a world class conductor being forced to listen to a recital of his favourite symphony, being played on a pennywhistle by an untrained orang-utan. What really caught Dumbledore’s notice, however, was the flicker of recognition in her dark brown eyes. She had seen Hogwarts before. It was not something new to her, but rather something she was already familiar with. And, to his chagrin, he had the feeling that Sma found the sight not only unremarkable, but wholly unimpressive.
Harry’s reaction was not too dissimilar to his adoptive mother’s, thought there were some shades of difference. He was not as good at hiding his emotions as Sma. A ghost of a grimace flickered across his face as he took in the sight of the ancient castle. Not only unimpressed, but disdainfully unimpressed. His entire body shifted in a way that spoke loudly of a disgruntled apprehension. It did not take someone of Dumbledore’s intelligence to recognise that Harry was not feeling the least bit enthusiastic about visiting the school. Yet there was a reluctant resolve in his eyes, to see it through and tolerate the situation for as long as it lasted.
Neither of the pair exhibited any indication that this was their first viewing of the school. Indeed, the three GCUs in orbit had made exhaustive surveys of Hogwarts, though always maintaining the hundred metre approach limit. Every single detail of Hogwarts and its grounds had been meticulously recorded and examined, the data used to familiarize the Culture’s sole wizard to the place that could potentially be his home for the next few years. Sma and Harry had familiarised themselves with every aspect of Hogwarts’ external structure. Only the details of its interior remained largely unknown to them.
"Very impressive, headmaster," said Sma, for the sake of courtesy. She had visited worlds, during her tenure in Contact, where there had been buildings ten times the size and grandeur of Hogwarts. And a fair number of those had been erected by civilizations even more primitive than Terran humanity.
"Very," agreed Harry, also speaking only as a matter of politeness. He was used to the considerably more massive scale of construction that was prevalent in the Culture, even disregarding such colossal structures as Orbitals and GSVs. Even the GCU It’s Not My Fault, a comparatively small vessel, was several times the volume of the castle.
~ Interesting, observed Skaffen-Amtiskaw.
~ What is? asked Sma.
~ Bleed off currents from Hyperspace Grid energy saturating the area surrounding the castle is generating a substantial amount of electromagnetic interference. It’s actually strong enough to affect my own electronic systems. I’m measuring a nearly forty percent degradation in functionality on that level of my mind-model. I imagine that any local technology would be rendered entirely unusable.
~ Are you in any danger? asked Harry, concerned.
~ Of course not, huffed the drone. ~ Electro-magnetism is hardly enough to disrupt all five levels of my mind-mode. My AI core and photonic nucleus could survive EM interference a hundred times more powerful than what Hogwarts is generating. And even if those went off line, I’d still have my automechanical complex and after that, ugh, the backup biochemical brain. So don’t worry, Harry, I’m hardly in any danger.
~ Is the same true for Butch and Sylvester? asked Sma.
~ Please, Sma. Those dunderheads were built for combat. They’re even more immune to EM than I am.
~ Good. Now hush, we’re almost there.
The massive and intricately decorated wrought-iron main gates swung open as the Model-T approached. Filch drove them up to the castle’s front entrance, where Professor McGonagall and unpleasant dark man were waiting for them. With a grumbling shudder, the automobile ground to a halt at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the doors.
Dumbledore nodded to their driver and said, "Thank you, Argus. That will be all for the day."
"Yes, headmaster," said Filch with a nod as he climbed out of the driver’s seat and came back to open the door to the passenger section.
As he was closest to the door, Dumbledore exited the car first. He stood just outside and gestured for Harry and Sma to disembark. They did, but only after both Butch and Sylvester preceded them. The two combat small-drones immediately began to survey the area, Butch from the air and Sylvester by ground. After taking several seconds to confirm that no obvious threats awaited them, Harry and Sma stepped onto Hogwarts grounds for the first time.
"Next time, we’re using a module or Under-Jumping," stated Harry, in a whispered tone that brooked no argument. "I don’t care what the Minds think. I don’t care what the wizards think. I am not being subjected to something like that again."
"I’ll second that notion," agreed Sma, wondering if she looked as frazzled as she felt.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, beaming happily at them. He led them up the stairs leading to the front doors and introduced them to the witch and wizard that had been waiting for them. "This is Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and professor of Transfiguration," he said, "and this is Severus Snape, our Potions Master."
"How do you do," said Sma, shaking hands with them both. She noticed that Snape reacted to her touch as if she were potentially infectious.
"Pleased to finally meet you, Professor McGonagall," said Harry, also shaking her hand. He turned to Snape and, aware of the man’s apparent dislike for him, sketched a short bow from the shoulders. "And you as well, Professor Snape."
~ Very diplomatic of you, Harry, observed Skaffen-Amtiskaw, from where it rested on the floor by Sma’s feet.
~ The man obviously doesn’t like me, replied Harry.
~ All the more reason to be as polite as possible, said the drone.
"So," said Dumbledore, "shall we retire to my office and discuss Mr. Potter’s placement here at Hogwarts? And afterwards, perhaps, I might offer you a short tour of the castle?"
"We’d be delighted," said Sma.
"Unfortunately Professor Snape and I have classes to teach," said Professor McGonagall. "We have already missed one period and would prefer not to miss another. By your leave, Headmaster?"
"Of course, Professor McGonagall, of course," said Dumbledore graciously. "Forgive me for taking up so much of your time."
"Ms. Sma, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall, nodding politely as she withdrew into the castle. Snape did not say anything, merely giving a final inscrutable look to Harry before departing, his black robes billowing impressively behind him.
"After you, Professor," said Sma, ‘picking up’ Skaffen-Amtiskaw and indicating for Dumbledore to lead the way.
-oOo-
The group’s entry into Hogwarts drew to an almost immediate halt the moment they passed through the Entrance Hall and into the hallway that followed the most direct route to the headmaster’s office. It took Dumbledore a moment to realize that his guests had stopped in place and were staring with wide eyes at the corridor walls. Their expressions were the most genuine he had seen thus far.
"Sma... the paintings... they... move," said Harry, clearly disturbed by this fact.
"Must be some sort of screens... I think," said Sma. She was also disturbed by the animated artwork, but was better at hiding it.
~ I’m not detecting anything remotely technological about them. Nothing but paint and canvas, Skaffen-Amtiskaw transmitted to their laces. ~ For that matter, I can’t identify anything in this castle more complicated than a wind-up timepiece.
~ Then how are they moving? Harry asked.
~ Magic? the drone suggested in jest.
"If you will follow me?" said Dumbledore, drawing their eyes away from the walls. It was not hard to recognise the amusement glittering behind his eyes, something that immediately stirred up both Harry and Sma’s ire. Nobody in the Culture liked to think that a less sophisticated society might consider them and their reactions amusing. That was more the Culture’s speciality, after all, and not something they were used to experiencing from the other side.
"Is this a school or an art museum, headmaster?" Sma asked, motioning to the paintings lining both sides of the passage.
"A bit of both, really," declared Dumbledore with a grin. "Though admittedly we do try and impart some more practical knowledge to our students."
"Right you are, headmaster, right you are," agreed a painting of a generously endowed woman in a flowing and elaborate yellow dress.
Harry immediately rounded on Sma, his eye wider than before. "They can talk!" he yelped, unconsciously slipping from English to Marain, something that immediately drew Dumbledore’s attention to him. "Sma, the paintings in this place can move and talk! How the fuck can they do that? The reports said they didn’t have the technology for it and there’s no way they could do this with grid energy!"
"I have no idea, Harry," Sma replied. She glanced down at Skaffen-Amtiskaw, still disguised as a briefcase. ~ What about you, drone? Anything?
~ Nothing. Absolutely nothing, repeated Skaffen-Amtiskaw, sounding utterly perplexed. ~ There isn’t a hint of advanced technology in this place. For that matter, there’s not even a sign of primitive electronics, not that they’d be able to function. Grief’s sake, Sma, look around — they have flaming torches mounted on the walls as a light source!
"Forgive me, headmaster, but do all the paintings here talk?"
Again, Dumbledore offered them a grin and nodded, "No, not all, but most of them."
Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath and glanded some Calm. He had a feeling he would be needing it if he were to survive any length of time at Hogwarts with his sanity intact. It had only been a few minutes and already he found himself reduced to a bundle of nervous energy. And not the pleasant kind, either.
"Can we get this over with, please?" he asked unhappily. He wasn’t really aware of it, but he was still speaking his native Marain.
"Yes, let’s," agreed Sma. She immediately realized that Dumbledore was watching them intently, doubtless wondering what they were saying. "And you’d best stick to speaking English," she reminded him, switching back to the language in question.
"Right," agreed Harry, opening his eyes. Under his breath he muttered, "Even if it is a half-arsed language."
Sma turned to Dumbledore and prompted, "Sorry for the delay, headmaster. Please, let’s continue to your office."
"Very well," agreed Dumbledore gamely. He made no mention of their lapse into Marain, even though his curiosity had been roused to untold heights by the brief exchange. Though limited in the number of languages he could speak, Dumbledore did at least recognise those that he could not. The language Harry and Sma had spoken, however, was completely alien to him.
Leading the way through the corridors, and several flights of impressively grand stairs, Dumbledore took the time to observe his guests further. The thing that struck him the most was the unhurried and casual ease with which both Harry and Sma moved. It was a natural elegance unlike anything he had ever seen. Some of the old and noble houses could raise their children to match it, through many years of lessons in comportment, but it was always a studied and carefully maintained poise.
There was a slight difference in their gaits, however. Sma, unlike Harry, moved with a palpable grace that literally screamed, "Predator". Dumbledore could see that the vicious lash of her tongue was not her only weapon. There would definitely be no case of her proverbial bark being worse than her bite.
He also, for the first time, took note to the two animals that were accompanying them. The cat and the owl, dubbed Sylvester and Butch respectively, were both undoubtedly Harry’s familiars. Their obvious intelligence was impossible to miss and Dumbledore had seen them occasionally look to the boy for instruction. Odd that someone so young should have a single familiar bound to him, let alone two.
Finally they found themselves standing in front of a positively hideous stone statue of a gargoyle. This was the guardian to the rotating staircase that led up to the headmaster’s office.
"Almond Nougat," said Dumbledore.
As the gargoyle stepped out of their way, Harry clearly muttered, "You have to be shitting me."
Sma nodded in agreement, "Yeah."
Stepping onto the staircase, Dumbledore mused that it was a good thing Minerva had classes. The strict old witch would doubtless have been most displeased with how freely Harry was cussing. It was puzzling though. Harry had obviously been raised in a magical environment, yet many of his reactions upon entering Hogwarts were very much like those of a Muggleborn, albeit slightly more vehement than most.
Finally reaching the door to his office, Dumbledore opened it and bid them to enter. Neither of his guests moved. Instead Sylvester slipped through the open doorway and into the room beyond. The cat was followed a second later by Butch, who had been perched on Harry’s shoulder whilst they had been walking through the school. After a second or two, Harry and Sma exchanged a brief look and made their way inside, Harry first and then Sma.
Clearly Harry’s familiars were preceding them in order to scout and secure the room. Dumbledore was undecided on how he felt about this. There was some degree of approval in their being so cautious. No doubt Alastor Moody would greatly commend their Constant Vigilance. On the other hand, however, it showed a distinct lack of trust in Dumbledore, something that left the old wizard feeling somewhat disgruntled. He had hoped that Harry’s trust would be easy to win over, but this no longer seemed likely.
Shaking these thoughts away, Dumbledore stepped into his office and shut the thick oak door behind him. Turning around, he found that Harry and Sma had already moved deep into the room and were already sitting in two of the plush armchairs that were arrayed in front of his desk. Harry was seated in a casual, yet alert manner. Slightly slouched, but still maintaining good posture. Sma, her briefcase set down beside her chair, had arranging herself with precise attention to both form and bearing. Sylvester was sniffing about the various cabinets and Butch had found a perch on Fawke’s stand.
He could not help but stare slightly as he made his way behind his desk and to his own seat. That they had taken their seats without invitation seemed to be an exquisitely calculated slight against him. It was a statement that they were the ones waiting on him, rather than the reverse. Of course, it could very easily have been an equally subtle admission that they were comfortable enough to relax in his presence. He had a feeling it was the former, rather than the more pleasant latter.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable," Dumbledore said graciously as he lower himself into place. His words were laced with well hidden sarcasm. He suspected that only Sma would detect his displeasure.
"We already have, thank you," she acknowledged politely.
There was a hint of amusement in both their eyes as they waited patiently for the headmaster to recover and begin the discussion.
Feeling the need to level the playing field, primarily by reminding them of exactly whose home ground they were at, Dumbledore gave a silent call. A moment later, the air between him and his guests exploded in a ball of flame. A shrill cry of exultation filled the air as a large bird appeared in the office, its magnificent scarlet and gold plumage gleaming brightly in the late morning son.
Both Sylvester and Butch had reacted within less than ten microseconds to the new arrival’s appearance. Both combat small-drones powered up their weapon systems to ready. Effector fields, various lasers and swarms of nanomissiles were mere instants from being used, the drones prepared to shed their pseudo-flesh disguises and eliminate the potential threat with all due prejudice. It was only the cautionary missive from Skaffen-Amtiskaw, sent two microseconds later that held them in check. All three drones settled back and waited to see what happened next. Harry and Sma, being only human, took much longer to react.
"Did that bird just appear in a ball of flames?" asked Harry, leaning in close to Sma.
"Yes, it did," confirmed Sma, her eyes locked on the bird as it settled on Dumbledore’s shoulder.
"Perhaps introductions are in order," said Dumbledore, scratching gently under the bird’s beak. It seemed to be enjoying the attention, as it was trilling softly in a melodious tone that left both Harry and Sma feeling remarkably at ease, despite the seriousness of the encounter.
"What is that thing?" Sma asked. "It’s no owl."
"This is my companion, Fawkes," Dumbledore replied. "He is a phoenix."
~ Interesting, observed Skaffen-Amtiskaw. ~ Phoenixes are recorded in Terrasa mythology. There was no indication that they were real.
~ I suppose it’s understandable, replied Sma. ~ They’re much smaller than dragons, which are also considered to be myths by the bulk of the planet’s population, yet we’ve observed several "reserves" filled to them brim with them.
"So, Ms. Sma, Harry," said Dumbledore, turning his attention back to them, "where would you like to begin?"
-oOo-
[New M16-level Core Group formed. @n4.58.231.1642
Name: Interesting Times Gang (Act VI).]
~
x Limivorous (GSV, Ocean Class):
And so it begins.
~
x What Are The Civilian Applications? (GSV, Continent Class, Sub-Class Prompt, Limited):
Has any progress been made in determining exactly how the wizards learned that Mr. Potter was visiting Little Whinging?
~
x Different Tan (GCU, Mountain Class):
Nothing thus far. Perhaps Dumbledore will let something slip during this discussion with Sma and Harry.
~
x Limivorous (GSV, Ocean Class):
Doubtful. From what we have seen the man appears to have some degree of political savvy. It is unlikely that he will make any mistakes this early in our dealings with him.
~
x Serious Callers Only (LSV, Tundra Class):
Do not forget that he has been observing them closely at the same time. Clearly he has experience in matters such as this.
~
x Time And Again (MSV Desert Class):
He may be old, at least by Terrasa standards, but Diziet Sma is over twice his age. Thanks to her tenure in both Contact and Special Circumstances, she will likely have greater practical knowledge in keeping information from other parties.
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
Perhaps, but Dumbledore is no fool. That much is obvious, even so early as now.
~
x No Fixed Abode (GSV, Sabbaticaler, ex-Equator Class):
I would not worry. The cover story that we have provided for Harry and Sma will sufficiently deflect Dumbledore’s investigations. He will not learn anything of consequence.
~
x Limivorous (GSV, Ocean Class):
At least not of the Culture.
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
As it should be. Can we confirm that the cover story and false background have been properly constructed? Dumbledore will begin to investigate as soon as he is able, once Ms. Sma puts him on the trail.
~
x Fate Amenable To Change (GCU, Escarpment Class):
Everything is in place. The GCU Artificial Stupidity has seen to it. The Republic of South Africa does not yet have a comprehensive digital network, so most of the work involved laying down a "paper trail" in the appropriate physical records.
~
x Time And Again (MSV Desert Class):
So, as far as anyone on Earth will be able to determine, Harry Potter has spent the past ten years living in relative seclusion in one of the more affluent areas of Cape Town.
~
x Fate Amenable To Change (GCU, Escarpment Class):
Yes. Additionally, twenty people from all three GCUs [text and details attached] have been inserted into the population to serve as witnesses for confirmation of the documentation trail.
~
x Serious Callers Only (LSV, Tundra Class):
Interesting as this may be, have you examined the data from the It’s Not My Fault? I refer specifically to the rather unusual means of transportation used to deliver our people to the school.
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
I have. Clearly the data are in error.
~
x Fate Amenable To Change (GCU, Escarpment Class):
Are you joking? The data were gathered by two combat small-drones, Skaffen-Amtiskaw and the Fault! How could all four of them be in error?
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
They must be. What they describe is impossible.
~
x Limivorous (GSV, Ocean Class):
Please. While the data may be in question, the facts remain. Harry Potter and Diziet Sma were transported in a vehicle with a spatially transcendental interior, which is capable of speeds impossible for such primitive technology.
~
x Stafl (Orbital Hub, Seseris system, [solo]):
Perhaps the data are accurate and we are merely interpreting it incorrectly.
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
I will concede the possibility.
~
x Serious Callers Only (LSV, Tundra Class):
And how do you intend to explain paintings that can move and talk? Even I refuse to believe that such phenomena are possible, regardless of whether these wizards can tap into both hyperspace layers simultaneously or not.
~
x No Fixed Abode (GSV, Sabbaticaler, ex-Equator Class):
There is an explanation. A logical answer. We must simply search for it.
~
x Stafl (Orbital Hub, Seseris system, [solo]):
I will believe that when the indisputable proof is transmitted to me.
~
[End document/comments track.]
-oOo-
Harry had no real experience in diplomacy, but he could compare it to being not unlike a debate of sorts. Those he had plentiful experience in. In this instance Harry had not said very much, allowing Sma to do most of the talking. The arguments and counter-arguments, polite to a fault in all cases, had been traded back and forth with consummate skill by both parties.
He was pleasantly surprised to see Sma in action for the first time. He had always known that she had a great deal of experience in such matters; her work in both Contact and Special Circumstances made it impossible for her not to. There was an undeniable elegance in her approach to Dumbledore’s negotiating. The old wizard was skilled, Harry could see this, but Sma appeared to be leading him about as if he were nothing more than a mere babe.
Harry wondered if the headmaster was even aware of how easily Sma was manipulating him. Harry had not even realized it was happening until Skaffen-Amtiskaw had begun to transmit a running commentary to Harry’s neural lace; explaining what Sma was doing, how and why she was doing it as well as the likely responses Dumbledore would make in reply. After that, it was easy to see how the Culture’s nine-thousand years of experience so utterly outmatched the wizard’s.
Another remarkable accomplishment was that she managed to completely hide the fact that her knowledge of Earth’s so-called "Magical World" was rudimentary at best. Dumbledore seemed perfectly convinced that she was as much of a witch as he was a wizard.
They had begun with a series of questions and answers, alternating back and forth. Dumbledore would make queries as to how Sma and her associates (thus far still unnamed) had managed to find Harry, how they had raised him, as well as their reasons for doing so. Sma would counter with inquiries as to what was expected of Harry whilst attending Hogwarts, where he would be staying, what the various classes were and so forth.
"So you don’t teach your students anything but magic?" Sma asked. "No geography, sciences, politics, fine arts, life skills or anything like that?"
"Erm, no," Dumbledore replied. "This is a school of the magical arts."
"I see."
The discussion had then turned to payment. Skaffen-Amtiskaw had been particularly disgruntled about the idea that education, the pursuit of knowledge, was not freely available. This was hardly a bother to the Culture; who had managed to arrange substantial monetary accounts in most of the planet’s more prominent banks. The drone had thus been pleasantly surprised, as had Sma and Harry, to learn that the fees for Harry’s tuition at Hogwarts had already been paid for by his parents, even before he had been born. This revelation had been quickly followed by another discovery, one that impacted Harry on a personal level.
"And you have access to this vault?"
"Yes, the key has been in my care since James and Lily passed on. It is only a trust fund, however. The main Potter account will only become available to Harry upon his seventeenth birthday."
"So I won’t be able to access it until then?" asked Harry.
"You cannot withdraw any actual money, though Gringotts should allow you to remove any heirlooms or other items."
Much haggling had followed on this, far more than Harry felt was warranted. In the end, however, Sma had neatly boxed Dumbledore into a moral corner. The old wizard had briefly left his seat to fetch the key from a drawer in one of the many cabinets scattered about the office. Once the key had been passed to her, Sma had promptly handed it to Harry.
The following hour or so had been spent discussing the reasons why Harry should bother learning at Hogwarts, rather than at another magical school located in a more convenient proximity to their supposed home in Cape Town. This was nothing more than a ploy, one of many, which Sma used to prod Dumbledore into making concessions that he normally would not.
"I’m still not convinced and I don’t think Harry is either," said Sma.
"I assure you, Ms. Sma—"
Sma cut him off and said, "Why should we bother? The Huguenot Overlook offers everything that Hogwarts does. This school has no facilities that it doesn’t. There are no classes or subjects here that it does not teach. By your own admission the cost is nearly a third less, prepaid or not, and it does not require Harry to live on the grounds while school is in session."
"And, no offence, but the school itself isn’t a drafty, old castle," added Harry.
"Well, I’m sure we can make some arrangements..."
And so it continued. Harry was hardly an expert on reading people; humans in the Culture were generally very open in their dealings with each other, but he had the impression that Dumbledore was firmly on his back foot and trying his utmost to withstand the onslaught of Sma’s demands. That she made those demands seem like politely phrased requests, and seemingly innocent ones, made it all the more impressive.
Finally, after three hours of intense discussion, Dumbledore called for lunch to be served. It was early afternoon and coincided with the time that the rest of the school attended lunch in the Great Hall. The headmaster suggested that they remain in his office, however, so that they did not cause a stir by appearing in public. This was somewhat confusing, as there appeared to be no reason that their presence should be remarked upon.
"So, Harry, did you enjoy growing up in Cape Town?"
Harry finished his mouthful of chicken sandwich before replying. "I suppose so," he said. "I’ve never really been anywhere else before, so I don’t have anything to compare it against. We went straight to Little Whinging when we arrived in England — though the taxi we took did pass through London along the way. Still, Cape Town is a nice enough place, if a bit windy at times."
This was yet another part of the carefully constructed web of lies and misdirection created to provide a cover for Harry’s past. He could hardly admit to having spent the past ten years living on a Culture mega-structure halfway around the galaxy. Of course, even if that fact did slip out it was unlikely that anyone would be willing to believe it.
"That’s good to hear. I’m very much relieved to know that you have been well cared for," said Dumbledore with a smile.
"My mother is firmly of the belief that children should be kept happy and healthy," replied Harry, making a point of referring to Sma as his mother in as a way to reinforce his relationship to her. They did not want to give the impression that she could be removed or replaced.
"Any responsible adult would do the same," said Sma.
"Of course," agreed Dumbledore, by now well used to the subtle jabs Sma had been making at every opportunity. It had long since become painfully obvious to him that she vehemently disapproved of his leaving Harry on the Dursley’s doorstep ten years ago.
"Have you ever been to Cape Town, sir?" asked Harry.
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure." He sipped at his tea and then asked, "I’m curious, Harry, but what happened to the scar on your forehead?"
Sma immediately stepped in, knowing that the subject made Harry uncomfortable, and rejoined, "You mean the one you neglected to treat ten years ago?"
"Ahem," Dumbledore coughed and took another sip of tea. "Yes. It is a curse scar, you see. It was caused when Voldemort’s Killing Curse struck young Harry and then rebounded. Such injuries are notoriously difficult to treat, due to the high concentrations of magic within the wound. I am curious as to how you were able to treat it so effectively that it is almost completely gone. I am sitting not even six feet away and can barely discern it."
"We started by treating Harry’s minor injuries," Sma paused to give Dumbledore yet another look of disapproval, "we decided to use a form of cosmetic surgery to remove the scar. After all, children can be cruel and we didn’t want him being teased or shunned because of an easily correctable disfigurement."
Dumbledore was becoming inured to Sma’s constant jabs, Harry thought, as the man’s face did not even twitch at the rebuke.
Instead, he nodded thoughtfully and said, "How did you manage this? I had believed that the magic within the scar would resist any magic used in an attempt to heal it. The magical remnants of the Killing Curse were especially potent, as I recall from my own examination of the injury."
Sma sipped at the tea she had been served. "And it was. Very, very potent. We discovered as much when the surgical laser penetrated the outer skin layer."
"You used a Muggle medical technique?" asked Dumbledore, staring at her in obvious disbelief.
"We had hoped that avoiding the use of magic altogether would prevent any negative reaction," said Sma. Her delivery was perfectly level and her face utterly implacable. There was not a hint in her posture to suggest that she was lying through her teeth.
The GCU Short Circuit, which had been supervising the surgery, had not found any trace of grid energy permeating the cells comprising of Harry’s scar. It was only when the surgical laser had cut across that hidden energy that anyone realized that some something was wrong. A burst of energy had literally exploded out from Harry’s body, consuming everything surrounding it. The entire Operating Theatre had been destroyed before the Short Circuit had managed to contain the blast and displace the excess energy before any more damage could be accrued.
Two human doctors and two medical drones had been caught in the energy storm. Everything had happened so quickly that the Short Circuit had not been able to perform an emergency Displace, let alone something less risky. None of the four had survived, though both drones and one of the humans had had their mind-states backed up on a regular basis. They were all restored to new bodies in short order, the drones almost immediately, though the doctor had to wait six months for a new body to be grown before his consciousness could be transferred to it.
The other human, however, had been a Disposable; one of those rare people that decided against having their mind-state recorded and stored in case of untimely body-death. Without a mind-state recording, there was nothing to be done, leaving the man permanently dead. He was only thirty years old; barely an adult by Culture standards. This was the sole reason that Harry disliked talking about the incident, even though he had been only a baby at the time and was in no way responsible for the loss of life.
Later inspection of the surgery records revealed that the energy had been there all along, hidden beneath the lingering wisps of grid energy that had been connected to Harry during the destruction of the house at Godric’s Hollow. A follow-up examination of Harry revealed that the tightly bound knot of energy had been greatly disrupted by the conflicting energies and was slowly unravelling. Two years later all traces of it were gone and a second operation was arranged to remove Harry’s scar, this time entirely by remote control. For the past eight years only a faint of outline of the formerly vivid lightning scar remained and was slowly fading away as the underlying skin was renewed. The Minds projected that it would be gone entirely by the time Harry was fifteen.
"Might I ask what happened?" asked Dumbledore after Sma had lapsed into a long silence.
"There was an explosion. People died," said Harry curtly, before Sma could answer. "The energy embedded in the scar tissue was dispersed."
"Ah, I’m sorry to hear that," said Dumbledore softly. There was a strange look of contemplation in his eyes. "I am, however, relieved to know that the remnants of Voldemort’s curse were destroyed. Such magics are usually a bane to their bearer throughout their life. I am glad that you have been spared that."
"I’ll take your word for it," muttered Harry, ducking his head and staring intently at his teacup. He found the drink to be a noxious infusion of desiccated leaves containing a high percentage of toxic acids. It had been horribly bitter at first, but surprisingly palatable after the addition of some milk and sugar. Much to his surprise, he rather liked it.
"Speaking of injuries and healing," said Sma after a long pause, "could you go into more detail about Hogwarts’ medical facilities?"
"Madam Pomfrey keeps the Hospital Wing in pristine order at all times. She is fully prepared to deal with any of the more common injuries that one can expect to find at Hogwarts, as well many more severe conditions," answered Dumbledore.
"I take it she is the only doctor you have on staff?" asked Sma.
"Madam Pomfrey is one of England’s best Healers and prefers to be addressed by that title, rather than the Muggle equivalent," Dumbledore retorted.
"So she has no one else to assist her in case of an emergency?"
"Professor Snape is a fully certified Potions Master and supplies her with any healing potions or salves she may require. Professor Sprout, our Herbology teacher, regularly harvests those plants and herbs of medicinal value. The others professors, myself included, are also well experienced in helping to reverse any problems caused by wayward spells or magic. In the worst case, Healers from St. Mungo’s can be brought in via floo or portkey."
"Interesting," mused Sma. "You say you and the other teachers have lots of experience in such matters. Do things often go wrong at Hogwarts?"
"Magic is a very temperamental thing, Ms. Sma," Dumbledore replied, once again finding himself under verbal fire.
"Then you must, as a matter of course, have precautions in place to minimize accidents. I think our Minds would be assuaged to hear them," said Sma, using the ambiguity of the English language to give her words a unique double meaning. Dumbledore had no idea that the Minds she was referring to were completely separate entities to herself and Harry.
Dumbledore could not help but release a small sigh. The woman was relentless. In many ways it was like dealing with Molly Weasley, had she been sorted into Ravenclaw or Slytherin, rather than Gryffindor.
"Of course, I’d be happy to elaborate..."
-oOo-
Night had fallen over Hogwarts and with it, came the conclusion of the arrangements regarding Harry’s entry into the school.
By this point the principal focus of these discussions was almost bored to tears. Harry was an exceptionally precocious child, a result of both his environment and the careful nurturing of those that raised him. Despite all this, he was still only an eleven year old boy, who felt he had better things to do than listen to two adults talk ceaselessly. He was used to it, to be sure, but this time he had rarely been able to participate in the conversation; a result of Dumbledore being focused primarily on Sma and her burgeoning diplomatic coup.
It was now time for dinner and Dumbledore had invited them to eat in the castle’s Great Hall, where the rest of the school was dining. Sma was happy enough to accept, but Harry held some reservations. He had a feeling that conversation at the dinner table was unlikely to be any more appealing than Dumbledore’s platitudes and assurances.
"Explore the castle?" repeated Sma, as they descending from the headmaster’s office.
"I’m really not that hungry," Harry explained. ~ And besides which, this will give us a chance to make a scan of the school’s interior. We only have external data at the moment. I’m sure the Minds would prefer to have a more comprehensive view of Hogwarts.
~ True enough, agreed Skaffen-Amtiskaw.
"I don’t think I want you wandering about a strange place alone, Harry," said Sma. ~ It’s an unwarranted risk.
"Don’t worry," said Harry, reassuring her. "I’ll have Butch and Sylvester with me the whole while."
Reminded of the two combat small-drones, Sma felt at least some of her reluctance melt away. Dumbledore, seeing this, immediately put forth a suggestion of his own, hoping that a tour of the castle would serve to help increase Harry’s meagre enthusiasm for attending school there. He had rarely seen a child that appeared to consider attending Hogwarts to be more of a chore than anything else. Of course, having Harry spend an entire day listening to two adults discussing such matters, he could understand the boy’s weariness.
"I could arrange for one of the Prefects to show Harry around," he offered.
"You don’t have to," said Harry quickly. "I wouldn’t want to impose on anyone."
"If you’re sure," allowed Sma.
"I won’t take long, just a quick look around the place," Harry promised.
"In that case, Harry, I should warn you to stay away from the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side," said Dumbledore with a serious mien.
"Why’s that?"
Dumbledore abruptly found himself in a bit of a quandary. He could not insist too stridently that Harry have an escort, as that would imply that it was unsafe for him to wander the school alone. By that reasoning he had no choice but to warn him about the passage leading to the Philosopher’s Stone. Now that he had, however, he found himself with the messily complicated task of explaining the presence of a giant, three-headed dog within the boundaries of Hogwarts.
Doing the only thing he could, he lied.
"Professor Kettleburn, who teaches Care of Magical Creatures, is currently keeping an animal there for his class to study. Ordinarily our gamekeeper, Hagrid, would look after it, but we felt it was safer to house Fluffy inside the castle rather than an open paddock where he might have an easier chance of escaping."
"Fluffy?" repeated Harry, wondering what all the fuss could possibly be about if the animal had such an innocent name.
"I trust you have taken suitable precautions to protect the students from accidentally encountering... Fluffy?" Sma asked.
"Of course," Dumbledore nodded. "There are wards in place to alert the staff if anyone gets too close. Also, the room itself is secured by a variety of Locking Spells quite beyond the scope of any of our younger students."
This was another lie, though it did contain some amount of the truth. Dumbledore did have wards surrounding the third-floor corridor that kept track of everyone that came and went. The room containing Hagrid’s pet, however, was easily accessible to anyone that cared to enter.
"And what of your older students?" asked Sma.
"Ah, I think we can trust them to listen to the warning I gave at the start of term. If they choose ignore it, well, they have sufficient training and skill to leave the area without coming to harm. They are almost adults, after all, and capable of making their own decisions."
"All right, I suppose that makes sense."
"I’ll stay off the third-floor then."
"Excellent," Dumbledore beamed happily. "If you require assistance, call for Tilley. He is my personal house-elf and will be more than happy to escort you through the castle should you get lost."
"Thank you, headmaster," nodded Harry, setting off in the opposite direction, Butch resting on his shoulder and Sylvester slinking about his ankles.
Dumbledore and Sma stood for a moment, watching him walk away until he turned a corner. They then resumed their own journey to the Great Hall. They walked in companionable silence, both mentally reviewing their accomplishments for the day.
Sma was satisfied that Harry would be receiving the best instruction available, reasonably competent supervision by the staff and would be unlikely to find himself in any situation that might require intervention by the It’s Not My Fault. All of the concessions they and the Minds had thought up had been agreed to. They were all very minor things, but taken as a whole gave them and Harry a remarkable amount of control and leeway within the school. The only uncertainty was the value of Dumbledore’s word, which was the only thing they could rely upon to see their agreement followed through.
Dumbledore was not feeling quite as pleased as Sma, but did have some consolation in the fact that Harry Potter confirmed his attendance at Hogwarts. Of course, he would have preferred to learn a bit more about both the boy and his guardian, not to mention those little details regarding his childhood and residence. It was only now, looking back, that he realized how little he had actually learned. He glanced at the woman walking beside him. His eyes dipped down to the plain black leather briefcase that Sma was carrying.
"If I might ask, Ms. Sma, but what is it that you keep in your briefcase?"
"You may ask," replied Sma.
It took a remarkable effort for Dumbledore not to roll his eyes at this childish verbal trap. Professor Vector was particularly fond of them. Allowing himself a very small sigh, barely noticeable through his beard, he repeated, "What is in your briefcase?"
Sma promptly answered, "Business documents. Stock portfolios. Share certificates. Things like that."
Skaffen-Amtiskaw, who only deigned to appear as a briefcase because explaining its presence would be too complicated, remained silent.
"Ah," Dumbledore nodded. He had a feeling that Harry’s guardian would be meeting with the goblins soon, as Gringotts was the principal economic power within magical Britain. He would have to keep an eye on that. The magical bankers were reasonably trustworthy, yes, but only within strict limits.
The remainder of their walk passed with some meaningless small talk, which comprised mostly of Dumbledore making subtle inquiries into Harry’s life and Sma’s skilfully obscure rejoinders. Before long, they found themselves at the main entrance to the Great Hall, where the annual Halloween feast was progressing in its customary lively manner. All of the staff took immediate note of their arrival, as did several of the more observant students. The ever-present hum of conversation did not die out entirely, but did grow quieter than usual as more and more people turned their attention to the headmaster and his unknown guest.
"It’s very... orange," said Sma after a moment. "And there are lots of bats."
"Yes, Professor Flitwick has done a remarkable job with this year’s Halloween decorations, don’t you think?"
"We don’t celebrate Halloween."
"I understand that it’s not very popular outside of Europe and the Americas."
"We have other ways of honouring the dead," said Sma.
"I’ve arranged for extra seats at the staff table," said Dumbledore, leading her down the central aisle.
Walking slowly to the front of the hall, studiously ignoring the many eyes watching her, Sma could not help but turn her gaze up to the hundreds of candle floating in the air above.
~ Drone? she silently asked.
~ There’s nothing remotely technological keeping those candles in the air, replied Skaffen-Amtiskaw, knowing what she was asking. ~ I imagine that they are using something similar to Harry’s levitation technique, but my own sensors aren’t delicate enough to detect such fine grid energy matrices. And I have no idea what structure they’re using to maintain it.
Graciously accepting the seat that Dumbledore proffered, Sma settled the drone on the floor beside it and took her place at the high table. She was sitting near the middle, sandwiched between the headmaster and his deputy, Professor McGonagall. Taking a moment to examine the generous selection of foods arrayed before her, some of which she recognised from her last visit to Earth, Sma began to dish up her meal.
"So, Ms. Sma, has everything been arranged?" asked McGonagall.
Sma nodded and said, "Yes. Professor Dumbledore has been most accommodating in answering our questions."
McGonagall pursed her lips slightly at the vague answer and asked, "When will Mr. Potter be joining us?" She pitched her voice just low enough to ensure that none of the students might overhear.
"We will be going to Diagon Alley tomorrow; to collect Harry’s school supplies," said Sma.
"I was thinking that you could accompany them, Minerva, to ensure that things go smoothly," added Dumbledore.
"And my classes for the day?"
"It had been many years since I last taught a lesson in Transfiguration, but I do remember how."
"Very well, Albus."
~ After the talking paintings and the animated statues, why am I surprised that the suits of armour can also move?
The unexpected broadcast from Harry almost caused Sma to choke on her peas, though she was able to suppress the reflex. Masking her discomfort with a cough, followed by a sip of some wine, she returned her attention to her dining companions.
"Out of interest, Ms Sma--" began McGonagall.
"Oh, please, call me Diziet," interrupted Sma.
"Quite," McGonagall continued with deceptive mildness. "Might I ask what degree of schooling you have been able to provide your charge with thus far?"
Sma paused, her fork of gravy drenched mashed potato halfway to her mouth. She eyed the woman beside her, suddenly wary. Dumbledore was openly willing to play the politicking game; maintaining an eternal calm politeness while doing so. McGonagall, however, appeared to have little use for such charades, preferring to cut to the chase without the need for obfuscation. While Dumbledore had an air of approachability, making him the more dangerous opponent, McGonagall had the potential to force whatever issue caught her attention; a dangerous trait in its own way.
"I’ve tried to provide Harry a comprehensive, yet well balanced education in all aspects of life," said Sma.
"Yes, I find him to be very mature for his age," added Dumbledore.
"Manners make the man," commented the small man, he barely reached Sma’s waist, seated on the headmaster’s other side. Dumbledore had introduced him earlier as Professor Flitwick, Hogwarts’ professor of Charms and the coordinator of the evening’s decorations.
"And what of his knowledge of magic?" pressed McGonagall.
"I imagine he knows more than some of your students and less than others," Sma delayed.
It was obvious by McGonagall’s face that she planned to dig deeper into the extent of Harry’s supposed magical skills. Relief came, however, when the doors to the Great Hall were flung open to permit the entrance of a running figure. He was an unassuming looking man, remarkable only by way of his features being entirely unremarkable. He was dressed in standard wizarding robes and, to Sma’s amusement, had a purple turban wrapped messily round his head. His arrival caused the hall to grow silent as they watched him tear down the centre aisle in a desperate run.
"Troll! Troll in the dungeons!" the man shouted out as he skidded to a halt. He gasped for breath and muttered, "Thought you ought to know."
He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.
Sma stared at the insensate professor and then inspected her meal, wondering what sort of hallucinogenic the locals had slipped into the food.
TBC…
Author’s Notes: So, that’s it. Harry has arrived at Hogwarts, just in time to have a run in with Quirrell’s troll. A surprisingly difficult chapter to write, all things considered. It was going just fine until about halfway through, then suddenly a bunch of plot holes presented themselves and forced an extensive rewrite. After all, things would be considerably different if Snape had his brains melts so early on.
Ah well, hopefully the next chapter will be a wee bit easier to put together.