Culture Shock
First Impressions
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 Six
First Impressions
\oOo/
Harry was beginning to wonder if perhaps some mischievous Mind had, when he wasn’t looking, shunted his mind-state into an AI simulation core and was making him live out a wildly bizarre Virtual Reality scenario. It seemed a much more likely explanation than the idea that what he was currently experiencing was, in fact, real life.
~ Say that again? he prompted through his lace, replying to the message he had just received from Sma.
~ There’s a fucking troll running around inside the school, repeated Sma, her displeasure with the situation almost palpable.
~ A troll? repeated Harry, the idea not fully registering in his mind.
~ That’s what the turban-wearing freak said, Sma confirmed.
~ What’s a troll? asked Harry. ~ And should I be worried that there’s one in the school?
~ Based on the planet’s literature; trolls are large, dim-witted humanoids. Not very fast, but much stronger than your average Terrasa. The GCUs have observed several creatures that match the written descriptions, but have not been able to confirm the species name. I’d suggest you hurry back here, preferably before the thing manages to exit its location in the castle dungeons. It was Skaffen-Amtiskaw that replied, as apparently Sma had decided to start cussing out Dumbledore in all of the ten local languages she knew.
"Oh, joy," Harry concluded.
~ Do you know the way?
~ I’ll have to retrace my steps back to Dumbledore’s office and from there to the entrance.
~ Then do so. We will be waiting.
~ On my way.
Concluding his conversation with Sma’s escort drone, Harry turned to his own escorts. Butch was perched atop a nearby statue (a hideous replica of an extremely ugly looking hag) while Sylvester was waiting impatiently by his feet. Both small-drones were watching him expectantly.
"You both get that?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Sure did, Harry!"
Harry resisted rolling his eyes at the fake cat’s enthused confirmation. He turned to look at Butch. "Can you lead the way?"
Feeling no need to give a verbal response, Butch took to the air and began gliding down the corridor. It kept a steady pace that allowed Harry to follow at a comfortable jog. There was no reason to dawdle, after all. They had just reached one of the school’s many stairwells, when a piercing scream filled the air.
The drones continued to move, ignoring the sound as irrelevant to Harry’s wellbeing. In point of fact they made note to avoid the direction their audio sensors indicated that the scream had originated from. If there was screaming going on, then it was very probable the troll’s presence was the cause of it. Skaffen-Amtiskaw had been explicit in its instructions to keep Harry well away of any potential danger.
Harry, however, drew to an abrupt halt. Conventional wisdom in the Culture dictated that a person should think then act. Harry would never be able to explain why, upon hearing the cry of an unknown girl; he ignored that age-old adage and turned on a heel to dart down the nearest side corridors. It was certainly not that the person screaming was female (he could tell the sex by its pitch). Chivalry was not an alien concept to the Culture, but it was considered grossly archaic. But there was something, on a purely instinctual level, that drove him to follow the noise to its source and do what he could to help. He hoped that Sma would understand.
"Come on; it came from this direction," Harry urged as he ran, picking up speed with each step.
"This is ill advised," commented Butch as it trailed behind him
"That’s right, Harry!" added Sylvester.
"Someone is in trouble!" Harry countered, not slowing his run. "Even if she is a Terrasa, I can’t just leave her!"
Seeing that their charge was not going to be swayed, the two small-drones dutifully followed on his heels. Of course, their obedience did not prevent them from bringing themselves to full combat readiness. If the screaming was being caused by something dangerous, whatever it was would not live very long.
-oOo-
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was still rather crowded, despite the fact that Dumbledore had ordered all the students to depart to their dormitories. This was mostly due to the fact that everyone present; students, prefects and professors, were staring in disbelief as their headmaster’s regal-looking guest verbally tore into the old wizard with a will that had to be seen (and heard) to be believed.
Having finally realized that the situation was real, and not a bad joke, Sma had rounded on Dumbledore and was swearing up a storm. She was cursing the man’s ancestry, his professionalism, his integrity and his sanity. There were also multiple questions that brought his parentage, sexuality and competence into doubt. The entire hall was frozen in place, watching and listening in sheer disbelief that anyone could act in such a way, especially toward the headmaster. A few students, namely a pair of red-haired identical twins, were jotting down notes — recording her tirade for future reference.
"Just half an hour ago you assured me --assured me-- that Hogwarts was the ‘safest place in all of magical Britain, if not the world’," Sma was complaining loudly, throwing Dumbledore’s words back at him.
"Ms. Sma--"
Sma did not give him a chance to defend himself. "And what happens? This idiot," she paused to kick the insensate Professor Quirrell in the ribs, "comes running in, screaming about a troll! A troll! And you call this place safe?"
"Ms. Sma--" Dumbledore was beginning to lose his patience and it was reflected in the sharpness of his voice.
"I was expecting you to break your word," Sma continued, waving her arms about in agitation, "but I thought you’d at least wait a day before doing so!"
"Ms. Sma!" roared Dumbledore, his voice magically amplified and finally drowning out the woman’s ranting.
"What?!" demanded Sma, turning back to glare balefully at him. "Why are you still here?"
"I am still here because you have not allowed me to leave," he replied curtly.
"You’re the headmaster," Sma retorted. "Tell your staff to secure the safety of the children and then deal with the troll."
Giving in to his frustration, Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his crooked nose. "That is what I have been attempting to do, Ms. Sma. Your haranguing of me, while it may make you feel better, is not helping the situation."
~ If you would stop yelling for a moment, I have some alarming news, Skaffen-Amtiskaw unexpectedly transmitted. Sma’s attention was immediately diverted away from the headmaster and to the waiting drone.
~ What’s happened? she asked.
~ I have received a report from Butch, the machine relayed. ~ They were on their way to the Entrance Hall when they heard someone screaming. Harry has abandoned his evacuation in favour of searching for the source. The drones have been unable to dissuade him.
"What?" Sma whispered, her voice soft and utterly frigid. She glanced over to Dumbledore, who had turned away from her and was urging the students to leave the Hall and return to their dormitories. From the sound of it, he did not feel the need to have any of the professors serve as escorts. Foolish of him, but not of any real concern to her. She looked to the drone at her feet. ~ Go and help Harry.
~ And what about you? asked Skaffen-Amtiskaw.
"Find Harry and kill anything in the vicinity that isn’t Harry," ordered Sma, her expression dark enough to give even Dumbledore pause.
"Ms. Sma, I do not…"
Dumbledore trailed off as Skaffen-Amtiskaw rose into the air, eventually stopping at Sma’s head height. The drone shifted its disguise field and reverted to its true appearance, rather than that of a faux leather briefcase. Everyone still in the Great Hall, of which there were a fair number, stared at the hovering drone in confusion or surprise; not sure what to make of it.
The drone twisted on its axis and orientated itself with the doors leading to the Entrance Hall. Mindful of the frailty of human ears, Skaffen-Amtiskaw pulled away from its partner at a much slower pace than it was capable of. This meant that it accelerated to only just less than the speed of sound, rather than beyond it. To the humans watching it, the drone disappeared in a blur of gleaming metal and a rippling vortex of displaced air. Once it was clear of the Great Hall, and the bulk of the students, Skaffen-Amtiskaw followed a course that traced Harry’s progress further into the castle, as detailed by reports from Butch and Sylvester.
The only obstruction still in its way was one of the staff; the dark figure introduced as Professor Snape. The man had left the Great Hall almost immediately after Professor Quirrell’s proclamation. Skaffen-Amtiskaw was forced to weave around the running man, ignorant and uncaring as to his purpose. Passing only half a metre from him as it sped by, the drone’s passage blew Snape off his feet and into a painful collision with the opposite wall.
Skaffen-Amtiskaw was aware of this as it continued on, but paid it no mind. Snape was, ultimately, unimportant to its mission.
-oOo-
Harry skidded to a stop, panting and out of breath, and stared at the source of the scream that had captured his attention. Cursory examination revealed that it was a bathroom of some sorts. Or the remains of one. The room had been battered into a state of such disarray that its original purpose was difficult to divine. Were it not for three surviving porcelain washbasins and the sole remaining toilet stall, he would have thought it nothing but an incredibly messy storeroom.
Standing in the middle of the room, taking up a surprising amount of space, was the troll. The creature was easily two and a half metres tall, maybe a little extra. Its arms and legs were thicker than Harry’s torso and it was hefting a wooden club that was almost as large as Harry was. With a guttural bellow, the troll demolished the basin closest to it. Considering the size of the creature, there was little in the bathroom that was not close to it.
Another high-pitched shriek filled the air, emanating from the far corner of the room. There, cowering next to the last basin, was a young girl. She had been liberally drenched by water from the shattered basins and stalls, and then left with a sprinkling of dust and other debris. Her screams had to have caught the troll’s attention, but the lumbering beast seemed more intent on causing further collateral damage, rather than making a proper attack against her.
"Bugger," Harry concluded, having taken in the scene.
Dismissing the idea of using his knife-missile, which would unnecessarily kill the troll, Harry considered his other options. Knowing better than to engage the troll, despite however robust the gelfield suit might be, Harry glanded a strong dose of Focus and concentrated on the girl’s position. It was relatively difficult for him to Under-Jump someone that he wasn’t in physical contact with, and even more difficult not to transport himself in the process, but it was far from impossible. The only complication was the troll, which had now lumbered further into the bathroom and was taking aim at the second to last basin.
Confident that he had an accurate feel of the girl’s position relative to him, Harry began to shift and tweak the hyperspace energies. While his actions had a strong base in the Culture’s scientific knowledge, there was no proper terminology to explain exactly what he was doing. It was, to the Minds’ chagrin, as much of an art as a science. The inferior layer began to swirl about him in carefully orchestrated agitation and he gave it a sharp poke, triggering the Under-Jump just as the troll smashed the basin.
A wave of blinding dizziness washed over Harry like a cold shower. He was barely able to remain standing and staggered to lean against the doorframe, using it to support himself. Something had interfered with the Under-Jump, preventing the grid energy from forming properly. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. A quick look at the lower grid revealed a now churning mess of energy surrounding him that would be suicide to attempt any manipulation of.
Glancing across the bathroom, Harry could see that the girl’s time was up. There was only the one washbasin remaining and it was the one that she was trying to hide beneath. The troll seemed to realize this and pulled its club back and around for one final swing. Knowing that there wasn’t time to try again, he did the only thing he could think of. He shifted himself not into the lower hyperspace skein that lay beneath normal space, but up to the upper hyperspace layer that lay above it. The Minds would call it Upper-Jumping. The wizards would call it impossible.
Instead of the usual constrictive feeling of being sucked through a narrow tunnel, Harry felt as if he were swelling to enormous size. It went on and on, making him feel stretched to his limits and beyond. Then, like a rubber band snapping under too much strain, everything reverted to normal. The only change was that Harry now stood between the troll and the whimpering girl.
He had only enough time to realize his success, when the troll’s massive club smashed into his side.
-oOo-
Hermione Granger was a sensible girl. For the past two months, since coming to Hogwarts, she had been a sensible witch. Unfortunately it seemed that most of her schoolmates had little use or appreciation for sensible witches. Ron Weasley in particular was awfully loud and vehement in his denunciations. His most recent attack against her was the reason she had spent most of Halloween hiding in the bathroom and crying her eyes out.
Despite being a sensible girl, Hermione had come to Hogwarts with certain expectations, some of which were perhaps a little naïve. This was not unusual and most of her fellow students had doubtless done much the same. Hermione had been expecting to be a little behind the pureblood students, who had been raised with magic. She had expected to have to work hard to prove herself. But her last expectation had been a little different. She had expected, for the first time in her life, to make proper friends. Not a wholly unrealistic expectation.
She most certainly had not expected to find herself under attack by a rampaging mountain troll.
She had been preparing to finally leave the bathroom, with the reluctant intention of joining the Halloween feast and getting a quick bite to eat (she had missed lunch) when she had come face to belly with the creature in question. They had stood there for several long seconds, both taking the time to process what they were seeing and then deciding what to do about it. The troll finally decided to play with her, like a cat with a cornered mouse. Being the sensible girl that she was, Hermione decided to scream in terror.
Hermione would not have said that she had lived a sheltered life. She was well aware of how cruel the world could be. Or at least, she understood the cruelty that children could so readily dispense. What happened in the bathroom was something entirely outside her scope of understanding. Physical violence and gratuitous destruction was something she understood in theory. Hermione understood a lot of things in theory. The theory, however, paled against the reality.
As the troll cut a proverbial swathe of destruction though the bathroom, drawing ever closer to her, Hermione screamed for all she was worth. All thoughts of magic escaped her head and she completely forgot that she had her wand in her robe pocket. Not that she knew any spells that could stop a troll. She could only hope and pray that the teachers; that someone, anyone, would come to her rescue. A small, snide voice in the back of her mind told her that nobody was coming and she would soon be dead. By the time the troll had demolished the toilet stalls and most of the washbasins, Hermione was beginning to think that the voice was right.
She was cowering behind what little cover remained; the last washbasin, when suddenly and inexplicably and impossibly, a boy appeared in front of her. He was about her age, perhaps a few years older, and dressed in obviously Muggle clothes. Sneakers, jeans, shirt and jacket. His hair was a messy tangle of black locks, which somehow managed to suit him. His eyes were a remarkable shade of green that she had never seen in anyone else before. She could see them grown wide in surprise and confusion.
A second later the troll’s massive wooden club slammed into the boy’s side with all the force of a runaway freight train. Hermione was so utterly surprised by the suddenness of the action that she failed to react. He was flung to the side like a rag doll, though not quite as limply as she would have expected. He hit the wall with a dull thwack, made louder by the crash of the mirror shattering as he impacted against it. To Hermione’s disbelief, instead of collapsing in a bloody heap, the boy scrabbled about, trying to remain upright.
"Fuck," he mumbled, swaying unsteadily on his feet.
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but paused. She was undecided on whether to thank him for coming to her rescue, or to scold him for nearly throwing his life away in such a foolish manner. A rumbling grunt from the troll made her completely forget about saying anything. Her gaze swivelled away from her would be saviour and towards the hulking creature that was now staring at the boy in obvious confusion. It obviously did not understand why the boy was not dead. For that matter, neither did Hermione. She watched in apprehension as the troll’s puzzlement faded into anger. Clearly it was displeased with the intrusion, even if it was somewhat pleased with the result. It reared back, bellowed out a challenging roar and prepared to have another go at it.
Hermione was a sensible girl. So she did the sensible thing. She resumed her terrified screaming.
-oOo-
Harry’s ears were ringing and he could have sworn that whole constellations were dancing in front of his eyes. His gelfield suit had been able to absorb the bulk of the impact he had received from the troll’s club. It had even been able to extrude itself completely round his exposed head and hands before he had slammed into the bathroom’s stone wall. None of this, however, was absolute in its protection. Harry still felt as though he had been kicked in the chest by one of Chomba’s diaken hounds.
"Fuck," he groaned, trying to stay on his feet.
Pushing away from the wall he grabbed for the remaining basin, which had narrowly avoided destruction as he had barely missed being smashed into it. Using the porcelain sink to hold himself up, he took several deep gulps of air to recover from having the wind knocked out of him. He was vaguely aware of urgent queries from Butch and Sylvester, as well as from Skaffen-Amtiskaw, but he was too dazed to reply to them.
A loud guttural roar reached his ears, followed immediately by another deafening shriek from the girl. Realizing that something was obviously about to happen, Harry looked to see what was going on. He found himself staring up at the troll as it prepared for a devastating overhead swing. The sight left him frozen in terror, unable to move or act in any way, yet at the same time strangely detached — observing events with the curious analytical abilities of a Culture Referrer.
He knew, with absolute certainty, that the troll’s attack would not be able to hurt him. At least not enough to make mention of. The gelfield suit would easily absorb and deflect the force of any blows that landed. At most, Harry would suffer a bruise or two if the club struck at a bad angle. Assuming the club even managed to strike the suit, which was more than likely generating a shielding effector field as an additional layer of protection. And then there was the fact that Butch and Sylvester were nearby. The drones could stop the troll in place without using even a fraction of their effectors’ full power.
Yet, despite this knowledge streaming through the back of his mind, Harry was engrossed by the troll and its imminent attack. He could see the powerful coils of its muscles rippling and contracting beneath the thick grey flesh of its arms. He noted the gleam of anticipation in the beast’s normally dull eyes. He watched as the club was hefted into the air above the troll’s egg-shaped head, so high that it almost brushed against the ceiling.
"Fuck," he repeated, unable to think of anything else to describe the situation.
Just as the troll began its downswing, there was a deafening crack, like thunder striking overhead. The troll’s massive wooden club exploded into a cloud of sawdust. At that very same moment the troll itself ceased to exist; reduced to a fine mist of blood and gore — an organic soup which sprayed out over the interior of the bathroom; including Harry and Hermione, thoroughly drenching them both.
Harry stood motionless, still frozen in place. The fact that the troll had been torn apart simply failed to register. It took several seconds before he moved, only a short blink of stunned disbelief. He blinked repeatedly, becoming aware that his vision was obscured by a thick film of translucent grey and red. Another moment passed before he realized that he was covered in something that was now slowly dribbling down the ultra-thin layer that the gelfield suit had extruded over his eyes. He absently used his neural lace to send a message to the suit’s nodal brain, thanking it for keeping the liquidized troll from spraying into his eyes.
Still experiencing that same horrid feeling of detachment, Harry numbly lifted up his right hand and dragged it over his face. His attempt to clear the gore away was only moderately successful, as his hand was just as filthy as his face was. The effort was enough, however, to remove most of sludge that obscured his vision. With a series of nonplussed blinks, he looked around the bathroom and took note of the fact that he could easily blend into his surroundings.
~ Harry?
Ignoring the call to his neural lace, Harry was dimly aware of more screaming going on. Shrieks of pure terror and horror, even worse than what he had heard before. He turned, twisting at the waist, to see that it was coming from the girl. She had curled up into an even tighter ball of gangly limbs, all of which were just as blood-stained as the rest of the room, and was screaming into her knees with all of her strength.
~ Harry, are you all right?
Not knowing what to do, his emotions still strangely muted, Harry looked away from her. Ignoring the hysterical wailing, he noticed some movement at the door. Wiping at his face yet again, he could make out the hovering form of Skaffen-Amtiskaw. He vaguely realized that it was the drone that was trying to speak to him. He then took note of Butch floating in place next to the larger escort drone. The fake owl was not even bothering to flap its wings to remain aloft. A glance to the floor revealed Sylvester, sitting impatiently in the middle of the doorway.
It began to penetrate his befuddled mind that the combat small-drones were responsible for what had just happened. They had used their effector fields to tear the troll apart. As this thought was realized, Harry’s neural lace supplied the memory of the troll’s last moments. He could see the club being destroyed and then, in the very same instant, the troll… Remembering what had happened to the troll; Harry suddenly knew exactly what it was that now covered every exposed surface of the bathroom, like a grisly coat of paint.
"I’m gonna throw up," he managed to choke out, feeling his stomach twisting violently.
Unable to remaining standing, Harry dropped to the floor and clutched both hands to his abdomen in the hopes of staving off the rising bile. Some small part of his mind was pathetically grateful that the gelfield suit rolled away from his face as he began to vomit. Unfortunately this only served to expose his nose to the foul stink now permeated the bathroom, something that caused his stomach to heave even worse than before.
-oOo-
Skaffen-Amtiskaw turned into the corridor leading to the bathroom just in time to witness its two compatriots hit the troll with the full might of their military grade effector fields. By the time it had slowed to a halt outside the doorway, what remained of the troll had succumbed to gravity and had liberally coated the bathroom interior in a layer of grey and red sludge. If it had been human, it would have winced at the realization that this included Harry and the girl he had come to rescue.
After pausing just long enough to blast both small-drones with a stream of digital invective, the escort drone returned its attention to the gore covered boy that was now looking around in shock.
~ Harry? the drone queried, refraining from speaking while in the presence of the girl.
A soft keening reached its audio receivers and Skaffen-Amtiskaw realized that the native girl was rapidly growing hysterical. Her panicked screams continued to rise in intensity, soon reaching deafening levels.
~ Harry, are you all right?
Harry turned away from the girl and looked in their direction. His eyes flicked over Skaffen-Amtiskaw, not really taking in the drone’s presence. He then peered directly at the hovering Butch and then down to the waiting Sylvester. There was a worrisome lack of proper expression on his normally animated face. Finally a small frown formed between his brows and he began to blink rapidly.
"I’m gonna throw up."
With that pronouncement, Harry sank to his knees and began retching. The gelfield suit peeled itself back from his face to allow him to expel the contents of his stomach. While hardly an expert in human psychology, the Skaffen-Amtiskaw had enough experience to understand the cause of Harry’s reaction. It sent a quick message to Sma, informing her of their location and condition. It then turned back to its young charge and contemplated what to do.
Studiously ignoring this rather disgusting biological process, and the resulting mess, Skaffen-Amtiskaw began to float further into the bathroom, intending to use its manipulator fields to pat the quivering boy’s back. Sadly, drones were not very good at lending physical comfort to humans, but it was the best it could manage until Sma arrived on the scene.
To the machine’s surprise, however, the girl suddenly sprang into motion and latched onto Harry with all the force of a limpet. Regarding the pair, it decided that she must have become aware of Harry’s presence when he fell to the floor, bringing himself more fully into her line of sight than when he had been standing. Though why she would grab hold of the boy in such a manner was a bit of a mystery. The drone had thought her to be in a state of shocked hysteria and therefore unlikely to react to any outside stimulus. Some insight was to be gathered from her wild ramblings, which thankfully replaced her high-pitched screaming. It was, for the most part, nonsensical, but Skaffen-Amtiskaw did clearly hear the words "I’m sorry," and, "thank you," being repeated over and over again.
The drone waited until the worst of Harry’s convulsions had ended. Once it felt that he was settled and once again capable of coherent thought, Skaffen-Amtiskaw tried to communicate to his neural lace. ~ Harry? Can you hear me?
"Yeah," Harry gasped, slightly out of breath.
"Thank you, thank you, I’m sorry, thank you…"
Ignoring the girl’s continued ranting, Skaffen-Amtiskaw continued, ~ Harry, can you use your lace? I’d rather not expose the girl to our conversation.
"Right," nodded Harry. He paused, spat several times in an attempt to clear the taste of bile from his mouth, and nodded again. ~ Right. Sorry.
~ It’s all right, Harry. I understand.
~ Where’s Sma?
~ On her way, reported the drone. ~ Don’t worry, she’ll be here soon.
~ Skaffy?
~ Yes, Harry?
~ This… stuff on me… it’s the troll, right?
Skaffen-Amtiskaw hesitated before finally answering in the affirmative. It promptly re-evaluated its decision to be honest when it detected a sharp rise in Harry’s heart rate. His breathing was also coming faster, rapidly approaching a state of hyperventilation. His eyes were wide and the pupils dilated as he clutched a hand to his chest, pain gasps escaping his lips as he began to shake uncontrollably.
Realizing that the boy was descending into a state of hysteria, not unlike the still crying girl, the drone resorted to the slightly unethical action of jacking into Harry’s neural lace and using it to stimulate his drug glands into secreting copious amounts of Calm. The effect was almost instantaneous as Harry’s breathing slowed to a steady pace and his heartbeat dropped to something more appropriate to someone that was sleeping.
~ Feeling better? asked the drone.
~ Yes, replied Harry with a lethargic nod. He glanced up at the hovering drone. ~ You jacked into my lace. This would normally have been an accusation, but at the moment he was too calm to do more than make it a statement.
~ I thought it best to calm you down before Sma arrives.
~ Right. Thanks.
Skaffen-Amtiskaw moved closer to the kneeling children and settled down on the floor next to them. Unwilling to have its casing dirtied by the troll’s remains, it used a field to clear the area where it landed. In the distance, the sound of frantic footsteps could be heard echoing through the castle hallways. Sma and the school professors were almost there.
"Well," Harry finally mumbled, "so much for Dumbledore’s assurances of safety."
-oOo-
The Hogwarts’ Hospital Wing did not meet Sma’s standards for a modern and hygienic medical facility. Of course, Hogwarts itself did not meet her standards for a safe and nurturing learning environment. She was currently informing the headmaster of this particular fact. Loudly and repeatedly. It was perhaps a good thing that the infirmary was empty. Only Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were present to hear Sma unleashed her vitriol. And the school matron’s attention was primarily occupied by her two patients.
The pair had been found barely half an hour earlier; huddled together in a demolished bathroom with lots of liquidized troll painting the walls, floor, ceiling and the children themselves. It had taken five consecutive Cleaning Charms to remove the sticky mess from their clothes and bodies, though that had done nothing to clear away the cloying stench. Now, however, it was time to help them deal with the shock of such a gruesome near-death experience.
"Keep your liquid crap and your pointy stick away from me, you crazy old quack!"
Apparently Harry shared Sma’s opinion on the Hospital Wing. Certainly, he was less than enthused by Pomfrey’s attentions, particularly the potion she had just tried to have him drink. The thick sludge had remained in his mouth only long enough for him to register the taste, before he had promptly spat it out with all the force he could muster. Madam Pomfrey now had a dark purple stain coating the front of her robes.
"Mr. Potter!" she yelled, backing away from him as he continued to expel the remnants of the Calming Draft.
"Ugh, good grief, and you call yourself a doctor?" asked Harry unhappily.
"I am a registered Healer and--"
"A fucking witch doctor is what you are," he interrupted. "Now keep back — you’re not going to try any more voodoo mysticism on me!"
"Mr. Potter!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall. "We do not tolerate such language here!"
Harry looked at her, honestly puzzled, and asked, "What? Voodoo mysticism?"
While Madam Pomfrey did her best to tend to her very reluctant patient, Dumbledore was trying his best to placate Sma. This was proving to be extremely difficult, not unlike a council session with the Wizengamot. Standing just close enough to the two children to keep an eye on them, but far enough away that they could not be readily overheard, Dumbledore and Sma were locking horns with a will. Their argument had paused briefly when Harry rejected Madam Pomfrey’s attempts to render aid.
Seeing that there was not likely to be an immediate resolution, the headmaster focused again on Harry’s guardian and her companion. Dumbledore shot a glance to the hovering drone, which was waiting patiently at to the woman’s right. He turned his gaze back to Sma and asked, "And what of your… briefcase?"
"I prefer to err on the side of caution," replied Sma with a dismissive shrug.
"I have never seen anything quite like it," he prompted.
"I wouldn’t believe you if you said you had."
"You told it to kill anyone it found in Harry’s vicinity."
"Unlike you, I consider the safety of my charge to be of paramount importance."
Dumbledore could not stop a wince at the cutting observation. This incident with troll was turning into a debacle; one that he could not afford at such a delicate stage. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his half-moon spectacles and asked, "Admirable, yes, but do you often carry an animated guardian with you?"
Sma snorted inelegantly and replied, "You never know when you might need to massacre a dozen marauding bandits."
Dumbledore blinked at this answer and wondered if she was joking. He hopes were dashed as Sma’s grim expression remained in place, completely devoid of any hint of black humour. She was also glowering at him in a manner that left him feeling like a naughty toddler caught filching his parent’s wand. For a woman that he would estimate as only being in her thirties, this was extremely disconcerting.
"Now, headmaster," Sma began with all due seriousness, "we need to discuss Harry’s withdrawal from this madhouse you call a school."
"Withdrawal?" Dumbledore repeated, not surprised by such a decision but appalled by its implications.
"You can’t honestly expect me to allow Harry to attend a place where dangerous beasts can wander freely about."
"I assure you Ms. Sma, this is an isolated incident."
"One that just so happened to occur here and now?"
"Today was most certainly the exception, rather than the rule," Dumbledore tried to assert. Seeing that Sma was hardly convinced, he tried a different approach; one with the aim of downplaying the matter entirely. "In any case, this was hardly anything to get upset about. These things do happen."
Sma’s face schooled itself into a façade of ice. Reaching into her overcoat, she withdrew an Espedair cheroot and raised it to her mouth. Once it was secured in her mouth, she released it and held that hand by its tip. A snap of her fingers signalled the watching Skaffen-Amtiskaw, who used its fields to apply sufficient heat to ignite the item. This was a carefully choreographed action, though little more than a cheap trick for Culture Contact operatives, which gave the illusion that Sma had used magic to light the cheroot. Dumbledore was entirely fooled by the charade.
Inhaling deeply, and savouring the bitter yet aromatic scent of the burning Espedair leaves, Sma regarded the headmaster with cool calculation. Taking hold of the cheroot, she pursed her lips and blew a stream of rich blue smoke into Dumbledore’s face. It would not be diplomatic of her to express her ire by simply slapping the man, so she contented herself with this act of contempt. The old wizard bore the assault with as much grace as he could.
"Yes, these things do happen, headmaster," Sma agreed. She jabbed the hand holding the cheroot at him, coming dangerously close to setting his beard alight. "But until they stop happening; Harry Potter will be attending school elsewhere."
Seeing his chances to salvage the situation slipping from his grasp, Dumbledore resorted to begging. It was not a pleasant feeling, one that he had not endured in many, many years. Still, it was his best option at the moment, as he did not think that Sma could be swayed by intimidation. He suspected that her reaction to even veiled threats would be unpleasant — and most likely involve the use of her briefcase.
"Please, Ms. Sma, I beg you to reconsider," he pleaded, reaching out to implore her.
"I have reconsidered," said Sma. "That is why I’m removing Harry from this place."
"You cannot do this!"
"Excuse me?"
"Harry Potter must attend school here, at Hogwarts."
"And why is that?" Sma asked softly, dangerously.
"Every Potter for the last thirty generations has studied in these halls," explained Dumbledore, back-pedalling rapidly. He could not let slip of his true reasons for wanting Harry under his care. He could not trust Sma with the truth, not until he had a far better idea of exactly what kind of woman she was. "By removing him from Hogwarts you will be denying him a chance to explore his heritage."
"Harry couldn’t care less for a heritage that involves this decrepit hovel of a castle," Sma immediately threw back. She could tell that the old man was lying and that his interest in having Harry at Hogwarts was for reasons far different than what he claimed.
"And has he told you that himself?"
"He doesn’t need to. I think I know what he would want better than you do."
"So you would deny him the choice?"
"If it prevents him from being clubbed to death by a troll, then yes!"
Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height and called his magic to the surface. It was a tactic of intimidation, no more and no less, yet it was his last resort in the face of Sma’s stubbornness. Cornelius Fudge would have caved in without more than a token protest. Sma met his gaze without blinking and drew another deep breath from her cheroot.
"You assume that you will have an easy time of it," he intoned.
"Are you planning on threatening me now?" asked Sma, exhaling in Dumbledore’s face once again.
"No," Dumbledore admitted. He knew that magical, or even physical intimidation would not aid his cause at this point. As such, he planned on putting an entirely different strategy into play. The one card that he had not yet made mention of. "But I do not think you realize just how important young Harry is to the people of magical Britain. If need be, I can bring considerable political pressure to bear. You would have little option but to comply."
Sma’s eyes narrowed as she asked, "And why would magical Britain care whether an abandoned orphan attends Hogwarts or not?"
Dumbledore’s eyes grew wide in surprise. He had not anticipated such a reply. "You cannot expect me to believe that you are unaware of Harry’s status as the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Vanished."
"The Boy-Who-Lived-And-Vanished," repeated Sma, utterly unable to believe what had just been said. Floating just behind her right shoulder, Skaffen-Amtiskaw was experiencing much the same. The pair exchanged a quick conversation through Sma’s neural lace, discussing what this might imply, before she focused on Dumbledore and asked, "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Harry is the most prominent symbol of hope to be seen since Voldemort rose to power in the seventies," explained Dumbledore. As he spoke, he took careful note of the fact that Sma did not react in any way to the utterance of the dark lord’s name. "When he defeated him, the night his parents were killed, he became the very embodiment of what it means to be a champion of the Light."
"A champion of the Light," repeated Sma, even more incredulous than before. She shook her head in disbelief and asked, "How can anyone consider a year old baby to be a champion of anything?"
"As someone who was not living in England at the time, you cannot understand how hopeless the situation appeared," Dumbledore replied, "There was nothing to prevent Voldemort and his followers from doing anything they desired. Some of us tried, certainly, but our efforts were seldom enough to do more than stem the tide. Harry changed all that. He gave us back the ability to hope for the future — for a safer and better life."
"So you people put a baby boy on a pedestal and proclaimed him the new messiah," concluded Sma.
"There was even talk of calling it Harry Potter Day," admitted Dumbledore with a small grin.
Sma, however, was not amused. Spitting her cheroot to the floor and crushing under a heel, she fixed him with a look of pure disdain. "So that’s why you want Harry here at Hogwarts?" she asked, hands on her hips. "As some sort of tool, a figurehead for your political machinations?"
Dumbledore drew back at the accusation. "No, of course not!"
"That’s what it sounds like to me. If that’s not the case, then why the fuss?"
"I assure you, I have no desire to use Harry for political gain. There is no need; I am already Britain’s pre-eminent wizard," Dumbledore assured her.
"Afraid of the competition then?" Sma accused.
"Ms. Sma!" exclaimed Dumbledore.
"Well?"
"My interest in Harry extends only so far as to ensure that he is given the opportunity to grow into the man his parents would have wanted him to become. James and Lily Potter were good friends to many people and dear friends to myself and several members of my staff," Dumbledore explained. "I only want to do what I can to help the child learn about the world and culture that his parents loved so dearly. The world and culture that they sacrificed their lives to save."
Sma studiously kept her eyes focused on the headmaster. Using her lace, she asked Skaffen-Amtiskaw, ~Well?
Using the various sensors at its disposal, Skaffen-Amtiskaw had been carefully and thoroughly monitoring Dumbledore’s physiology. Everything from his heartbeat and respiration, to the dilation of his pupils and structure of his brain waves were observed, analysed and commented on.
~ He’s telling the truth, the drone concluded, ~but not the whole truth. He is omitting something.
Without blinking Sma retorted to Dumbledore’s word with a biting, "You’ll find that Harry as learned of worlds beyond your comprehension. And he has grown up in his very own Culture. One that means far more to him than whatever he will find here in Britain."
"How do you know that? How will he, if he is not given the chance to decide for himself?" countered Dumbledore.
~ Drone, contact the Minds, Sma ordered. ~ What’s their take on this?
~ I’ve been passing everything along to the It’s Not My Fault, replied Skaffen-Amtiskaw. ~ General consensus is to placate Dumbledore for the moment by accepting his apologies. Ask for assurances and monetary compensation. Let him assume that we are willing to forget the incident.
~ And if Harry really doesn’t want to come here?
~ Then he doesn’t have to. As we told Dumbledore earlier; there are plenty of other magical schools available. If what he says about Harry’s status as a celebrity is true, then they should be more than willing to accept him as a student.
~ All right.
Having given the impression that she was mulling things over, Sma looked at Dumbledore and started acting. "Very well," she said. "I will accept that this was a one-off and not something that’s going to be repeated."
Dumbledore loosed a sigh of relief and smiled at her. "Thank you, Ms. Sma. I assure you this--"
"Not so fast, headmaster," Sma held a hand up to cut him off. "I will be needing some very convincing assurances that this won’t happen again. And I think, as a gesture of apology for putting your students through such a traumatising experience, that you fully refund the year’s school fees for both Harry and the girl."
"Well, I--"
"I’m sure you won’t have any trouble having the money transferred back to Harry’s vault at Gringotts," continued Sma, deliberately refusing to allow the man any chance to speak. "I also trust that you will supervise a full investigation into the matter — most especially in search of the answer as to how the troll managed to get into the school despite your so-called precautions against such things."
"Yes, I--"
"And I think I will also insist that you have a hearing to determine the fitness of that Professor Quirrell person to be an instructor here. If he’s so pathetic as to faint when coming face-to-face with a supposedly minor problem, then I hardly think he is suitable to teach a class in Defence Against Anything."
"Professor Quirrell--"
"That’s good to hear. Who knows, perhaps you’ll be able to prove that you and your staff are not wholly incompetent," Sma concluded. "In the meanwhile, I will be taking Harry someplace where he can recover from tonight’s escapades. We’ll see you when we see you. Until then."
"But what of your visit to Diagon Alley, tomorrow?" asked Dumbledore, visibly relieved that her list of demands had ended.
Sma gave him a look that instantly quelled any further questions. "That’s up to Harry. Now piss off and let me talk to my son."
Shoving her way past the headmaster, Skaffen-Amtiskaw trailing behind her, Sma stalked to where Harry was sitting. She passed by the bed where Hermione was laying and graced the girl with a tight smile before settling down next to Harry.
"How are you feeling, Harry?" Sma asked softly, as she rubbed the small of his back with a gentle touch.
"Like shit," Harry admitted, "but I don’t think I’m going to vomit again. Not unless that crazy doctor lady tries to give me another one of those ‘potions’. How she expects her patients to get better when she’s feeding them raw sewerage, I don’t know."
"Good idea that," said Sma, smiling faintly. "You smell bad enough already."
"Fuck you too, Dizzy," retorted Harry, but with a ghost of a smile to take most of the harshness out of his words.
"Not for a few more years," Sma teased, hoping to brighten his obviously dark mood. "I’m not really into kids."
"More’s the pity."
Sma reached up to ruffle his hair, pleased that he was at least well enough to return her banter. Her pleasure soured when Dumbledore’s shadow fell over them, the headmaster having followed her to Harry’s bedside. The old wizard smiled at the boy and said, "I’m most relieved to hear that you are well after what happened, Harry. I deeply regret that you had to suffer through such an ordeal."
"Thanks," Harry grumbled.
Dumbledore turned to the bed beside Harry’s and added, "And you as well, Ms. Granger. It was good fortune that Mr. Potter was here to help you."
Hermione was staring silently at the group congregated around the boy that had saved her life, whom she now knew to be the famed and long missing Boy-Who-Lived-And-Vanished. Her thoughts were awhirl over the implications of this, but mostly she was replaying the memory of what had happened in the bathroom. Not the troll’s rather brutal demise, which she preferred not to remember, but rather on what had happened immediately before that.
"You — you Apparated," she finally said, addressing Harry. "But… you can’t Apparate or Disapparate in Hogwarts."
~ She must be referring to your Under-Jumping, reasoned Skaffen-Amtiskaw from its place beside Sma. ~ We’d prefer that they not know any of the details of that particular skill; even if they have evidence that you can do it.
"I’ve never learned how to Apparate," said Harry truthfully, "and I’ve never learned to Disapparate either."
"But--"
"I needed to get between you and the troll," Harry continued, not allowing her to make any further queries. "I don’t know how I did it and I probably couldn’t repeat it if I tried."
"No doubt a powerful example of accidental magic," theorised Dumbledore, stroking his beard.
"Harry’s always pulling off something unexpected," agreed Sma, more for form than anything else.
"And what of the troll?" asked Professor McGonagall, listening quietly to one side. "While there is little doubt as to what happened, neither of you have supplied much of an explanation as to how it happened."
"The troll was trying to kill Harry. He stopped it. We don’t need to know more," asserted Sma.
"Quite right," agreed Madam Pomfrey. "No reason to make the children relive what happened."
"Yes. Though I suspect that was a very impressive Blasting Curse, Mr. Potter," agreed Dumbledore.
"If that’s what you call it," muttered Harry.
"Impressively foolish is what it truly was," countered Pomfrey. "I don’t care what you say; an eleven year old’s magical core is simply not developed enough to produce such a show of magic without draining itself to dangerously low levels."
"I feel fine," Harry insisted.
"You’d feel much better if you’d allow me to actually administer some potions."
"They taste like shit."
"Mr. Potter!"
Harry looked wearily at Professor McGonagall, beginning to tire of her constant admonishments. He turned back to Madam Pomfrey and stated, "I don’t need your potions — I feel fine."
"If you won’t take the Pepper Up, then at least have a Calming Draft," she insisted, making one last attempt.
"I already have enough Calm in my veins that I wouldn’t be afraid a supernova," replied Harry.
Pomfrey huffed unhappily at her patient’s obstinacy, but relented. She merely made a note to administer the bulk of Mr. Potter’s future healing needs while he was either unconscious or looking the other way.
Seeing that his foe was relenting, Harry turned to Sma and asked, "Can we leave now?"
"Whenever you’re ready," she replied.
Harry nodded firmly and thought back to the sensations he had felt when going to Hermione’s aid. He focused on his guardian’s position, sitting beside him, as well as Skaffen-Amtiskaw, Butch and Sylvester. Though he was feeling horribly tired, it was mostly a state of emotional exhaustion. His magical core, as Pomfrey called it, had hardly been bothered by the night’s activities. The superior layer of hyperspace grid energy swirled around him, quickly conforming to the pattern he desired. Without bothering to say goodbye to the professors and Hermione, Harry triggered the Upper-Jump.
The watching witches and wizard were shocked beyond all belief when their guests unexpectedly disappeared. There was no familiar pop or crack of Apparation, for that means of magical transport was impossible within the boundaries of Hogwarts. The only thing to mark Harry and company’s departure was the soft rush of displaced air and a tingling sensation that shivered up and down the spines of those left behind.
"Merlin’s bollocks!" exclaimed McGonagall, clutching a hand to her chest in surprise.
"Minerva!" chided Madam Pomfrey automatically.
Dumbledore’s eyebrows had jerked upwards so forcefully that his half-moon glasses had lost their perch and toppled to the infirmary floor. The implication that Harry could somehow circumvent entirely the wards protecting the school was shocking. Even more incredible was that a first-year should be able to do such a thing. Not to mention that he had somehow managed to include Sma, her briefcase and his two familiars in the transport without having to touch them. Clearly he needed to retire to his office to contemplate this; preferably while chewing on a lemon sherbet or two.
Yes, there was much to ponder.
-oOo-
The General Contact Unit It’s Not My Fault had been fully briefed on the subject of Harry Potter. If there was something to know about the boy, the Ship knew about it in mind-boggling detail. But even this comprehensive knowledge did not prevent the Fault from suffering a terrible shock when Harry, Sma and their three drone companions suddenly appeared in Harry’s quarters aboard the ship. If the Fault had been human, it would have jumped into the air, let out a piercing shriek and clutched a hand to its heart to quell the frantic beating caused by the adrenalin rush. As it was, the GCU spent nearly two full microseconds doing absolutely nothing but stare at the new arrivals, using its myriad sensor arrays. Finally, it recovered enough to address its clearly agitated guests.
"Well, this is unexpected," it said, announcing its awareness of their presence. "The blister module I sent to retrieve you is still four minutes away from Hogwarts. I would hazard a guess that I can recall it?"
"Yes, we decided not to wait," Sma confirmed.
"Why?" asked the Ship.
"Our escorts can fill you in."
Skaffen-Amtiskaw, however, was trailing after Harry as the boy discarded his jacket while stalking across to the suite’s kitchen unit. The drone’s aura field was glowing a subdued pattern of purple and orange - expressing its concern for the young human.
"Ship, give me a glass of hot staol, please. Extra large," said Harry, pulling off his sweater and tossing it aside. It landed on Sylvester, leaving the combat small-drone to wriggle its way out. The fake cat seemed to find the activity somewhat entertaining.
"Are you sure, Harry?" asked the GCU. "Staol is exceptionally alcoholic, especially when served hot on an empty stomach."
"I didn’t ask for an opinion," snapped Harry, unbuttoning his shirt. "Just give me the fucking drink!"
A hurried conversation with Skaffen-Amtiskaw convinced the Ship to acquiesce to Harry’s demands. Every Mind in the Culture was acutely aware of the many limitations and vagaries of their human progenitors. Especially when experiencing moment of great stress or emotional trauma. There was hardly a noticeable pause before it relented and said, "Well, if you’re sure then."
Tapping his foot as he waited impatiently for the drink, Harry muttered, "Of course I’m sure."
Sma, who had by now removed her coat, watched as Harry collected the steaming glass of liquor from the nearest dispenser, took a deep gulp of its contents, and then stormed out of the apartment’s reception area and into his bedroom. Draping the cream-coloured cloth over the nearest couch, Sma trailed after him. She entered the room in time to see him roughly kick off his shoes and collapse gracelessly on his bed, spilling some of his drink on the bedcovers in the process.
"Harry," she asked softly, cautiously approaching the reclining boy.
"What the fuck happened today, Sma? What the grief was all that shit?" asked Harry in reply. He propped himself up on his elbows and took another swig of his drink. He looked at her, his expression vacillating rapidly between frustration and despair.
"I don’t know, Harry," she admitted, sitting down next to him. "I honestly don’t know."
"Outside Context Problems are supposed to involve Elder civilizations, visits from extra-dimensional entities or an invasion by Andromeda," he protested loudly, knocking back the remainder of the staol. "Not a bunch of primitive barbarians that that can barely get out of their own gravity well!"
"It would seem we underestimated the... peculiarities... of these wizard folk," observed Skaffen-Amtiskaw, drifting into the room.
"You don’t say?" retorted Harry scathingly. The drone’s aura flickered cream with embarrassment.
"Forget the magic, Harry," interrupted Sma. "Let’s talk about what happened in that bathroom."
"I heard the girl scream," said Harry. "I went to see what was happening."
"Over the protests of Butch and Sylvester," Skaffen-Amtiskaw noted.
Harry gave the drone a dirty look and argued, "How the fuck was I supposed to know that the fucking troll was going to be there? You told me it was in the fucking basement!"
Realizing that the stress of the situation, aided by the staol, was the cause behind Harry’s crudity, neither Sma nor Skaffen-Amtiskaw chided him for swearing so much. There were, they both knew, other things to be discussed. Besides which, Sma had a habit of cussing up a storm whenever she was agitated.
"The small-drones say you Under-Jumped between it and the girl. She called it Apparating?" prompted Sma.
"Yeah, not really, no," Harry nodded and then shook his head. "Something about the school stopped me from dropping into inferior hyperspace. I don’t know why, but I then tried going the other way — up into the superior layer. That worked, even if it did feel weird."
"We had always theorised that you might be able to Upper-Jump," said Skaffen-Amtiskaw.
"Well now you have the proof to go with your fucking theory!" snapped Harry, angrily tossing his empty glass aside. It shattered loudly against the bedroom wall, not far from where the drone was floating. "All I had to do was nearly get myself stomped flat by a fucking troll! Fuck! Don’t you damn bastards even care about that!?"
"Harry, calm down," said Sma, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"I am calm!" he shouted.
"Then gland some more."
Harry hissed in frustration, but soon relented. He closed his eyes and secreted a strong dose of Calm, with a dash of Diffuse, which quickly succeeded in blunting the bulk of his emotion’s sharp edge. Feeling a tad more reasonable than before, he turned to Sma and tremulously asked, "What about the troll? The drones killed it. They killed it - right in front of me. They - they - they blew it to bits..."
Sma immediately pulled him into her arms and enveloped him in the most caring embrace she could manage. "It’s all right, Harry," she whispered, running a hand through the thick tangle of his hair. "It was your life or the troll’s. The drones had no choice. You know that."
"But they killed it, Sma! Blew it to bits!"
"I know, darling, I know."
"But why?" he wailed piteously. "They didn’t have to do that! Their effectors could’ve restrained it just as easily."
"Even Culture drones aren’t immune to over-reacting," Sma told him, thinking back on some of her early experiences with Skaffen-Amtiskaw.
"It sprayed all over me. I had it — its blood, its insides — all over me... I feel... dirty..."
Suddenly reminded of the dreadful state in which she and the Hogwarts professors had found Harry, Sma realized that most of his problems lay in the rather messy way in which the troll had met its end. Cursing the small-drones for their lack of subtlety, she released her hold on Harry and pulled him to his feet. Giving herself some room to work with, she began to finish undressing him.
"Ship, can you get the shower running? Nice and hot," she asked.
"Of course," replied the Fault.
Sma glanced at the anxiously hovering Skaffen-Amtiskaw and said, "Drone, you’ll have to report this to the Minds yourself. I’ll be with Harry for the rest of the night. They can talk to us both in the morning."
The drone dipped a corner in acknowledgement. "I’ll pass it along. Good night, Harry."
"Night," muttered Harry as Sma unbuttoned his trousers and slid them down his legs.
Once his clothes were removed, the gelfield suit disengaged itself from Harry’s body. The quasi-sentient suit rolled itself up into a head-sized ball and floated out of the bedroom, heading for an appropriate cleaning facility. With both hands on his shoulders, Sma gently led him into the suite’s bathroom and to the lavish shower stall. Quickly casting off her clothes, Sma took hold of him and stepped inside, allowing the comfortably hot sprays of water to wash over them both.
"I don’t think this’ll help much," muttered Harry.
"It will help enough, don’t worry," Sma whispered as she began to work a thick lather of soap over his hunched shoulders. "And then I’ll start looking for whoever was responsible for this. And I’ll deal with them appropriately."
-oOo-
[New M16-level Core Group formed. @n4.58.231.1933
Name: Interesting Times Gang (Act VI).]
~
x Time And Again (MSV Desert Class):
My confidence in this operation has sunk to new levels.
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
Agreed.
~
x Stafl (Orbital Hub, Seseris system, [solo]):
No kidding. This was very nearly a complete disaster — we almost lost Harry.
~
x Limivorous (GSV, Ocean Class):
He was in danger, yes, but it was hardly life-threatening. The gelfield suit was more than sufficient to prevent him from coming to harm. No, what concerns me are the psychological ramifications of the encounter.
~
x What Are The Civilian Applications? (GSV, Continent Class, Sub-Class Prompt, Limited):
Agreed. Few humans in the Culture are capable of facing such violence without a strongly negative reaction. Those that can are usually picked up by Special Circumstances. Young Mr. Potter does not fall under that category.
~
x Serious Callers Only (LSV, Tundra Class):
Something that will doubtless change if he stays on Terra for very long.
~
x Different Tan (GCU, Mountain Class):
Who could have anticipated that such an event would occur so soon after Harry’s introduction to their society?
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
Clearly you hold the Terrasa in far too charitable a light. They are not a very civilized people.
~
x Anticipation Of A New Lover’s Arrival, The (GSV, Plate Class):
No, the Different Tan is correct. The probability of something like this happening is remote at best. I fear there is something about this situation that we are not aware of. Something sinister.
~
x Different Tan (GCU, Mountain Class):
A conspiracy of some sort? But how? Why?
~
x Limivorous (GSV, Ocean Class):
Difficult questions to answer.
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
You are being ridiculous. Paranoid. The troll attack was but a coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less.
~
x Stafl (Orbital Hub, Seseris system, [solo]):
And you are being obtusely narrow-minded. Again.
~
x Time And Again (MSV Desert Class):
It could be a coincidence, but the odds of that... well, I certainly wouldn’t bet on it.
~
x Anticipation Of A New Lover’s Arrival, The (GSV, Plate Class):
Nor I.
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
Then why, pray tell, would someone do such a thing?
~
x Limivorous (GSV, Ocean Class):
Dumbledore was lying.
~
x Time And Again (MSV Desert Class):
Of course he was. But lying about what? That is the question.
~
x Fate Amenable To Change (GCU, Escarpment Class):
His mention of the restricted area, on the third-floor, is suspicious as well. There is something larger at work here.
~
x Different Tan (GCU, Mountain Class):
Agreed. But does it involve Harry or are we, as the Tears suggests, making a fuss about something that does not involve us?
~
x Stafl (Orbital Hub, Seseris system, [solo]):
So long as we have an interest in Terra, then it does involve us.
~
x Limivorous (GSV, Ocean Class):
Agreed.
~
x Different Tan (GCU, Mountain Class):
Then, was Harry the trigger to the event? Or was his presence merely an accident?
~
x Fate Amenable To Change (GCU, Escarpment Class):
I imagine that only time will tell. Our surveillance of Hogwarts was not as thorough as it could have been.
~
x Time And Again (MSV Desert Class):
You can only learn so much when working under the limitations we set for the GCUs orbiting the planet.
~
x Fate Amenable To Change (GCU, Escarpment Class):
I do not dispute that, but we were entering the situation blindly. That will change now that Harry has access to the school. The information that he and his drones will gather should help shed light on matters.
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
Assuming, of course, he does not decide to back out. This incident may well have damaged his conviction to see this through.
~
x Stafl (Orbital Hub, Seseris system, [solo]):
I doubt that. Harry will continue to do as asked of him. He is too stubborn not to.
~
x What Are The Civilian Applications? (GSV, Continent Class, Sub-Class Prompt, Limited):
He gets that from his mother.
~
x Serious Callers Only (LSV, Tundra Class):
Diziet Sma or Lily Potter?
~
x What Are The Civilian Applications? (GSV, Continent Class, Sub-Class Prompt, Limited):
Ms. Sma, of course. Don’t be stupid.
~
x Serious Callers Only (LSV, Tundra Class):
I’m a Culture Mind. I don’t think it’s possible for me to be stupid.
~
x Time And Again (MSV Desert Class):
Have you listened to some of the drivel Tears has been spouting lately?
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
I beg your pardon! There is no call for such... such slander!
~
x Limivorous (GSV, Ocean Class):
Our conversation is getting somewhat off-track, as it were. What are our thoughts regarding the Terrasa situation?
~
x Stafl (Orbital Hub, Seseris system, [solo]):
No change. Continue as planned.
~
x Fate Amenable To Change (GCU, Escarpment Class):
Agreed.
~
x Time And Again (MSV Desert Class):
Agreed.
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
And you call me stupid. Idiots. We cannot continue as planned. The situation has changed dramatically. Clearly Terra, and Hogwarts in particular, are more dangerous than we had anticipated. We must adjust our approach to reflect this.
~
x Serious Callers Only (LSV, Tundra Class):
Harry has a gelfield suit, a knife missile and two combat small-drones keeping watch over him at any one time. We hardly need to do any more to ensure his safety. Our concern should focus on gathering more data.
~
x Limivorous (GSV, Ocean Class):
Agreed.
~
x What Are The Civilian Applications? (GSV, Continent Class, Sub-Class Prompt, Limited):
Agreed.
~
x Stafl (Orbital Hub, Seseris system, [solo]):
Agreed.
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
And what if matters escalate?
~
x Time And Again (MSV Desert Class):
Then we will act accordingly.
~
x Serious Callers Only (LSV, Tundra Class):
Until then we will do what we do best.
~
x Limivorous (GSV, Ocean Class):
Watch.
~
x Different Tan (GCU, Mountain Class):
And wait.
~
x End In Tears (Rock, First Era):
Agreed.
~
[End document/comments track.]
TBC…