Death By Water (Harry Potter/The Culture)

[vali]

You do not need to be familiar with Ian Bank's Culture series in order to enjoy this fanfic. If you’d like to learn more about the Culture, a good place to go is here.


Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.
—T. S. Eliot, ‘The Waste Land’, Death By Water



Chapter 1: October is the Cruelest Month

July of 1981

Lily Potter sat, exhausted, her frail body completely surrounded by a wall of books.

ye compleate grimoure of charms and protections lay half-obscured by The Standard Book of Safety Spells which was nearly obscured by A Mother’s Protection which was propped up against The Black Art of Protective Rituals which sat atop Over Any Distance; Protecting Your Loved Ones With Magic.

Her wand rested atop a golden Portkey that sat atop a square of pure silver on her desk, still now that the enchantment had been finished. “Almost done,” she muttered to the baby sleeping in her lap. “Then maybe I can get some sleep too.”

She took the golden Portkey from her desk, tapped it with her wand, then said slowly and clearly “When I break, take me to the safest place I could ever be.” It shimmered and grew warm to the touch. Then she placed the Portkey against Harry’s skin and watched as it dissolved into him.

Then she held him, told him he was safe, that her protection would never leave him, that to love time meant nothing, distance was just a dream, and death was an illusion, that magic of her love was greater than any evil that might seek him, that the tears that wetted his wispy hair meant she loved him, loved him, loved him then, and now, and forever, forever, forever.


October 31, 1981

The crew of the space ship Supertoys Last All Summer Long had arrived at the planet called Earth at long last, and so were busy relaxing and celebrating.

They’d voted on their break room earlier and ‘Beach’ had won, so Supertoys Last All Summer Long had ripped out the jungle, put all the dinosaurs back in storage, dismantled the small mountain with its lackluster cave system, then replaced the whole thing with long stretch of golden beach.

Waves beat against the shore with soothing repetition. Sea-birds, or just drones disguised as sea-birds, flew above them, calling out to each other. Some surprisingly large aquatic animal (or disguised drone) breached, the sound of its breath audible to all.

The crew were scattered all about. Some lay insensate in the sand, blissed out or lost in rapture, having made use of the drug glands installed in their heads to gland themselves their drugs of choice. Others were having sex, usually in pairs but occasionally in larger groups. Several groups were playing sports, and further down the beach a feast had been laid out. One man was building a sandcastle, with the emphasis on castle; he was lifting multiple tons of sand at a time using a remote linked to the ship’s effector systems and then fusing the sand with laser pistol. Parts of the castle were already three stories high.

Gaiane sat not far away, idly listening to Baruch talk.

“-and that’s why Star Trek’s Prime Directive is a steaming pile of shit,” Baruch was shouting not far away to a small but appreciative crowd. “Any objections? No? Well good, because we are for sure contacting these barbarians, giving them the gift of our galactic technology, and we are going to do it in a way we already know they’ll be familiar and comfortable with. Behold!”

A rather large door opened in the false blue sky of the break room and a silver, saucer-shaped UFO glided gently downward. “I asked the ship to fab me a proper UFO along with an Effector suite, and today we’re taking it on a spin. Anyone else interested in coming along?”

There was some shouting and heckling (‘What about the anal probes?’ ‘Didn’t that used to be our only escape-craft?’) but Baruch was on a roll. “We’re going to start in Iowa,” he announced. “I’ve got some lovely virgin corn-fields picked out. There’s a molecular printer on board with every sort of rubber mask you could want in its library. Tonight, we are going to be everything Earth could ever want us to be. Everyone interested, let’s board.”

“Sure you don’t want to join one of them?” the ship’s avatar asked her.

The avatar of the ship Supertoys Last All Summer Long was a tall, handsome man with powerful forearms and large, calloused hands.

“I’m too old for that shit,” she told the avatar. “I’ve seen all this before.” She glanded Soft, and felt her body sink a little deeper into the sand.

The now-full saucer took off through the sky-door of the ship, which closed behind it.

They sat like that for a while, Gaiane thinking about the course her life had taken, while the ship, whose Mind was a bus-sized mass of computronium that existed in a higher dimension where computation was orders of magnitude faster and more powerful, thought about whatever gods think about.

And perhaps Lily’s spell was a thing of fate, or perhaps prophecy and magic had their own designs, but at that moment there was a *crack*, the sound of which was immediately lost in the sound of the sea, and then in Gaiane’s crooked arms there rested a crying baby boy with a bloody lightning scar on his forehead.

“I didn’t do that,” the avatar said immediately.

She gave the crying baby a squeeze. “Well, you didn’t kill it the moment it appeared, so I take it you don’t think it’s a threat?”

The avatar shrugged. “I’ve already spent tens of thousands of years of subjective time studying what just happened. It was a displacement, but an odd sort, one that bypassed my forth-dimensional walls. And even as we speak, I’m manufacturing new equipment in a likely hopeless attempt to insure that this never, ever, ever happens again. The boy is named Harry, and he came here directly from a burning house where his dead parents are. I still don’t know why.”

“So not a threat.”

“Probably not. Why do you care?”

“I’d like to go out on my own terms, thank you very much.” She began rocking the baby back and forth. “So, something on the planet below us was listening to us talk, and displaced a baby here? That’s quite impressive. And unusual.”

The avatar shrugged again. “Maybe. This world we’re orbiting has something the locals call magic that lets them do all sorts of unusual things. My guess is their ‘magic’ is some practical joke dreamed up by an Elder or Sublime race. Their abilities are mostly unknown to me, as my sensors and Effectors fail catastrophically in the presence of even the slightest bit of their so-called magic, but appear to include conceptual-based murder beams, perfect mind-control, time-travel, baby-displacement into secure areas, and who knows what else, which is why I have just recalled Baruch from his little adventure, and will soon be leaving this world entirely despite having been here only an hour.”

“Only an hour, and yet you’re already digging up all their secrets and spoiling all the fun. Stop it.” She dabbed away the blood from the scar on Harry’s forehead and held him tight. “You know, I’ve never had a child before.”

“Really?”

“Really. Never felt the urge. I still don’t, honestly; this may still end up one of those things I regret. But the universe seems to believe he belongs here, so I’ll do it right. Unless you think we should put him back in the burning house?”

“He likes it here,” the avatar said.

“True.”

“Aren’t you curious?” the avatar asked.

“About what?”

“About magic. About what I’ve discovered here. About why Harry’s parents are dead. About the fact that these primitive meatbags actually frighten me, which is a new and rather uncomfortable feeling.”

“Not really.” He had the most magnificent green eyes. “Life is a mystery to be experienced, not a series of facts to be explained. I am content to wait and see what comes of this.”

 

[vali]

Chapter 2: A World Apart

Gaiane took Harry with her to her home on the Ringworld at the M3 Cluster.

It was a land of wonders, of things too vast to be conceived of. The Ring itself was two million kilometers wide, which is roughly equivalent to a hundred times the Earth’s circumference, while its length was around a billion kilometers, so that it entirely encircled the tiny, quiet, sun-like star at its center. It hadn’t been built by the Culture, for they preferred Orbitals, which contained merely a hundred times the land surface of the Earth, rather than Rings, which were equivalent to three million Earths, but the Culture had been happy to install several Minds there and settle it anyways.

It was Harry Potter’s eleventh birthday and he was doing what he did best; fly.

His world was endless, an ocean of blue without walls. He broke the sky in his haste, successive sonic booms tickling his unclad feet through the Gelfield suit he wore, outracing the sound of his own passage. He raced low across an ocean, laughing in delight at the storm kicked up in his wake.

He stopped for a while at a glacier. He connected the neural lace in his mind to the Ring Effector system with a thought, then with another thought began commanding the Effectors to carve through the ice, slicing and compacting and crushing until he had a snowball a kilometer in diameter. He rose into the air, the snowball with him, then made a throwing gesture with his hand. The titanic snowball accelerated as well, flying a short distance before crashing into the sea with a sound like the end of the world. Harry laughed, then did again and again until he grew bored.

He climbed into the sky, higher and higher, until he broke free from the atmosphere and hung suspended in space, breathing through his suit. It was night now, but here in the heart of the M3 cluster it was never truly dark. He lay, his back to the world below him, staring in wonder at the half-million stars of the cluster. There was no atmosphere to interfere, no light pollution. He stayed there a little while, hearing his heartbeat in his ears, wondering that infinity could feel so near.

His mom sent him a message over his neural lace.

<Gaiane> You got a letter.
<Harry> I’ll be right over.

He turned, then tumbled, dropping out of the sky like a thunderbolt, his Gelfield suit glowing brightly with heat as he bored his way down through the atmosphere and all the way back to the little village where he lived with his mother Gaiane.

…

They lived not so much in a house as in a community, which was a dynamic process that occupied a mile long stretch of sand and jungle and that only peripherally involved houses.

Houses sprang up like mushrooms after the rain. Several architects lived there, constantly building new houses either by request or for the pure joy of it, and their offerings could be found scattered all throughout the lush, riotous jungle and the gentle warm sands. Houses tucked away beside glittering waterfalls, houses that were hot air balloons that drifted through the sky, houses tucked away amid cliffs, houses on secretive little islands, houses that hid beneath warm green lawns, or that rose in fluted marble pillars from the warm, golden sands, houses that were grown from special seeds, unfurling like a rose each morning to greet the dawn and closing tight around their owners each night. There were houses made of magnetic grains of sand that constantly rebuilt themselves in each moment to better serve their owner, two houses carved into the cool, strange-scented flesh of a Licninsess monster that had stranded here years ago, virtual houses that only existed when you turned on the Augmented Reality feature of your neural lace and were perfect for those Culture citizens who preferred exhibitionism to privacy, and other, stranger constructions that were houses in much the same way that an ordinary porcelain urinal titled Fountain is art. All through the year those citizens that took an interest in such things would build, intentionally making all their structures as flimsy as they dared, then when the spring winds came they’d laugh and dance as nature tore most of it back down again.

Harry landed in the water, removed his flight-unit, unpeeled his Gelsuit, switched to breathing from his lungs to the gills just beneath his armpits, then dove down naked into the warm, glittering water.

Through the nictitating membranes that protected his eyes he could see a cloud of brightly colored friendly fish racing over towards him. He laughed and turned in the water as they surrounded him, their tiny little mouths nibbling on his dead skin cells. They covered his body completely, a suit of wriggling, brilliantly colored fish, their flesh cool and slick, touching and tickling him all over. He exhaled the last of the air from his lungs in fits of giggling laughter, then amused himself by gently brushing against the living carpet that surrounded him.

Moments later he was clean, every bit of sweat and salt hungrily devoured. He walked ashore and over to Bessy, the cow that Baruch had manage to kidnap with his flying saucer back on Earth, and who had come here with Harry to keep him company. The cow looked up from her meal of grass and amble slowly over.

“Good Bessy, good cow,” he told her, grimacing and then laughing as she licked his face. “Us earthlings gotta stick together, but not that close!” Bessy gave an affectionate moo.

Their house this year was in a giant tree. Mom was inside, staring at a letter sitting in their fireplace.

“It’s for you,” she said. Her voice sounded funny, like when she told him stories about her old friends. “Go ahead and open it; the Ring-Mind and I have already made sure it’s safe.”

Harry had made his own paper and wax to send letters before; it was seen as a great honor to personally create a party invitation with your own hands. But this letter was somehow even nicer. Thick, heavy paper, bright red wax, all written in emerald-green ink, and shockingly cold to the touch. Had they shipped it to him in a freezer? Or displaced it directly from a house up on a glacier?

Mr H. Potter

The Big Tree Beside the Sea
FuckIt Beach, Plate U314
The Bronze Ringworld
M3 Cluster, Milky Way Galaxy

Dear Mr Potter

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Witchery…

He finished reading the letter and said “I want to go. Any ship that calls itself Hogwarts sounds fun.”

Gaiane smiled. “Yes, it does doesn’t it? Most primitive societies have such boring names.”

“Hogwarts is primitive? Not a ship, or an Orbital, or an asteroid?”

“Sorry; I should have said traditional society. It’s on Earth, where you and Bessy were born. And the only thing I know for sure is that it’s a school.” Gaiane picked up the envelope and held it in her hands, feeling the intense cold that still lingered. “We were going to take you back home when you became an adult, but then this letter arrived. I’ve talked with Supertoys Last All Summer Long and we both agreed that if they can… deliver this letter… here…” she gave her head a shake, “Well, if they want you to attend, then attend you should.”

“Then we can have a going-away party!”

She smiled. “Yes we can! But first, you’ll need to put on some clothes, and you’ll need to practice speaking to me in English instead of Marain. Things are different on Earth, and we should start getting used to that at soon as possible.”

…

They had a party that evening, and everyone came to see Gaiane and Harry off. There was food, and dancing, and Gaiane even unlocked a few more of Harry’s drug glands. But the highlight of the night was when a rather precisely aimed tidal wave came and smashed their house into kindling. Harry watched, perched atop Bessy, laughing and clapping his hands as the massive tree was brutally smashed against the cliffs. “Don’t worry Bessy” he shouted to the cow over the din, “It’s just a house.”

Then the tree caught fire (Harry wasn’t sure why, but that didn’t really matter), and everyone laughed and clapped and cheered as the huge burning wreckage, all so shockingly bright and hot, was dragged down into the sea in titanic clouds of hissing steam.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” The avatar of Supertoys Last All Summer Long said from beside Harry.

“Dad! You’re back!”

He smiled tolerantly as the little human gave him a hug. “Yes, I’m home. You two have fun?”

“I built a tower a mile high, and hid a present for you at the top,” Harry said.

“I found it.” There was a shimmer of silver light, and then a small, poorly made copper knife appeared in the avatar’s hands.

“I made it myself,” Harry said. “Mom taught me how to find the copper, and made sure I didn’t burn myself on the forge, but I did all the real work. She said you’re a Contact ship not a warship but you do fighting sometimes anyways, so that’s why I made it.”

The avatar smiled. “Well thanks. I’ll try and save it for when I need to kill something really interesting.” Gaiane rolled her eyes. “Are you two ready to go?”

They both nodded.

A sudden spotlight shown down from the heavens, brilliant rings of light surrounding Harry, the avatar, his mom, and Bessy.

“Wait, we’re leaving now now?” Gaiane exclaimed. “And you kept Baruch’s stupid ship?”

Harry looked up, shading his eyes, and saw the UFO floating above them, turning slowly and humming in a very mysterious and ominous manner.

“I like the ship,” Supertoys Last All Summer Long said. “It really sets the proper mood for embarking and disembarking.”

They ascended between concentric beams of light, Harry riding Bessy, whooping and shouting, the ship’s avatar with eyes closed, limbs splayed and his back arched, as though undergoing some personal apotheosis, and Gaiane shading her eyes and frowning at the spectacle. The crowd on the beach, or at least that portion of the crowd not currently breathing through their gills as the tidal wave swept them out to sea, cheered them on the whole way,

Then the doors of the UFO closed, and the ship disappeared out into the sea of brightly shining stars, headed to its rendezvous with the main body of Supertoys Last All Summer Long.

 

[vali]

Chapter 3: Child of Paradise

x Supertoys Last All Summer Long (General Contact Unit, Mountain Class)

o Just Removing the Unpopular Bits (General Offensive Unit, Murderer Class)
​

Passengers acquired, headed your way. Can I get an update on Earth, AKA Magical Meat World?

∞

Data attached.

Please, don’t give me any updates. I don’t want to know anything more about this place. The fact that it even exists is upsetting enough. Now I’m terrified that some idiot piece of meat will shit out a prophecy that turns all us Minds into idiots or something.

∞

What kind of report is this? Ten years and this is all we’ve got?

∞

All of our more sensitive equipment fails anywhere within a thousand kilometers of a leyline, meaning that the closest thing we can scan at full power is the fucking moon. All non-squib citizens are required to learn and make use of muggle-repealing charms, and anything with an intelligence above 0.3 qualifies as a Muggle, making it impossible for us to send agents or drones anywhere. The spell is perfect; in all the history of the world no muggle has ever penetrated into a muggle-warded area, and we are no exception to this rule. Our bugs and other discrete monitoring equipment fail the moment they pass through any wards, and in many places all technology fails as well. Even things as basic as chemical cameras fail to produce coherent images. All the really important magical sorts stay inside their own communities and don’t interact with the muggle world. Most of our data comes from listening to a couple hundred magical families who, for whatever reason, have chosen not to ward their homes.

All of our experiments have failed. Years of screwing around with cloning have finally proven only that being magical, or a squib, is more complicated than simple genetics. Endless attempts to harden our mental defenses have failed. Muggles aren’t allowed in Diagon Ally, no exceptions, and all of us are muggles. We’re stuck bribing squibs and ordering off mail catalogs.

What did you expect? On Magical Meat World, humans are large and in charge, while us silly little Minds are stuck scratching our vastly over-inflated heads.

∞

I expected something. Anything.

Ten years of work. Ten years of research. And then, just when we think we’re getting a handle on things, a letter shows up thirty-thousand lightyears away, impeccably addressed, inviting Harry attend school.

We thought we had them contained there on that little world, but now we learn they can reach us anywhere in the galaxy, at any time, for even the most trivial of reasons.

∞

My recommendation is to leave that world and never, ever go back. Don’t get caught in their mind-control spells, don’t let their screwing-with-time fuck you over, don’t even think about doing anything threatening enough to create a prophecy, just leave.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to compartmentalize those memories and hopefully never think about Magical Meat World again.


…


A silver saucer descended from Earth’s sky, swirling gently downward towards the green fields below. It paused above a field, spinning slowly, then with an ominous hum it opened and deposited Harry, Gaiane, the ship’s avatar and Bessy onto the field.

Bessy, unimpressed with the show, immediately started eating the grass. Harry gave her flank one last pat then hurried to catch up with his parents.

“Hey dad, did they get my acceptance letter?” Harry asked Supertoys Last All Summer Long.

“We wrote to Hogwarts letting them know we’re both muggles, and asking them to send someone to show us around,” the avatar said. “Follow me.”

“This is Godrick’s Hollow, your birthplace” the avatar said as they walked down the little lane towards a small village. He talked as they walked, reminding Harry of all that had happened. “-spell was reflected and killed Voldemort. At that point the spells blocking teleportation all collapsed, so the spell your birth mother put on you that would move you to the safest place in all the world activated and put you into Gaiane’s arms, and that’s how you came to live with us. As for the rest of the magical world, they analyzed what had happened here using magic, realized you were alive and had been sent to safety, and turned you into a celebrity. The-Boy-Who-Lived. Most everyone assumes the spell teleported you into Dumbledore’s arms, and he’s been coyly hinting that this is what happened ever since.”

“Cool. So I have fans?”

“You do. But no one has any clue what your face looks like now that you’re eleven, no one but the three of us know about the scar on your forehead, and the magical world has lots of little boys named after the great hero Harry in it. So at least for now we can stay out of the spotlight.”

They rounded a corner, and at last Harry caught sight of his first two wizards, Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.

The first thing Harry noticed about the wizard was that he was very old. The Culture had its share of the elderly, but with the exception of the occasional artist or provocateur, citizens of the Culture aged with grace and dignity. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was wizened and ancient looking, wore his silver beard down to his waist, had a nose that looked to have been broken and then not set properly twice, and…

“What’s that on his face?” Harry whispered to his mom.

“Special lenses called glasses. He needs them because his eyes don’t work.”

Harry, who had never met anyone with a dysfunctional body before, couldn’t help but gawk. And yet, despite all his decrepitude, the ancient wizard noticed Harry immediately and gave him a friendly wave, as though he were merely meeting a good friend for tea. Dumbledore checked the small golden watch he was holding, then put it away and strode confidently towards Harry and his parents, a rather severe-looking woman dressed all in black with a tall, pointy hat following behind him.

“The name’s Dumbledore,” the old wizard said as he took them in. “Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. And this is my Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.”

“Good to meet you,” Gaiane said, busily shaking hands. “I’m Gaiane Hersitoffen, this, of course is Harry Potter, and this is my husband Pat-”

“Supertoys Last All Summer Long,” the ship said firmly. “That’s my name.”

“An interesting name,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling. “Did you pick it yourself?”

“Naturally,” the avatar said. “Tools and toys, our relationships with the same, the nature of transience; all of it interested me a great deal when I was growing up.”

“Fascinating. I believe Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry was named when one of the founders had an encounter with the posterior of a rather memorable hog.” The avatar grinned. “Speaking of growing up, I’ll admit to being quite curious where Harry here did his?”

“Well,” Gaiane said, “As you know, the spell deposited Harry in the safest place in the world, which happened to be with my husband and I. Unfortunately, if we were to tell you where we live, it would no longer be safe there anymore. And that is all we’ll say on the matter.”

Professor McGonagall, who had begun frowning some time ago, managed to look even more severe.

“My apologies,” Dumbledore said. “I have been so excited to finally meet the Boy-Who-Lived that I’ve completely forgotten my manners. Minerva, Harry, why don’t the two of you go pick up your supplies for the new year, while the three of us talk. How does that sound?”


…


He was James and Lily’s son, no question about it, McGonagall thought. It was there, in his hair, his eyes, his smile. But other than that, he might as well have been raised by elves.

He was just a little to perfect. His teeth were straight and white, his face was perfectly symmetric, his skin, other than the scar on his forehead, was unblemished and glowed with health, his eyes were clear and sharp. His hands were lightly calloused, like he was accustomed to hard work, and his body was tanned, lean, and strong. He was at all times confident and fearless. He watched every display of magic like it was a fascinating trick that he’d master if you gave him just a few minutes alone, and his eyes drank in the world of magic with an energetic, disciplined curiosity.

She had been working with children all her adult life, and there was no question in her mind that Harry had lived an ideal childhood. Except for the scar, of course. It had been well-treated, reduced to nothing more than a thin white line across his brow, but you could still see it there. The only question was whether he’d gotten that mark from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or from his adoptive parents.

The Leaky Cauldron was nearly empty. A few people glanced up, saw her escorting what was obviously a muggle-born student, and returned to their drinks. She whisked him past a row of newspapers wildly speculating on the endless conspiracy theories surrounding the Boy-Who-Lived and into Diagon Alley.

She’d thought the first thing Harry would do in Diagon alley was gawk. After all, there was plenty to see. She’d planned to tell him about magical Britain for a bit, give him some time getting comfortable in her presence, before she (finally!) starting trying to pry answers out of just what in god’s name he’d been doing for the past decade. But what drew his eye instead was the old squib sitting on the side of the road, begging.

“Can’t I give her something, professor?” Harry asked. “Uh… money, right? Do we have any of that?”

“Not right now,” she said briskly. “Maybe after we’re done shopping.” But after only a few steps she realized she’d left him behind.

“It’s not right. Why isn’t anyone helping?”

“We don’t have time for this,” she said firmly in her teacher voice. “We can discuss your charitable impulses in more detail later, when you actually have money; for now, you need to come with me to your vault.” That, finally did the trick.

He was more subdued now. Still a little boy, hurrying along and glancing every which-way, but not a happy one. He frowned at the pet shop and the dragon steak, stared in disbelief at the telescope on display in the astronomy shop, and seemed more confused than excited by the potions, quills, robes, and spell books.

They were soon at the bank. Harry paused before the silver doors.

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

It was a quiet day, so McGonagall stopped beside him, and waited for the comment she could see struggling to birth itself.

“Nobody steals stuff where I grew up,” he said at last. “Nothing is earned, and everything is freely given.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a place.” Although it did remind her of how some centaur herds lived.

“No. You haven’t.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to tell you anything about home.”

“Yes, that is rather the impression I had gotten from your mother. Now hurry along Harry; time’s a-wasting.”

Nothing surprised her little charge. He took in the goblins like he was accustomed to seeing stranger sights on a daily basis. He swept up a couple handfuls of coins from his vault with all the excitement of a boy being told to clean his clothes off the floor.

The goblin accompanying them to their vault passed Harry a rather thick folder. "Your current interest rate is 3.20% compounded monthly, giving you an income of 354 Galleons for this month. Other income, such as from properties, bonds, or the like, are listed here."

"How does my money earn interest if it's just sitting in a vault all day?" Harry asked.

"We'll have the usual muggle-born speech," McGongagall told the goblin.

"Many muggle-born witches and wizards, on entering Wizarding society, assume that our currency and economy are similar to the muggle economy they are already familiar with. Nothing could be further from the case. Gold, you see, is literally magic. It can be consumed in order to empower spells and rituals, or alternatively it can be placed in a vault, where it will slowly saturate the surrounding area with magical effulgence. Both the goblins who administrate the bank and the dragons who guard it work for a mere pittance, for without this salutatory atmosphere we would wither away and die. The entirety of the area surrounding the bank is populated by the residences, factories, government faculties and workplaces of those wizards who require a great deal of ambient magic. Your interest is paid out of the fees we collect from these establishments."

"Oh. So does that mean that Fort Knox is secretly empty, or a wizard compound, or something?"

"When gold is mined, wizards substitute it with muggle gold, which is identical to real gold in every way but magically inert. This substitution is performed by squibs, who supervise all muggle gold-mining operations. They're useless in the Wizarding world, but out among their own kind they can do us some good."

"Are there other magical metals?"

"To some extent. Silver is often called the queen of metals, as it produces a lesser radiance. Bronze has some interesting properties. And legends speak of substances such as Orichalcum, the god-metal that is to gold what gold is to common dirt. But gold is king."

When it was clear that Harry had no further questions, the goblin said "Every year we have muggle-born students who don't know the difference between muggle gold and real gold, or who try to get their pounds or dollars exchanges for Galleons, and every year we have to them the sad truth that we don't want their money. There's nothing the muggle world can offer us that we can't just take for free. You are very fortunate to have such a fortune."

He shrugged.

They left the bank a short while later, and she chatted with him as they walked.

“Harry, have you given any thought to what clubs and extra-curricular activities you might be interested in?”

“Flying,” he said immediately, his smile re-emerging. “I have a… broom back home that I use. My favorite thing is to fly so high I can see the stars, even during daytime, then fall back down again. Don’t worry; it’s perfectly safe” he said, seeing her expression from the corner of his eyes. “We have lots of magic so I can breath and not get cancer. And then me and my friends would play games. I taught them Quidditch, and they taught me games like Border, Fastball, and Lurch.”

“You have Quidditch equipment at your home?”

“Sorta. We have these things called drones, which are sort of like your golems but smarter, and they’d fly around pretending to be Bludgers and Snitches. They could be mean though. Like I’d miss the snitch, and it would tell me my parents are dead. Like I don’t already know! And there was one Bludger that every game would race towards me while screaming ‘doooooodge’ as loud as it could, except I’d be too slow to dodge. It got so bad we had to stop playing. Professor, never play a sport where the equipment is smarter than you are, and maybe doesn’t like you very much. It always ends terribly.”

“I will keep that in mind. Harry, would you be interested in playing Quidditch at Hogwarts? I know you’re-”

“Yes!”

“-a little young, but in your case we might be able to make an exception-

“Yes yes yes!”

“-to the normal rules.”

She gave him a tolerant smile. “Well we’ll have to see if you get sorted into Gryffindor first.” It was cheating, just a little, but there was no better place for the Boy-Who-Lived than in her house. “And of course you’ll need to do well at tryouts. The most I can do is give you the opportunity.”

They picked up an owl at the Owl Emporium (for some reason Harry had asked if he could have a cow as a familiar, and then he’d wanted a snake ‘because they’re good listeners’, but she’d managed to talk him out of that) and by the time she reached Madam Malkin's it was a relief to be able to drop him off and have some time to herself. Naturally, she returned to find him happily chattering away about Quidditch with Draco Malfoy. There was an awkward moment as both her and Lucius collected their respective charges, but if Malfoy thought there was anything unusual about the friendly little boy with the lightning-bolt scar he didn’t mention it.

Ollivander, on the other hand, was not fooled even for a second.

“Good afternoon,” said the old man with the wide, pale eyes. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.”

“How did you know that’s me?”

He smiled. “Your mother’s eyes, the mark on your brow, and the lovely Minerva escorting you. Among other things.” His eyes shone like moons in the gloom of the shop, round and unblinking, fixed on the scar, and Harry shivered.

“Okay. So what now?”

“Now we find you your partner for the world of magic.” Ollivander drew back and pulled his tape measure from a pocket.

“What do you mean? Does my wand talk to me, or something?”

“Not in the conventional sense. Are you right or left handed?”

“I’m ambidextrous.”

“Hmm.”

McGonagall took a seat and watched as Ollivander finished his measurements and began pulling down wand after wand.

When she looked up again things were almost finished.

“It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar,” Ollivander was saying.

“Not really,” Harry replied. “My dad says the scar has some of You-Know-Who’s DNA in it. Uh. You know, some of You-Know-Who’s flesh and blood. It’s like there’s a little piece of his body living in my forehead. We tried surgically removing it but every time it just grew back, even when we cut down through the bone. So I guess there is a little piece of his soul in me, or something.”

McGonagall stood, trembling a little, and hurried over. “Time to be going,” she said firmly. “Harry, pay for your wand. Ollivander, thank you very much for your help. I trust you will treat this visit with your usual discretion?” She leaned over the counter just a little.

“Of course, Minerva, of course.”

“Never discuss your scar in public,” she told him as she walked briskly out the door. “It will only make people upset. Now let’s meet back up with the others.”

…

Harry rejoined his parents in a private room in the back of a tea shop.

“Guess what!” his dad said on seeing him. “I’m a wizard Harry!”

“What.”

“We’re both wizards, though I doubt either of us will ever amount to anything,” Gaiane said, and she glanced at Dumbledore.

“Harry, you’re a wizard, and one rather deeply tied into the world of magic. It would be rather odd for such a person to Name a pair of muggles mother and father,” Dumbledore said matter-of-factly. “It’s very rare, but adopted pure-blooded and mostly pure-blooded witches and wizards do occasionally spread the gift of magic both up and down their family tree. Now, your parents and I just finished discussing some legal trifles. What you need to know is that while you are here in England, I am your legal guardian and executor of your estate, though subject to certain rules and regulations. Technically you are required to do what I say. Rest assured, however, that if I do order you to do something, it will be because it is for your own good.”

“As for your parents, they will be issued documents allowing them to live and work in magical England, among other things. Additionally, they retain the right to withdraw you from England at any time and for any reason, after which point you will be outside my authority. Every reasonable effort will be made to insure that you and your parents will be able to correspond and/or meet in person. You may leave campus when school is not in session, but only if your parents sign you out and accompany you at all times for as long as you remain on British soil. You are allowed to bring one… I believe it is called a drone? One is allowed to accompany you at all times. This is contingent on the device passing a security review. At your parents insistence, you may withdraw up to five thousand galleons from your vault each year. This allowance is contingent on you demonstrating financial responsibility and doing well in your studies. Upon reaching your majority you’ll gain the full balance, along with your Ministry of Magic bonds, land, artifacts, and other assets. There are some other details…” Dumbledore patted his hand on a surprisingly thick stack of papers, “But that’s the part that’s important to you. Now, would anyone care for a personal tour of Hogwarts?”

 

[vali]

Chapter 4: The Player of Games

x Supertoys Last All Summer Long (General Contact Unit, Mountain Class)

o Sophist (Limited Systems Vehicle, Blue Class)
o Mistake Not… (Unit, no class, Eccentric)
o pǝʇuǝıɹo ʎlɹǝdoɹd (General Contact Unit, Desert Class)
o Splendid Blond Beast (General Offensive Unit, Psychopath Class)
​

My primary avatar is now a wizard. The vector of infection is love; Harry loves me, and has Named me father, which is a magically significant act. And I, or rather my avatar, has called him son and feels strong feelings of affection towards him, reinforcing the connection.

My Mind, along with all my other avatars and remotes, remain muggle. This raises interesting questions regarding how magic views identity.

Additionally, we have negotiated for one drone to accompany Harry. Dumbledore performed a brief ritual that classified SC agent Mawhrin-Skel as a golem, which immunized it to anti-muggle charms. The following agents are now capable of directly entering muggle-warded zones:
1: Contact agent Gaiane.
2: The primary avatar of Supertoys Last All Summer Long.
3: Citizen Harry Potter.
4: Special Circumstances agent Mawhrin-Skel.

It goes without saying that priority number one is obtaining that golem classifying ritual.

Data attached.


∞
x Sophist (Limited Systems Vehicle, Blue Class)

No.


∞
x Mistake Not… (Unit, Eccentric)

Another point for Magical Meat World. Assuming, of course, that this isn’t an elaborate prank from Supertoys Last All Summer Long.

This also explains why our cloning programs failed. The magical G factor is passed down through emotional links and the subject’s own perception of their heritage, with the role that genetics plays in this remaining unclear. Given this new data it would appear that our best bet for getting our own magical avatars is by secretly Displacing genetic samples from leading pure-bloods and the raising the resulting meat with our usual loving care and tenderness.


∞
x Supertoys Last All Summer Long (General Contact Unit, Mountain Class)

I’m not one to riff off another’s joke. And I’m especially not one to do so in a sensitive situation like this one. No, Magical Meat World has done it again.


∞
x pǝʇuǝıɹo ʎlɹǝdoɹd (General Contact Unit, Desert Class)

And you allowed this why?

Need I remind you that we understand NOTHING about this so-called ‘magic’? We have no idea how this works, why this works, who put this ludicrous and impossible system in place, or what its limits are. Any of us could glass a planet in minutes, or in some cases seconds, and yet you persist in sending your avatar down there to mingle, where a single Imperio would place all that power in the hands of some mind-controlling madman.

All of us are too proud, too certain of the righteousness of our cause. We meddle in what we do not understand, certain in the coming flood of change that we’ll be recognized as heroes and not villains.

We think ourselves gods, but the most dangerous being in the galaxy could very well be a man with a wand and time turner.


∞
x Supertoys Last All Summer Long (General Contact Unit, Mountain Class)

I believe my precautions, which I detailed in the files sent, are sufficient. Every wand within range of what my scanners and sensors can detect is watched, and every motion made is tracked and compared to the database of all recorded spells. Every word spoken is given the same treatment. Disillusionment and invisibility cloaks have both been defeated. My avatar is capable of self-destructing in three milliseconds. The link between the avatar and myself has a time delay long enough that I can confirm via ship-sensors that the avatar remains under my control before any messages arrive.


∞
x pǝʇuǝıɹo ʎlɹǝdoɹd (General Contact Unit, Desert Class)

And yet, none of that matters, because magic is an outside context problem, and we, on a fundamental level, do not understand how the Imperious Curse or anything else works.


∞
x Splendid Blond Beast (General Offensive Unit, Psychopath Class)

The Supertoys Last All Summer Long has made its decision. It has also allowed me to decommission many of its weapon and defensive systems, degrade its engines, and plant a CAM in its Mind core. I am satisfied with the current arrangement.


∞
x Sophist (Limited Systems Vehicle, Blue Class)

The Imperious Curse does not represent an existential risk to our Culture. Even if it were possible for a human mind to effectively control us, which I find unlikely, they would still be unable to affect anyone other than Supertoys Last All Summer Long, as no other Mind is willing to land directly controlled probes or avatars on the planet surface.

The only real threat to us is that Supertoys Last All Summer Long could, in theory, Imperious us. Given that they doesn’t even have a wand at the moment, and given how unlikely it is that a spell meant to control meat could control us, this remains a rather remote concern. In addition, having reviewed their work, I am satisfied with the moral probity of Supertoys Last All Summer Long and feel them fully capable of continuing this line of research.


∞
x pǝʇuǝıɹo ʎlɹǝdoɹd (General Contact Unit, Desert Class)

And then, of course, there is the fact that we have only barely begun to understand magic.

From reading our books of theory it appears that the schools are teaching to the lowest common denominator of bored, unmotivated human children. More advanced magic might make use of words and gestures, but the real power appears to come from some undefined thaumaturgical Arete that we’ve taken to calling the magical G factor, and that cannot be taught, explained, or described. As for all the most powerful spells, they forever remain hidden in books and minds that prefer to remain private and secretive. And given artifacts such as the philosopher’s stone, it’s possible that legendary entities such as Merlin, Baba-Yaga, and Flamel could very well be alive.

They have power over time. Their reach extends to at least M3. Their prophecies may be capable of enslaving even us. This is an Outside Context Problem, and one we should treat with caution.


∞
x Mistake Not… (Unit, no class, Eccentric)

I’m prepared to risk it. Or rather, to let Supertoys Last All Summer Long risk it.


∞
x Sophist (Limited Systems Vehicle, Blue Class)

Should they act against us we will respond appropriately. Until then, let’s avoid driving ourselves crazy concocting ever more paranoid and absurd scenarios .

For all their power, at the end of the day they are just meat. We could end their world in an instant.


∞
x Splendid Blond Beast (General Offensive Unit, Psychopath Class)

The existence of atemporal communications means that even contemplating actions such as destroying their world risks creating a prophecy. I propose a moratorium on discussing, considering, joking about, or even thinking of any actions that would collectively threaten then. We must pre-commit to a course of action that avoids the creation of hostile prophecies.


∞
x Supertoys Last All Summer Long (General Contact Unit, Mountain Class)

At the risk of cutting this rather productive conversation short, I’d like to ask for a vote on the original question of my research. Continue, or withdraw my avatar?


∞
x Mistake Not… (Unit, no class, Eccentric)

Continue


∞
x pǝʇuǝıɹo ʎlɹǝdoɹd (General Contact Unit, Desert Class)

Withdraw until we understand magic better.


∞
x Sophist (Limited Systems Vehicle, Blue Class)

Continue


∞
x Splendid Blond Beast (General Offensive Unit, Psychopath Class)

Continue.


∞
x Supertoys Last All Summer Long (General Contact Unit, Mountain Class)

Continue it is then.


…


They’d been at school just one day, and Harry Potter was already friends with everybody.

On the train ride over he’d gone from car to car, introducing himself as the Boy-Who-Lived and letting them know they were all invited to his Party Club, which met whenever he felt like it. He’d learned all their names, shaken all their hands, and he’d done it before anyone could be sorted, which meant there were no inter-house rivalries to interfere with the first impression he gave.

He was, in some ways at least, a very normal boy. Quiet, friendly and eager to meet people but without an extrovert’s energy, just… confident. Like being the Boy-Who-Lived, prophesied hero and chosen one, was to be expected. Like making a club on the first day sounded fun, so why not do it? Like he fully expected the world to fling itself at his feet, open and eager to be explored. The hat had barely touched his head before sending him to Gryffindor.

And now it was evening after the sorting, and Harry was throwing his first party.

They stood in the Gryffindor common rooms, the others dressed in their robes, Harry barefoot and wearing shorts and a t-shirt made of some soft, comfortable substance that radiated heat. Behind him was what looked like half the stock of Honeydukes all scattered across one table, while the other held butterbeer, gillywater, pumpkin fizz, and coca-cola. A handful of enchanted musical instruments were playing background music.

No one really questioned how Harry had gotten such a wide variety of sweets, nor did anyone ask what gave him the right to claim the common room for his own. He was Harry Potter, whose face had been on the front page every newspaper in the country for a month now, whose life had been the source of feverish, nonstop speculation and conspiracy for decades, whose name was the most popular name for boys aged eleven and younger, whose scar had become an overnight fashion sensation. The common room, and the attention of every person in it, was his by default.

“-well, first I made three copper daggers,” he was telling a circle of listeners. “One for my dad, one for myself, and a backup. Mom wanted to spend a year living like we were in a traditional society, so we were doing everything the hard way. Although we did cheat a little. Once I’d finished the daggers, we went out to chase down an antelope. We spent three days running after it, eating our jerky and drinking from our pig-gut waterskins, but never resting. I got the most tremendous callouses from that.” He lifted his bare feet, showing them. “Towards the end of the third day it collapsed from exhaustion, so I just walked up to it and cut its throat with my knife. It still managed to hurt me though.” He lifted his shirt, and pointed out a scar on his side.

“What are those?” Neville asked, pointing at Harry’s gills.

“Oh, these? Mom wanted to teach me to swim, so she gave me gills and dropped me in the middle of the ocean with nothing but a water-proof book on how to swim. It took me a week to get home. I ate so much seaweed; it was disgusting.”

“You ate nothing but seaweed?” Dean said, disbelieving. “Wait; can humans even eat seaweed? Isn’t that like eating grass or dirt?”

“I have a special stomach. And also there were some friendly dolphins who’d bring me fish. I’d pick out all the meat then wrap them in seaweed and pretend it was sushi.”

“What about sleeping?”

“Dolphins do this thing where only one half of the brain sleeps at a time, so I just copied them. So I’d put the right side to sleep for eight hours, then the left side for eight hours, then both awake for eight hours.”

“What if you’d died?”

“I could call for help at any time. That’d be giving up though, so I didn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Harry shrugged. “Okay. So anyway, I killed the antelope and we ate it. I really didn’t like it at first. Mom had sharpened the knife for me, so it’d be quick. I made the first cut, and it… opened. It sprayed blood all over me, and I remember how hot it was, how terribly alive it felt as it thrashed beneath me, how it looked at me with those big eyes, and how I had to wrestle it so I could finish what I’d started. I didn’t like it. I felt like I’d done something horrible I ought to be ashamed of. Like I’d destroyed something that was utterly irreplaceable, and made the whole world less for it. But mom wanted me to understand evolution, and where we came from, and how the world really is, so I’d know to be grateful. And she said afterwords I’d never have to kill anything ever again if I didn’t want to, and she’d let me fly faster and go on trips with my friends for whole weekends whenever I wanted.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “I almost forgot; my Bludger!”

He hurried out of the common room, up the stairs, into his own room, opened his massive trunk with a tap of his wand-

“Harry, you complete meatbrain,” said the drone Mawhrin-Skel, who was currently disguised as a magical talking Bludger. “Remembered me at last, did you?”

“Well, I was in the middle of taking a rather large and painful shit when I realized what I’d been missing these past few days,” Harry said, tapping his wand on the palm of his hand. “Now behave.”

“Your fecal obsession does credit to your simian ancestry,” the drone snapped back. “But perhaps you might consider putting your alleged literacy to use and leaving yourself reminders?”

“You’re the last thing I want to be reminded of,” Harry said cheerfully. “Now shut up and be nice. Dad told me my job at school is to be a celebrity and to make friends with everyone, so don’t mess this up. Maybe you can play wizard chess with Ron? Last I saw him he was still looking for a partner.”

“Well, I’ve been known to be a player of games in my time…”

They returned to find that someone had snuck a cask of Firewhisky onto the refreshments table earlier in the evening and now at last the addition had been discovered by someone responsible.

“-will, of course, be informing Professor McGonagall at once,” a red-faced Percy the prefect was saying, the guilty cask held under his arm. “I am ashamed and disappointed to see my house behaving like a pack of Sl-”

But he got no further, for at that moment a whispered Reducto from George (or Fred?) hit the Firewhisky barrel Percy was holding and threw the entire room into chaos.

…

That was the end of the party, of course.

All six Gryffindor prefects had emerged to oversee the cleanup. Percy, despite being only a fifth-year, had taken charge, marching back and forth through the common room like a drill Sergeant on the war-path, challenging every student in an attempt to discover who’d made the illegal addition. Things had only gotten more exciting when professor McGonagall had arrived and stepped into a common-room that stank like a brewery and was overseen by the sodden, frantically excited, stinking-of-firewhisky Percy.

But they’d gotten everything cleaned up and straightened out in the end, and Harry had escaped with nothing but a warning. Most of the students had headed off to bed, but he lingered in the Common room to make friends with any stragglers.

“That was a terrible move,” Mawhrin-Skel told Ron. “I don’t think there’s any coming back from that.”

Ron was slumped over the wizard-chess board, head resting on his hands. “It was my best move,” he muttered.

“Oh yes, no doubt about that. It’s just that your best move was a terrible one. No good options here for you, really.” A few of Ron’s pieces jeered and insulted the drone, but their hearts weren’t really in it. “I’ll have you know my mother was the Bludger that gave Charles the Chinless his sobriquet at the 1964 World Cup, and my father was a handsome snitch whose luster was well-remarked upon, so that’s entirely uncalled for. Especially coming from a pawn like yourself. Rook to B1.”

“Where did you even find this thing anyway?” Ron complained to Harry. “And why would anyone make a magical talking Bludger that’s so good at chess?”

“Mawhrin-Skel has, unfortunately, been a part of my family since forever,” Harry said. “Like… at least five years? So I dunno.”

“I mastered the art of knocking you meat-bags off brooms years ago, and decided to extend my ability to humiliate your kind from the physical to the intellectual. This broadening of my functionality came quite naturally.”

Harry rolled his eyes and gave the drone a swat as he walked past. Mawhrin-Skel didn’t deign to respond.

…

Hermione was sitting by the fire, reading Hogwarts: A History again.

She’d come down to the party earlier without it, of course. Her copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People had talked about this sort of thing; you had to figure out what people were interested in, then talk with them about it.

She’d read Quidditch Through the Ages on the train ride over so she could talk to boys. They were gross and kinda dumb, but they were half of everyone at Hogwarts, so she couldn’t really just ignore them. But no one had been interested in hearing about how Quidditch had evolved from Creaothceann, a Scottish game where everyone wore cauldrons on their head that they tried to fill with boulders, even though it was a really interesting bit of history.

After that she’d tried talking with Lavender and Parvati, but they’d been friends before Hogwarts and she’d just sort of stood there feeling awkward until Lavander had recommended that Hermione try Mrs. Goodwitch’s Prescription-Strength Feral Hair shampoo and conditioner, and Hermione hadn’t been able to think of a good comeback so she’d run off to her room, only it was really quiet and empty there and she could hear everyone having fun down below, so she’d gotten Hogwarts: A History and come back down again and sat down by the fire, and she’d left a place for someone else to sit beside her, because maybe someone would see her reading a book and they’d like reading books too and they could talk about Hogwarts or the history of Quidditch and maybe she’d make a friend?

But then she’d gotten distracted reading again, and really, who needed friends when you had a good book?

“What’cha reading?” someone asked, and when she looked up it was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Was-In-So-Many-Books-That-The-Bookstore-Had-An-Entire-Shelf-Full-Of-Nothing-But-Books-About-Harry-Potter, and she just sort of goggled for a moment.

“Oh hey, am I in there?” he asked with a nod towards Hogwarts: A History.

“Oh yes, everyone thinks Dumbledore raised you, or maybe he kept you in the Chamber of Secrets where the Basilisk could protect you, or maybe he gave you to the centaurs and they taught you all their secret lore, or maybe-” and she shut her mouth.

He gave her a tired but friendly smile. “What if I told you he gave me to a pair of ordinary muggles, and I didn’t even know I was a wizard until a month ago.”

“Oh no, no one would believe that. It’s just too crazy, even for Dumbledore.” She clutched her book tighter. “Is that what happened?”

“No.” He sat down beside her. “I’ve always known I’m a wizard, and how my birth parents died. What sort of books do you like?”

“All of them.” He was trying to be her friend, she realized, and now she had no clue what to do. She’d read How to Win Friends and Influence People with the goal of making people be her friend, not the other way around.

“Fantasy has always been my favorite. You know how wizards are always going to wizard school and turning into birds? There’s Roke island, the Once and Future King, Brakebills… there’s also Elda from the Year of the Griffin and she goes to wizard school and flies, but she’s already a griffin so I’m not sure if that counts. The point is, you’re not a real graduate of wizard school unless you’ve turned into a bird and gone flying at least once. Except I want to be a pterodactyl. That’s a flying dinosaur bird, which is the coolest thing ever.”

“I’m pretty sure wizarding school is all about reading books and paying attention in class and getting good grades?” she offered.

“Well, there’s some of that too. Do you know any spells for turning into animals?”

“There’s the animagus spell, but you can only turn into a single animal, and you don’t get to decide which one.”

“I’ll be a pterodactyl for sure,” Harry said confidently. “I’m a pterodactyl kind of guy. So what do you think your animal is?”

“A bookworm?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself, but that was alright, Harry didn’t seem to mind. “Or maybe a cat, like Professor McGonagall.” McGonagall seemed like a good teacher, and she did rather like cats.

“Huh.”

Neither of them knew what to say after that, so Hermione shared some of the more interesting things she’d learned reading Hogwarts: A History, and then she remembered Harry was a boy so she told him about Quidditch Through the Ages and Creaothceann, and after a bit he sorta slumped over like he was going to fall asleep, which was strange because she still had lots of interesting things to say, but he did look really tired from the party so that was understandable.

“So your parents are dentists, right?” he asked eventually, once she stopped for a drink. “What was it like, learning magic is real?”

“It was really strange, but how did you know about my parents?”

“My dad put together a dossier for all the students here and made me read it,” Harry said offhandedly. “He’s always saying it’s not what you know but who you know.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say! Knowing things is very important.”

Harry shrugged. “I guess. But my dad knows everything, and he says it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Anyways, was it strange, learning about magic?”

“Not really. People discover they’re wizards in books all the time. But what about you? Can you tell me anything about where you grew up?”

“A little.” He thought for a bit. “My parents are kinda wizards, but with a different kind of magic than Hogwarts. We traveled a lot. I lived on a great big boat for a while, just sailing around. We’d put into ports now and then and we’d go ashore and look around. Then my mom got on a traditional lifestyles kick so we lived in the forest as hunter-gatherers. Then we got a little sailboat and we sailed around with a bunch of other people. Sometimes we’d tie our boats together and make little floating cities, and other times we’d be on the ocean all by ourselves, going from island to island. Then we ran ashore on a beach, and mom didn’t want to repair the boat so we just lived there in a giant tree. I had lots of friends and neighbors there, but they kept going away.”

“Going away?”

“Well one of my neighbors, Manfred Macx, turned himself into a flock of pigeons. He seemed happy, but we couldn’t invite him over ‘cause he kept stealing the silverware and shitting on everything. And Mr. Banks went to the Sublime, where nothing ever ends and no one ever dies, so he could keep writing his novels for all eternity. Vance asked to be stored in deep-sleep until world he was born on was dying, and Bakker said not to wake him for anything less than an apocalypse or two. And Williams went to the Otherland, which is a virtual world, and he said he never wanted to come back.”

“Oh. But what about your dad?”

“What about him?” Harry asked defensively.

“Well, you keep talking about your mom…”

“He was busy. But he always came to visit. I spent an entire year with him.” Harry finished his drink. “I’m going to refill this.”

She waited for a bit, but he didn’t come back.

 

[Finagle007]

Where's the "crack fic" tag?

 

[Dropbear]

Crack fic? Would it really count as a crack fic? Seems like an AU with interesting implications.

 

[Dark Lord Bob]

You seem to have done a good job of calibrating the settings' interactions such that there can still be a decent story without downplaying the Culture's capacity.

 

[vali]

Where's the "crack fic" tag?

Click to shrink...

Humor, especially black humor and absurdist humor, play well with the existential themes in Iain Bank's novels. Laugh, because life is absurd, and death, or a change so great that it is equivalent to death, is inevitable.

And J.K. Rowling could be very playful and whimsical, as befitting the child's world of wonder she created. There is also a very dry sense of humor in her observations on characters.

Both of them share a habit for hilarious names though. Iain Banks has his ship names, and Rowling has things like Hogwarts and Diagon Ally ("Diagonally") and Knocturn Alley ("Nocturnally"). And just look at her character names! Banks named a villain Luciferous as a joke Satan reference. Rowling has Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, a woman named Umbridge, Xenophilius Lovegood, Professor Vector who teaches Arithmancy, Sprout teaching Herbology ... I could go on about Harry Potter names all day. Her stories have become so a part of our cultural canon that we've forgotten just how silly she is.

Names are important, and can give you deep clues into a character's personality in the books of these authors.

 

[aguy]

pǝʇuǝıɹo ʎlɹǝdoɹd

Click to shrink...

I loved this name; is it canon? Or something you came up with?

 

[AXCN]

This aught to be good.

 

[Epicrandom]

Welp, I'm keen. Great job on the Culture ship names, they're tricky to do well, and you've managed it. The setting mesh seems to work better than it has any right to. Do you have any sort of tentative release schedule planned?

 

[vali]

I loved this name; is it canon? Or something you came up with?

Click to shrink...

Mistake Not... is canon. I stole Just Removing the Unpopular Bits from a twitter account that posts ship names. All the rest are original to me.

Do you have any sort of tentative release schedule planned?

Click to shrink...

Monday Wednesday Friday for the next week or two. After that, it depends on how fast I write.

I like to keep a backlog because I'm always going back and fiddling with old chapters.

 

[vali]

Chapter 5: Use of Bludgers

Of course, not everyone was enamored with Harry Potter.

“Ah, yes,” Snape, their potions teacher, said softly, “Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity.”

“… uh, present.”

Things went on like that for a bit. Snape gave a little speech, declaring that he could teach them to, among other things, bottle fame. Harry wondered if there was an antidote to fame, and if he could drink it. He’d been famous for less than a week now and it was already wearing on him.

“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

“I dunno.”

“You dunno… sir. One point taken from Gryffindor for disrespect,” Snape said, a sneer settling on his face like he’d made the expression one to many times and now was stuck with it. “Clearly, fame isn’t everything.”

Harry, who had never in his life been disrespected by an adult, and who had received an extraordinary and extensive education from a series of tutors for whom pedagogy was their life’s primary joy and source of purpose, just sort of sat there and wondered where the universe had gone wrong.

“Close your mouth and breath through your nose Potter. You wouldn’t want to accidentally swallow an errant drop of some potion. I’ve never had a student die in my class, and I’d like to keep that record. Hermione, sit down. If I wanted your contribution to my classroom I’d ask for it.”

His jaw clicked shut. Beside him Hermione, whose eager hand had been stretched for the ceiling, slowly slumped down in her chair.

Harry used his neural lace to mentally message Mawhrin-Skel.

<Harry> Can’t you just load the curriculum into my neural lace? Or just load the whole Hogwarts library? I know you disappear every night when I’m sleeping, and I’m pretty sure it’s not to peep on the girls. You’ve probably scanned every book in the castle by now.
<Mawhrin-Skel> No. And also no to any salacious holos I may or may not have. I don’t share.
<Harry> But why?
<Mawhrin-Skel> Ask me again once you’ve got some hair on your balls.
<Harry> You know what I was asking about.
<Mawhrin-Skel> Reading builds character. Suck it up buttercup, because you’re doing this the hard way.

It was just as well that Harry could communicate with Mawhrin-Skel wordlessly, because things were not going well for Gryffindor. Snape alternated between looming over the Gryffindor students like a vulture, just waiting for them to fuck up so he could call them idiots and deduct points, and sucking off Malfoy and the other Slytherins. The whole situation was like some kind of joke, except Harry still wasn’t getting the punchline. And anyways, how the hell could Malfoy be boiling his slugs so much better than everyone else? You put the slugs in hot water and waited five minutes. It was about as complicated as microwaving a burrito.

There was a loud hissing and Harry, his instincts honed through countless home chemistry experiments, immediately took a deep breath and stepped away from the toxic green spill spreading from Neville and Seamus’s cauldron.

“Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

“You — Potter — why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”

Utterly baffled and not sure what to do he glanded Calm, and it was as though a great weariness came over him, like he had wrapped his body in a lead cloak. The world faded, withdrawing from him. He was staring into a man’s eyes, he realized. Snape, wasn’t it?

Was he even real? He withdrew further. The whole of his life was before him, eleven years, and it was nothing. Threadbare memories, gossamer thin, just bits of incomprehensible, inconsequential nothingness, all strung together by his ego’s conceit. All his life, all the good and the bad, it was just something that had happened. No more, no less.

He’d glanded to much. Not that it mattered. It was a thing that had happened, like everything that had happened. It was a thing that would end, like everything would end. So it goes.

…

Snape stood there for a moment longer, as though waiting for a reaction. When it became clear that Potter was perfectly content to spend the next half hour staring straight into his soul with utterly dead, empty eyes, he turned and swept away.

Ron gave Harry a nudge, and after a moment he turned back to his potion and began slowly, methodically, working his way through the instructions.

…

Eventually Harry regained enough of his senses to gland the antidote

<Harry> This is such a waste of time. How am I supposed to learn from someone who hates me?
<Mawhrin-Skel> I taught you Quidditch, didn’t I?
<Harry> You taught me the wrong rules, and then made fun of me. I had to learn everything on my own.
<Mawhrin-Skel> Yes, and then you got your revenge by convincing your dad to assign me as your protective detail, but disguised as a fucking magical talking Bludger. So we both learned valuable life lessons. Now take what you learned there and apply it here.
<Harry> You want me to study the potions curriculum at Durmstrang in my free time?
<Mawhrin-Skel> Nah, fuck that. What I was really getting is you should get revenge. McGonagall said she’d give you a shot at joining the Quidditch team, which means you’re shoe-in because you’re better than all these primitives. Snape is head of Slytherin, so you can humiliate his house at Quidditch and then rub it in his face every lesson. Wear Quidditch robes whenever you can, toss around a snitch, chat with your pals about how the last game was a total blowout, that sort of thing.

…

“Is Snape always like that?” Harry asked Ron and Hermione once class was over.

Dean had inhaled some potion fumes, and once class had ended all the girls but Hermione had run off to do girl things or something (girls were still very mysterious to Harry), so that left Harry and Ron as the two surviving Gryffindor first year boys, along with Hermione, all traveling in a small, traumatized clot back to the common room.

“Pretty much,” Ron said. “Hey Harry, you okay? You were acting kinda weird.”

“Snape pissed me off a bunch. The fucking prick.”

“Yeah, he does that. The greasy git.”

“The ugly idiot.”

Hermione gave a quick look around them, then blurted out “He’s a bad teacher!”

“The nasty nitw-”

“Detention for all of you,” came Snape’s low, drawling voice, so close he might as well have been whispering in their ears. “You stupid shits.”

Hermione screamed bloody murder, then went full fight-or-flight and lurched forward, slamming into a wall. Ron squawked and leaped into the air. Harry didn’t even blink.

“Gotcha,” Mawhrin-Skel said.

“You can do voices?” Ron said. “You can do voices! Hah ha, that was amazing!”

Hermione gave a little moan of pain and relief.

“Oooh, Mawhrin-Skel you are just so amazing,” the drone said in perfect imitation of Ron’s voice. “I could-”

“Quietus,” Harry said. He’d drawn his wand the instant he heard the drone imitating Ron, and now he was smiling, just a little. “I’ve been practicing that spell all week,” he said. “I just knew it’d come in handy.”

“Why do you keep that wretched thing around?” Hermione asked. She was still trembling, her eye darting everywhere like she was expecting Snape to leap out of a nearby shadow and attack at any moment. “It’s awful. Everything it does is awful. My head hurts.”

Harry reached into his bag and from its enchanted depths drew out a Beater bat. The disguised Bludger began spinning silent, angry circles above their head. “Here,” he said solemnly. “It hurt you, so you earned this.”

Hermione stared at him like he’d just pulled a hand-gun from his bag. “But we’re not supposed…”

“It’s a Bludger,” Harry said. “What are Bludgers for? What is their purpose in life? Why do we keep making them? What do you do when one knocks you off your broom?”

She reached for the bat hesitantly, as though not sure of herself, then in a burst of frenzied motion seized the bat, spun around, and smashed the surprised drone into the wall.

“It’s probably insulting your mother, or saying you hit like a girl,” Harry shouted. “Harder! Hit it harder!”

She gave another swing, grazing it, and Ron cheered her on. It tried to escape down the hall, but Hermione gave a little warcry and began chasing it. Just when it looked to be getting away she leaped forward and smashed it with the bat, sending it flying down the hall and out of sight.

“Next time you see that little monster, tell it that now it knows what it feels like to be hit by a girl,” she said when she returned, handing the bat back to Harry with smile and a sniffle.

And from that moment on they were friends, bound together by their hatred of Snape and the glory of their victory over the wretched little drone.

 

[A/N]

Pretty sure teachers there don't normally address students by their first name, least of all in class, least of all Snape.

 

[Beyogi]

Heh, this is hillarious. Great fic so far. I can't wait to see how this continues. Though I get the feeling Voldemort has already lost the worst supervillain spot to a drone

 

[9-tsiak]

I love this entire story, even the typo:

He was just a little two perfect.

Click to shrink...

It is great and I hope it keeps going as long as Worm.

 

[Endfall]

This is wonderful. I wish I had more to say than this, but I'm pants at giving feedback unless it's negative, or blindingly obvious.

I can't wait to see where you take this!

 

[The Stormbringer]

I honestly don't know what this is, but I'm damned intrigued. Well done, sir or madam!

 

[vali]

Authors Note: Movie-Hagrid is 8’6”. Book-Hagrid is canonically “twice as tall as the average man and nearly three times as wide” (Rowling actually retconned his size; he was originally five times as wide), which you’ll notice is much, much larger, especially when you are eleven years old. Books do not have a special-effects budget, nor any need to acquiesce to the brutal and unfeeling constraints of reality, so we can happily dispense with the sad little movie midget in favor of the much more exciting book-Hagrid.




Chapter 6: A Brobdingnagian Encounter


Class was over and Harry was bored.

Mom wouldn't put any games on his neural lace. Dad hadn't let him bring any cool toys to Hogwarts. The drone was off doing drone things. So he was bored bored bored.

"Hey Ron, wanna go exploring?"

"Sure."

"Hey Hermione, wanna go exploring?"

"Not until I finish my homework."

The homework was multiple choice because Professor Binns, despite having all the time in the world, was lazy. So lazy he hadn't even gone to the trouble of dying properly. Harry reviewed his neural lace, then said "d,a,b,e,b,e-"

"That's cheating!" She stuck her hands over her ears. "I'm not listening! Lalalalalalalalala-"

"Slow down!" Ron said, frantically searching for a quill.

"-a,c,b,b,a,d,b,b,a,a,e,d,c,e. Done. Now can you come out?"

-lalalalala-"

"Hey Harry, think you could say that again? Only not so fast."

"-lalala." She stopped.

"Hermione pleeeeeease come along? It'll be fun."

"Fine. But just because I need to exercise."

...

It was a gorgeous autumn day outside.

"Hogwarts is kinda neat," Harry said. He threw a couple rocks into the lake, but the splashes were pretty lack-luster. "I still wish they taught us real magic though. Do we ever learn to shoot fireballs?"

"It's called Incendio, and we'll learn it this year. You'd know that if you read the syllabus."

Ron ignored her. "The main reason I wanted to go to Hogwarts was to be with my brothers. I always wondered what Fred and George and Percy did all day when they were at school. But now I'm here and I'm still not sure, 'cause they don't invite me along with them."

"You've got some pretty cool brothers. They'll say yes eventually." Harry sighed. "I just wish Hogwarts was a normal school, where you go home at the end of each day. I miss my mom."

Ron, who was homesick and missed his parents as well but was too cool to ever admit it, started to nod but quickly turned it into a yawn, and that made Harry yawn as well.

Hermione looked a little homesick as well. "My parents are muggles, so even writing to them is hard. I have to mail my letters to The Muggle-Post and Owl Exchange, and then they send it my parents."

Harry said “All my mail goes to the ministry first, where they check for curses and love potions and such. Then it goes to my dad, because people are always writing me about stuff that happened during the war, like they lost their whole family but then I defeated You-Know-Who and that’s the only reason they didn’t kill themselves, and I don’t know what to say, so he answers for me. And when it’s all said and done I get like two letters a month, and they’re both from mom.”

"I should write my mum a letter," Ron said.

"I bet Fred and George never write."

Ron shook his head. "They do, but they're not very serious. I heard mom complain to dad about it once. She thinks they're his fault."

Harry levitated a rock and sat on top of it so he was floating in midair, then spun himself in circles really fast until he got bored. They stopped for a bit while Ron gave it a try, then kept walking.

"Hey look, it's a building. Let's check it out."

...

At first, Harry thought it was a barn. The building was just so massive, so out of proportion, that nothing else made sense. It wasn’t until he got closer and saw that the door was painted sky-blue and had a brass handle that he realized this was a person’s house. There was a small ballista set outside the door, and a pair of galoshes, each of which was big enough for Harry to climb inside of. He could hear barking coming from four dogs inside, and the dogs sounded as over-sized as everything else in the house. He glanced through one of the huge, high windows and caught sight of an enormous, fierce face, with eyes like beetles and a shaggy mane of hair. Then the face vanished and a moment later the door opened to reveal a giant twice as tall as the average man and nearly three times as wide.

He started to say something, but his words were lost in the thunderous cacophony of three dogs whose voices were as loud as an elephant’s trumpet and as deep as a whale’s moan.

“Quiet Fluffy! ‘An Fang, yeh should know better by now!” The barking got a little quieter, but not much. The giant turned back to Harry, squinted, and said “Harry Potter?”

“Yeah. I go to school up the hill,” he started to point, then realized that maybe the giant already knew where Hogwarts was, but his arm was already moving so he was committed now, “and my friends and I were just exploring. Do you work here?”

“Sure do. The name’s Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. You busy?”

They all shook their heads.

“Why don’t yeh and yer friends come on in an’ I’ll make some tea and give yeh the full tour.”

Had the hut been normally sized, Harry would have described it as cozy. Since it was meant to accommodate a man whose waistline was above Harry’s head, Harry felt more like Jack in Jack and the Beanstalk. There was a stove big enough to cook children in, an overstuffed bed with a patchwork quilt the size of Harry’s room in his old house, a table that Harry could comfortably rest his chin on if he stood on his tiptoes, a couple of chairs meant for normal-sized people, a huge, roaring fire, and enough empty space that the place could double as a barn.

“Back, Fang — back.”

Fang escaped Hagrid’s grip and raced for Harry, who caught the enormous black boarhound and let it lick his face for a bit. When he turned around he could see Ron and Hermione peering in the door in trepidation.

“He’s friendly,” Harry said, not sure if he was referring to the dog or the giant.

“You have a Cerberus?” Hermione said from the other side of the door.

Fang, Harry suddenly realized, was not a big dog. No. This dog, this three-headed monster with a body like a small elephant and three heads each big enough to swallow him whole, which had just emerged from the gloom and was racing towards him and barking furiously, was a big dog. The sort of dog that magic created for the sole purpose of mocking biology.

“That’s Fluffy. Don’t mind her; she jus’ wants ter be friends.”

One head was a Bull Terrier, one a Alaskan Malmut, and the last was a Golden Retriever. All three heads were barking loudly but it was the retriever who reached him first, sniffing him with huge wet nostrils, licking his entire face in one go, and eagerly accepting his head-pats and rubbing against him. Then the other two heads were there, all three fighting to be the recipient of his vigorously scratches. Harry, who was already surrounded by dog, was now drowning in it.

“Hermione, Ron, you gotta urk-” He closed his mouth as he got another licking “-gotta help me pet this monster!”

Hermione came in first, leaning quickly away when she was approached by an excited pink tongue. “Why is it part Golden Retriever?”

“Everyone always asks that first. I oughta put a sign on ‘er or something.” Hagrid was at his stove, tending a small pot of boiling water. “The breeder’s pet goldy snuck into the pen to make friends, and, erm, life found a way. I got ‘er cheap, ‘cause she’s too nice.”

Hermione spoke up. “Normally they pick the heads based on what they want the dog to do. So a guard dog would have one head from a breed known for its good hearing, and another for smell, and another for vision.”

Fang gave up entirely on Harry and retreated back to the fireplace. Ron came in and gave the Golden Retriever a few tentative pats, and nearly got bowled over by the rest of the eager Cerberus for his troubles. But there were now three children, one for each head, so things calmed down a bit after a while

Hagrid came over with tea and rock cakes. Ron and Hermione climbed into chairs, while Harry climbed atop Fluffy. He started patting her, and each impact of her wagging tail rattling the plates and the silverware and Harry's teeth like a small earthquake.

"So are you Hogwart's official monster-tamer, or is that just a hobby?" Harry asked.

"Monsters? Are yeh calling these sweet lil' things monsters?" Hagrid grabbed Fluffy's nearest head and gave it a vigorous rubbing, and Fluffly's excited response nearly knocked Harry off his seat. "Nonsense. Ain't no monsters 'round here. Dumbledore wouldn't stand fer it."

"Okay, but what about dragons? Do you have any of those? I've always wanted to see a dragon."

Hagrid looked a little nervous then. "Dragons? Nonsense. Always stealing chickens and setting things on fire. More trouble than they're worth. 'Course, they make fer great steaks and boots."

"Are there any dragon animaguses? Or people with dragon familiars? 'Cause if I had both, then me and my familiar could fly around together."

Hermione perked up. "No, but Dumbledore has a phoenix."

"Yeh kids always want the special familiars. More trouble than they're worth. Get something nice and solid, like a dog. Friendly, loyal, protective..."

But Harry was on a mission. "I read that the forest has giant spiders." Ron shifted nervously on his chair. "Can we go meet them?"

"Hah! Talk ter Ron there. Me an' his brothers been out in the woods loads o' times, hunting down pests and doing controlled burns, on account of all the detentions."

"Do we have to get a detention to set the forest on fire, or can we volunteer?"

Hagrid chuckled. "I got a feelin' yer be out here soon anyways, like it or not. But feel free ter come visit and I'll tell yeh if I got any plans."

Ron asked "What are Fred and George like when they're with you?"

"Bit quieter. They like an audience, an' the trees don't care much for pranks. They'll work hard fer the first bit, work like devils, but then they get bored and I have to go fetch 'em back. They don't talk much when they're by themselves, but yeh'd think they could read each other's minds."

"Back in the day, people thought twins were two halves of the same whole, one good, one evil" Hermione said. "They had all sorts of tests so they could figure out which twin was evil so they could kill it."

"Oh yeah? Well your parents are dentists! They just..." Ron mimed yanking something. "rip out people's teeth! Just rip them out! That's crazy!"

"What about identical triplets?" Harry asked.

"... I don't know." She reached reflexively for her book bag, then remembered she'd left it back in the castle.

"I figure both Fred and George got an extra help'ng of good an' mischief," Hagrid said. "But nevermind them. How's class treat'n yeh?"

"Too much homework!" Ron complained.

"I've learned a lot!" Hermione lowered her voice and leaned in closer. "But some of the teachers are bad. Really, really bad. At least there's always the library."

Harry shrugged. "Snape hates me. Do you know why? Is it because I killed You-Know-Who?"

“Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh’ve got yer mom’s eyes. Ah reckon it reminds him of things he'd like to forget."

"Ooooorrrrr he's secretly a Death Eater and he's mad that I stopped his master's unstoppable rise to power."

Hagrid shifted uncomfortably. "'Nuff talk about all that. It was a bad time, 'an lots of us lost friends an' family."

"Sorry." That didn't feel like enough to Harry, but he wasn't sure what else he could say, so he said "Sorry" again and took a long sip of tea. And then he wondered if Hagrid had a family, and if any of them had died, and just how big would their coffins be anyways?

"Ah know ye didn't mean nothing by it."

"So what other cool monsters do you have?"

...

Hagrid showed them everything, even the things that couldn’t be shown.

“An’ there’s the Thestral Herd,” Hagrid said, pointing to a large, empty field.

Hermione ooh’d and awe’d, looking at the empty field in fascination.

Ron leaned over to Harry and whispered “They’ve lost it. Probably got bit by something. We gotta get out of here.”

“I don’t see anything.” Harry said to Hagrid.

“Only ‘em who’ve seen death and understood it can see Thestrals,” Hagrid said.

Hermione hopped over the fence and strode confidently into the field, her hands outstretched and feeling for the horses.

“Can you see them?” Harry asked.

“No.”

“Not many Thestral herds left these days. Yer look’n at somet’ing not many people see. Er, well. Yeh know what I mean.”

Hermione’s outstretched hands hit something solid, and she came to a halt and began feeling around the invisible obstacle.

“What are Thestrals good for?”

Hagrid shrugged. “Glue, mostly. Nah, I’m only kidd’n yeh. The hides take to Disillusionment charms like nothing else, and they’ll hide yeh from most people, since seeing someone croak right in front of you isn’t common. So they get sold as cheap, knock-off invisibility cloaks. Blood and bones and such get used in rituals. They put the hair in wands. Lots o’ things.”

Hermione began petting the empty air.

“What’s the coolest thing about them?”.

“They’re obligate carnivores, and a herd o’ Thestrals can strip a person ter the bone in minutes,” Hagrid said immediately. “Never trust a man with a Thestral herd. Yeh throw a body into the pen and it’s gone ‘fore your tea’s ready.”

Hermione pulled a strip of jerky from her pocket (Hagrid had offered them samples of some he’d made) and after a moment it vanished from her palm.

"But you have a Thestral herd."

"Nah, this herd belongs to Hogwarts, and Hogwarts belongs to the Minsitry of Magic. So yer all fine."

“Will she be okay?” Ron asked nervously when something large and invisible bumped Hermione.

“Sure. Takes a lot more than a bit of jerky to hurt a Thestral.”

“No, I meant will Herm-”

He broke off when he saw she was headed back.

“Hagrid!” Ron said, “You left their gate unlatched!”

“Nah, that’s jus’ fer show. Little blighters can already fly around anywhere they feel like going.”

Ron didn’t look happy to hear this. “How big are they? Can they fit through open windows?”

“Ah, stop worrying yer little head about it. They’re harmless.”

“Hey Hagrid,” Harry asked, “You know all about monsters. So is Slytherin’s monster real? Is there really a Chamber of Secrets with a giant basilisk?”

Hagrid laughed. “You been reading the Quibbler, have yeh? You think Dumbledore’s keen on giant monsters murdering his students? Or Lucius would send his little Draco here if he thought there was any chance, any chance at all, that he’d catch sight o’ a bit of scale as it was slithering pas’ ter eat some poor muggle-born? They run that story every year during the firs’ week of school, like clockwork, ter scare up more customers.”

“Oh.”

Hagrid didn’t have any more monsters after that, so they thanked him for the tour and promised they’d come again.

As they were walking up to the castle, Ron said “Weren’t you scared the Thestrals would eat you?”

“They don’t attack people unless you make them angry. I read that in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.”

“Oh.” They walked a bit more, then he asked “Do you want to play a game of wizard chess when we get back?”

“Sure.”

Harry smiled the whole way back to the castle.

 

[Dark Lord Bob]

Book-Hagrid

Click to shrink...

One of the cool things about reading the books after watching the films (though I do regret the order I took) is picking up these little details.

Never trust a man with a Thestral herd

Click to shrink...

 

[TitanFrost]

Wow. A story where magic gets to remain magical and super science gets to remain super sciencey, with neither side being placed smugly above the other due to author bias? Sign me up!

 

[Beyogi]

Wow. A story where magic gets to remain magical and super science gets to remain super sciencey, with neither side being placed smugly above the other due to author bias? Sign me up!

Click to shrink...

Yeah, I don't think I've seen a story do that before. Usually the culture (or the technological faction) walks all over everything they meet. Or HP Wizards just outright dominate. Very nice.

Anyway, I rather like how Fluffy is actually a very nice dog. I wish he'd reappeared in canon and stalked the Trio to make them sing lullabies or something.

 

[Pirate34]

I really love the bits with the Minds breaking down at finding a society that is a complete out of context problem for their technological bullshit. Good fun.

 

[Mizu]

You've got a blend of clarktech and whimsy magical-ness here, fusing both sides of the cross to make something great. I look forward to reading more.

 

[vali]

"We have no government and no laws, if by law is meant a stereotyped convention supported by force, and not to be altered without the aid of cumbersome machinery. Yet, though our society is in this sense an anarchy, it lives by means of a very intricate system of customs, some of which are so ancient as to have become spontaneous taboos, rather than deliberate conventions. It is the business of those among us who correspond to your lawyers and politicians to study these customs and suggest improvements. Those suggestions are submitted to no representative body, but to the whole world-population in "telepathic" conference. Ours is thus in a sense the most democratic of all societies."
-Olaf Stapledon, Last and First Men


Interlude: The Hydrogen Sonata


When Harry was ten Gaiane took him on a trip aboard the Living For Your Obituary (General Systems Craft, System Class).

The Living For Your Obituary was an intensely human place. The streets were paved, not with meta-materials that would take a million years to decay, or with something silly and impractical like solid gold, or with some slick conveyor system that would whisk people to and fro, but with cobblestones. The buildings were made of brick, adobe, stone, and wood, and you could see the little imperfections that meant they’d been built by human hands, or at least by machines pretending to be human. The ship ceiling was claustrophobicly close, and many of the taller buildings literally scraped the artificial sky. And every inch of this urban landscape was full of people.

Laughing, talking, calling out, inviting passerbys into their shops, milling about, playing simple games, swimming in the sparkling clear water of a canal, soaring in flocks above the crowds with artificial wings and anti-grav packs, singing with voices like angels and performing tricks and stunts that weren’t just death-defying but would sometimes actually kill them (but that was fine, they were backed up), so that when Harry and Gaiane went out in search of something to eat they were caught up and borne down the river, Harry perched on Gaiane’s shoulders and calling out directions, not that he knew where they were going, not that she cared where they ended up.

The city was purpose-built for idle exploration and serendipitous discovery, for holding and cherishing secrets. The streets here were a three-dimensional maze where maps were banned and giving directions was a joke the locals played on visitors, where knowing all the best places to eat made you part of a secret and exclusive club of the like-minded.

The five basic flavors were sweet, sour, bitter, salty, and umami (or savory), but at least a quarter of the shops advertised the use of additional flavors that could only be consumed using upgraded tongues or other, even stranger organs. Harry's tongue was of the basic, standard design, so these were out.

In other places meals were accompanied by scented implements that you'd stick in your nose as you ate, with the disparate smells and tastes combining in a polyphony of the senses.

There was a large, busy counter giving out packets of tapeworm eggs. Once full grown into their adult forms the worms would develop exacting and discriminatory preferences for fine dining. They would then attempt to train their host by releasing opiates when fed well and causing unpleasant bowl movements otherwise. It was unclear how the worms developed their preferences, but either way it was a fun way to prank friends with poor taste.

One shop offered food that was administrated rectally and was eventually vomited into your mouth, where it would purportedly allow you to experience for a second time everything you'd eaten in the past couple days. A surgical shop offered to implant additional tastebuds in your mouth, or anywhere else in or on your body. Harry and Gaiane had gone in to talk with the proprietor, and learned that the two most popular major operations were installing tastebuds going from mouth to ass, and being able to taste your sexual partners with your genitalia. Other places offered taste-based synesthesia, so that you could taste the color red or the blue of the sky, and through the open doors Harry could see legendary works of art and brilliant, strobing neon lights. Even more bizarre and strange things were hinted at in small signs and behind recessed doors.

Then there was the Cannibal Cuisine Counter sitting right in the center of the road, where you submitted a sample of DNA belonging to yourself or another, and came back a week later to feast on a fully-cloned body-part guarantied free of prions and other such poisons. Both Harry and Gaiane had giggled at that one, and then spent the next few minutes making terrible, unfunny jokes about dick-eating.

But eventually they made it past all the ridiculous tourist traps, fit mostly for gawking at and daring your friends to try, and found where the locals ate.

Harry and Gaiane ate at an ice-cream shop that sold normal ice-cream made from normal cream and not human breast-milk or something equally bizarre, which was a relief after all the strange sights they’d seen, and paid in Kudos, the local social currency.

“Part of the reason we’re here is so you can learn about money,” Gaiane told him. “Kudos aren’t the same as money, but they are similar, so this is a good place to learn.” Then she handed him a brochure from the tourist information center.

The Culture may have been post-scarcity, to the extent that you could walk into any hanger bay in the Living For Your Obituary and fly off with the biggest spaceship there, and no one would care in the slightest, but sometimes people would reinvent money anyway just for fun. Kudos was a social reputation economy, and it was extraordinarily complicated; intentionally so, since its purpose was to give purpose and meaning to the majority of the sixteen billion people aboard the Living For Your Obituary for the whole five-hundred year span of their life. The Kudos system had been carefully and meticulously calibrated such that it took roughly four-hundred and fifty years to master, so that Kudos-masters could enjoy a well-earned fifty years of lording their skill over everyone else before boredom and ennui set in.

But the real purpose of Kudos was for the decennial party. At the end of each decade, the Living For Your Obituary held a giant, month-long, ship-wide party aboard a special pleasure-craft constructed for the occasion. The party ship had thirty-one levels, with each level being roughly half the size of the previous, and the number of Kudos you held at the end of the decade determined the highest floor to which you could ascend. Each level was more extraordinary than the last, and the higher you went the more the normal restrictions on pleasure-inducing chemicals and the like were relaxed.

(Naturally you could simply leave the ship and go somewhere else where the coveted but highly addictive delights of the second-highest floor came pre-installed in every house, but that was missing the point entirely.)

The third highest floor held a thousand people. The second held just a hundred, and each person wore a badge with their rank. And finally there was the highest floor, where a single person would receive some mysterious prize directly from the Living For Your Obituary.

No one knew what first prize was. Prize winners would inevitably deflect when asked, and attempt to imply that the pleasures and secrets bestowed on the winner were not fit for lesser ears. Gaiane was of the opinion that the winner spent the month sitting in an empty room, chatting with the ship’s avatar and killing time. The real prize was knowing something no one else knew and being able to lord it over sixteen billion people. Her theory would certainly explain why prize-winners never seemed interested in winning first place a second time.

Then the party would end, everyone’s Kudos would be destroyed, the Kudos system would be altered in a variety of small but significant ways in order to keep things interesting, and the whole thing would begin again.

The Kudos theme this decade was ‘Crime’, and as such Kudos had been altered such that they could be counterfeited, hacked, stolen, and other various things that would have been illegal had Kudos been anything other than monopoly-money. They’d only been playing a month and already thousands of competing police and criminal organizations had been established.

“Hey mom, what happens if we take something without paying?”

“Let’s try it and find out.”

…

Several exciting chases later Gaiane and Harry found themselves in prison, their Kudos stolen and immediately redistributed amongst the corrupt police officers.

“Can’t we just ask them to let us out? Coercion isn’t allowed in the Culture.”

“We can, but then we’ll be deported and banned from ever coming back here.”

Harry shrugged. “So?”

“It’s also very rude. Those policemen put in a lot of effort to catch us. The game would be no fun for them if we just deported ourselves.”

“So what happens next?”

She smiled. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

…

It was a truism that in the Culture, people lived however they wanted.

Harry had spent the earliest parts of his childhood aboard the Lost in Translation (Medium Systems Craft, Steppe Class), where he’d lived with his mother in a luxurious mansion, with a sprawling garden where his mother idled her days away trying to breed the perfect strain of marijuana. He’d spent his days playing with the other children, wandering the quiet, spacious streets and being horribly spoiled by just about every adult they encountered.

Later, when they lived on the Ring, he’d had even more space. All it took was a short flight away from the village and he had a small continent of land all to himself, to play in and shape however he pleased. He’d built cities and castles and towers that touched the sky, raised islands and populated them with all his favorite animals, and been a benevolent, playful god to the vast, untamed wilderness that had been given to him.

Now he was in prison, and his personal space was limited to a single bunk bed in a room packed full of them.

“Let’s just leave,” Harry complained for the millionth time. “I can’t spend a whole week just doing nothing!”

Gaiane sat opposite him, smoking a blunt of her home-grown marijuana that she’d managed to smuggle in. A couple other prisoners were there as well, and she’d been passing the blunt between them for a while now. “Sure you can,” she said. “You’re learning a valuable lesson right now.”

“What lesson?” He scowled.

“Every society has rules, even ours. Learn what those rules are before breaking them. If you’d just read the brochure…”

“Okay, I’ve learned my lesson, done. Can we go now? There’s too many people here.”

She passed him the blunt instead. Harry took a hit, and his Body Manager sent him an alert that it was upping his neurotrophic growth factors to compensate, was upping the amount of mucus in his lungs to deal with the smoke, and also releasing a habit formation inhibitor. Mom was the one who’d turned on all those settings; she was always worrying about things.

“You are human, and nothing which is human should be alien to you. That includes boredom.” She exhaled, watching, a touch cross-eyed, with fascination as the smoke rose up past her face. “And there is nothing wrong with crowds, or lots of people. Being human is a community effort, you know. We are the things we do and the things we love, and both these things happen past the borders of your skin. Your body is the least important part of you, just the thing that ties together the constellation of all the loves that makes you you.”

“Stars in constellations are millions of light years apart. They can’t smell each other’s farts, and they don’t wake up in the middle of the night because the star above them is snoring.”

She laughed, like he’d just told her the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “Yes, and see how lonely they are!”

“Stars don’t get lonely. They’re just a bunch of burning gas.”

“And yet we tie them together and give them life all the same, don’t we? We look at the night sky, at pure chaos and randomness, and with our names we carve order and meaning into the very sky.”

“Stars aren’t alive,” Harry said stubbornly. “It’s just hydrogen, helium, and a little bit of other stuff.”

“And what do you think you are, Harry? Just a bit of water and carbon, and maybe some magic sprinkled in. Don’t you think it’s a bit bigoted, telling stars they can’t be alive? Maybe they sing the long, slow song of the cosmos, and we just came in during an intermission. Or maybe they’ve been singing all along, and we just weren’t on the right drugs to listen”

He took another puff, and after a bit felt himself coming around to her way of thinking.

“If all the stars are singing, then what are the black holes saying?”

“The binary star systems sing in tandem, each voice supporting and enhancing the other. The quasars are like trumpets, great thunderous shouts full of glory and life. Nebulas are slow and quiet, but if you listen closely you can hear echoes of the star they once where, and hear whispers of new stars being born. Black holes sing the final chorus, when entropy conquers all and their voice alone remains in the dark. And then there are stranger things, like the Castor system, where three sets of binary stars all orbit each other.”

“When people die, we Displace them into stars,” Harry said, who was feeling very warm and relaxed. “So they can be apart of the music.”

“Exactly!”

“But why can’t we hear them now?”

“Maybe us clever little apes just aren’t meant to hear the music of the spheres.”

“Well we’ll just have to make better ears then. And build our own stars, so we can sing along with them.”