NOT AGAIN!

Celebwen Telcontar: I am writing yet another story. I got part of the idea from Gilthas' stories 3003 and 3003 Revised. I also got another part of the idea from Rpnielsen's story Wizard on the Edge of Forever. Please go and check these stories out, they are great.

Balrog: Why are you advertising for authors that are not you?

Celebwen Telcontar: Because I enjoy their work and want to let other people see what geniuses these authors are.

Balrog: Whatever. Anything else of import?

Celebwen Telcontar:I am changing the timeline a bit; Harry, Ron and Hermione were born in 1975, not 1981. The reason for this is so it will fit in the spliced timeline I am using from authors Gary Cox and Gene Roddenberry. Nothing you recognize from either of them is mine, nor is anything from JK Rowling.


Alleyway

London, England

July 25, 1995

"Shit," Hermione Jane Granger-Weasley panted, dodging behind a rubbish bin. The Muggles were right behind her, firing darts and who knew what at her. She yelped as one hit the back of her leg, and she ripped it out. Her movements were beginning to get slower, and she lost her ability to reason perfectly. 'What do I do?' she thought frantically. "Repello Muggletum!" she cried, hoping to keep the Muggles from entering her alleyway. They came on anyways, shaking their heads fiercely. "Expelliarmus!" The spell did nothing, save slow the Muggles down a little bit. Her hands hit blank brick as she pounded on the wall futilely. She fired off several blasting curses, to no avail. Her panic-stricken mind couldn't fumble up many useful spells; however she was still able to fight. The dart may have weakened her mental facilities; however it did nothing to her magic. "Reducto!" she shouted as she pointed her wand at her pursuers. "Diffindo! Stupify! Expelliarmus! Rictumsempra!" One of the pursuers fell to the ground, howling with mirth as another was blasted back by the Disarming Hex. She may just survive this! "Aguamenti! Sectumsempra! Avis oppugno!" The flock of starlings Hermione conjured went at the Muggles, flying at their faces until they were bloody and ripped. One of the Muggles had a flame thrower, and incinerated the birds. "Densuego!" The same Muggle tripped over his own teeth as they grew to an alarming rate, slipping in one of his compatriot's guts from the Sectumsempra curse. "Gemino" Hermione cast the spell on a dustbin, causing it to rapidly cover the ground between herself and the Muggles with copies of itself. A Muggle then used a rocket launcher to clear the area around himself. Hermione looked around, and saw only brick. Nothing but human bodies and rubbish was flammable here. "For Merlin! For Arthur! Charge!" she shouted the old battle cry of the war with Voldemort. "Ardesco Fiendfyr!" The brilliant dragon Hermione had conjured roared at the Muggles, a gleeful look on its flaming face. It had appeared from everywhere and nowhere at once, igniting the alleyway in golden-red luminescence. The bricks began to glow, then drip as they liquefied in the ridiculously intense heat. "Aguamenti! Aguamenti! Aguament!" Hermione cast, trying to keep from burning up with the rest of the alley. Her mind was going from the drug in her system, and she was getting slower.

"Shit!" she heard someone shout over the dragon's roar. "Get some fire trucks over here!" Then, nothing.


Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Unplottable Location, Northern Scotland

July 30, 1995

"We stand here to bid a final farewell to our friend, Hermione Weasley. Wife. Friend. Mother. Sister. Daughter. Hero. She will be dearly missed. We now commit her body to the Earth from which she came. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. So it will be evermore. Farewell."

Ginny Weasley sniffed and hugged her brother. It wasn't fair that he should be widowed at such a time. It wasn't fair that she never got married, either, but Harry had died defeating Voldemort. His tomb was on the grounds, beside a sapling. The rest of the Weasleys were standing there, solemn. Even little Wallace, George and Padma's son, was quiet. The boy was so much like Hermione that sometimes the family had teased Padma about it. But the brilliant boy was now as solemn as they all were. His red hair was in a ponytail, and he was dressed in black. The little baby fat he had was very quickly leaving him, revealing a lean, toned body and a strength beyond any ordinary baby's own capability. Padma was still recouperating from the difficult birth, and trying to put together the two days missing that she had and the one day missing from George.

"What do you suppose happened to her?" Claudia Weasley, Charlie's wife, asked.

"Who knows. Probably a mystery," answered Janet Granger, Hermione's mother, placing a hand on the ceremonial effigy of her daughter. They hadn't found anything from her body, just a scattering of ashes and melted brick. She had probably called down Fiendfyr to take her enemies down with her.


London Crater

London, England

March 15, 2256

"Are you crazy?" Beatrix Ebon asked her compatriot. "We could be walking right into a trap! Besides, we're in this radioactive crater that's over three centuries old! Who knows how radioactive it still is!"

"Be quiet, Bea. I'm sure of this," Fafnir Foi said distractedly as he arranged pebbles in a pentagram-and-circle pattern. "The Nameless One was known to my family as the greatest of all sorcerers. If anyone can teach us about wand magic, he can."

"Wand magic is useless," Bea snapped in reply. "It has been since radioactivity permeated the lower and upper atmosphere."

"You need to suck your head out of those old physics manuals."

"What would I do if I did? Would you enjoy it if I were to join Starfleet Academy?"

"Maybe go back to Greenland, where you could be a physics teacher."

"You know I can't be a teacher. I can't teach."

"Sure you can, Bea. Remember the time you tried teaching me and Amelia physics?"

"It's Amelia and I, not Me and Amelia. Besides, the test tubes exploded, the Geiger counters went berserk, and we had to evacuate the school."

"Oh. Right. That wasn't fun. Neither was living in the Nord base while we waited for the Geiger counters to go down to a reasonable level."

"No, it wasn't," Bea said, smirking at him. "Let's just get this thing done with." Fafnir smiled and bowed mockingly before beginning a long and intricate chant. The pentagram shuddered and the rocks began to roll away from their stations. The circle broke and the center of the geometrical shape exploded outwards as a cloaked, pale person appeared on the ground. It struggled to its feet, shoving its hood back to reveal a serpentine face and deadly red eyes.

"How much time has it been?" the being hissed, obviously confused.

"T-time?" Fafnir asked, trying to translate the archaeic dialect. He wasn't a Linguistics student for nothing, though. Old English was his specialty.

"Since I was alive last," the creature said, seemingly impatient.

"Over three centuries, Sir."

"Three centuries? What is this place?"

"You can actually understand this creep?" Bea asked.

"Crucio! Did I ask you a question?" the being snarled.

"L-London Crater, Sir," Fafnir stammered as Bea began to scream and writhe on the ground.

"You will address me as My Lord. What happened to London?"

"The Muggles, Si-My Lord. They blew everything up, mostly Asia, but some in Europe and the Americas. I think some of Oceana was spared, but I'm not sure. Please forgive me for my presumptions!"

"Forgive you? Whatever for?" the creature said in a sickeningly calm voice. "Do not question my orders! Crucio!"

The man was writhing on the ground before long. "Now what has happened to Hogwarts?"

"I've never heard of Hogwarts, My Lord," Fafnir said, trying to remain calm. They had brought this madman on their own heads, and they would have to deal with it. They had asked for a magical teacher. They got a homicidal lunatic.

"Where were you taught, then?" Voldemort asked.

"Potter Academy for the Higher Magical Arts, in Northern Greenland, My Lord."

"You will take me there," The creature said malevolently.

"Of course, My Lord. How, My Lord?"

"A Portkey," The creature explained as patiently as he could.

"What's a Portkey?"

"Crucio!"


Potter Academy for the Higher Magical Arts

Nord, Greenland

March 15, 2256

Siegfried Borgerson wandered the halls amiably, humming a snatch of an old epic poem entitled "Firebird", telling of the bombings which had removed a full tenth the human population and nearly eradicated the Wizarding one from a folk-story point of view.

"Headmaster Borgerson, Sir!" a student cried. "The Founder's Crypt! It's on fire!" Borgerson abandoned his humming and bolted for the catacombs. In the center was a large crypt, its doors oxidized to a strange green color, and a nameplate declaring that Harry Potter dwelt within. Currently, fire was belching out of the crypt, the copper filigree doors falling in a tangle of melted wire.

"Grab the hose!" Borgerson cried, turning on the water. He clutched his wand between his teeth, wrenching the wheel and thanking God that some ancient soul had placed a good deal of insulation on it and the pipes leading to it. The icy water plunged on the flames, causing them to hiss as they were extinguished.

"For Merlin! For Arthur! Charge!" A yell from inside the crypt caused them to turn off the water. Out of the crypt raced an apparition, clothed in nothing but smoke, and brandishing a wand. Multicolored beams of light flew from the end of the wand, causing Borgerson to duck and dodge. The student grasped the hose, and doused the warrior with it, causing him to splutter and fire curses at the hose. One of the jets of light caught the hose, causing it to explode, sending icy water everywhere. The stranger glared at the pair, and yet seemed very confused. His vibrant green eyes bored into theirs, and his hair, while soaked with rapidly freezing water, was obviously messy when dry. Beneath his half-frozen bangs they could see a bright red, inflamed, bleeding scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.

"Shit..." Borgerson whispered. "It's Harry Potter..."

"Of course I'm Harry Potter, you idiot! Where am I and where are the Death Eaters?"

"How do you know that, Sir?" the student asked, ignoring the stranger's outburst.

"Because of the scar. It was given to him as a baby after he defeated the Nameless One for the first time. Go get him some clothes, please." The child did so, returning from his run with a shirt, pants, socks, shoes and a coat.

"No underwear?" the naked man asked as he pulled on the shirt.

"Were you saying that the Nameless One was defeated more than once?" the student asked Borgerson, incredulous and not allowing his Headmaster and the now-clothed stranger to talk.

"Yes. Once when Harry Potter was a baby, and once when he was an adult." Borgenson's communicator chirped from his belt, and the Headmaster of the Potter Academy for the Higher Magical Arts flipped it open.

"Yes?" he asked.

*Sir, I think I've gotten us in a bit of hot water. I was looking for a professional teacher in magic, and I looked into Necromancy, specifically the kind that uses the Pentagram and Circle sign of the Old Religion Goddess.*

"The result?" Borgenson asked patiently.

*The Nameless One. He's a very powerful sorcerer from my family's legends. Apparently, my family wasn't all that great. He's a genocidal monster. Bea is... is dead. He killed her with a green light from his wand and an incantation. I think it was "Abracadabra" but I'm not entirely sure. I was tortured under his power, and-- *Crucio!* Argh! !* The communicator went dead, and the man in the tomb, Harry Potter, looked alarmed at the message.

"Where is he?" Harry said in a very archaic dialect. Borgenson had a difficult time understanding his words. "Where is Voldemort?"

"Who?" Borgenson asked.

"You-Know-Who?" Harry answered, sounding annoyed.

"I'm afraid I don't know who," Borgerson replied, baffled.

"He Who Must Not Be Named. The Dark Lord. Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"I have no idea who you're talking about. What Dark Lord? The last Dark Lord we know of was Stephen the Mighty."

"Stephen the Mighty?" Harry asked, sounding and looking incredulous. "Stupid name if I ever saw one. What year is it?"

"2256, sir," the student piped up. Borgerson saw the man's jaw drop.

"You're kidding," the warrior snapped.

"No, sir. Headmaster, Sir, I think the Nameless One is this Dark Lord he keeps talking about."

"What?" Borgerson yelped. The Dark Lord Harry Potter had fought against and died along with the creep? That creature who tortured Fafnir and killed Bea was the Nameless One? Didn't Sequoia tell them that Star Rituals were only used for specific purposes? But that made no sense. The Star Ritual would have never called the Nameless One; it was too pure. Unless Fafnir was calling for the Nameless One specifically. Then, the Nameless One would appear, but the land surrounding the Summoning Plain would be tainted by warped magic for decades if not centuries. As the communicator he used was useless now, he flicked it closed and clipped it back to his belt.

"What happened?" Harry Potter asked without preamble. Borgenson unscrambled the ancient words, and answered in the same language.

"The world has changed quite a bit since you were alive, Harry Potter. This is 2256, 300 or so years after your death with the Nameless One... er... Vol-au-vent. Let me see if I can explain, but first, we should go someplace more hospitable."

"Vol-au-vent?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion. "Voldemort is not a mushroom stuffed pastry. Never mind that. Three hundred years?" Harry asked, catching up to the Headmaster. "You're kidding. Where the hell are we?"

"We're in Potter Academy for the Higher Magical Arts in Greenland. It's--"

"Greenland?" Harry yelped. "What happened to England?"

"The Eugenics Wars happened. Most of England is a rock of radioactive mud. We're as far from any of the radiation as possible; the radiation affected our magic adversely."

"How did it do that?"

"Well, it would blow something up with a Summon, or fire backwards, or the people's magic would just shoot out their eyes or hands." The Headmaster led the Harry and the student out where the student saluted the Headmaster and marched off. "Ah, here we are." The Headmaster walked to a strange panel on the wall, and grabbed a box of preprogrammed meal disks. He selected a green one, for a synthetic crab meat salad sandwich and coffee, and slid it into a slot, asking the ancient warlord if he wanted anything. The lights to the food processor lit up and darkened, and the panel slid up, revealing a covered tray and a cup.

"That goes against the Exceptions to Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration," Harry protested.

"It's against who's what's what?" Borgenson asked, looking at Harry with a confused scowl.

"The Five Exceptions to Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration. One of them is that you can't create food. You can alter it, you can make more of it, but you can't create--"

"Shit!" Borgenson screeched. "You're one of them! You're one of those eugenically enhanced blokes all over the world! I thought they did away with all of you!"

"What?" Harry asked. He was obviously completely confused. Borgenson realized that he had spoken modern English by accident. But that paled in the context that Harry Potter was a genetically enhanced person. Like Kahn Noonien Singh.

"Sorry. You are a Genetically Enhanced person. Your mother must have been a person in Project Chrysalis, in the mid-1970's to mid-1980's."

"What do you mean, Genetically Enhanced?" Harry asked.

"About the time of your birth, there were people being born everywhere that had been genetically enhanced. They were basically superhuman."

"I'm just a wizard. A friend of mine told me about the exceptions to Gamp's Laws of Transfiguration." The Headmaster took a sip of his beverage.

"Certain you don't want anything, Harry? It can make everything!"

"Er... Butterbeer, please."

"Butterbeer? What's that?" Borgerson asked, flipping through the preprogrammed meal disks. "I've never heard of Butterbeer."

"Hot chocolate, then. With a shot of Firewhiskey."

"What's firewhiskey?" the Headmaster asked, still looking through the disks. He selected a grey one. "Hot chocolate with marshmallows okay with you?"

"Fine." Borgerson slid the disk into the receptor and waited until the panel slid up again, revealing another covered plate and a cup. Harry took the plate and lifted the cover. The plate was covered in large, stale marshmallows. The Headmaster quickly put in another disk that he had taken out of his pocket, and the food replicator created a cup of whiskey.

"I don't know about the quality, but it's alcohol."

"Uh... thanks," the ancient warlord replied, putting marshmallows in his hot chocolate and pouring a generous portion of the liquor into the hot beverage.

"Unfortunately we don't have raktajino disks here. I'd be happier if they did."

"What's raktajino?"

"Klingon coffee."

"What coffee?" Harry asked, taking a sip of his cocoa. He made a face at it. "Horrible chocolate, by the way." He took a sip of the remainder of the whiskey and made another face. "It tastes like pond scum"

"That's basically what it is. The replicators work with algae. It's completely well balanced, the microscopic insects living in the algae provide the protein, but it just doesn't taste as well as traditional foods."

"I'm not surprised." Harry made a horrified face and slowly set the cup down. "What's a klingon? You never answered."

"Computer, Klingon."

*Working. Specify cultural reference.*

"Generic. Culture."

*Working. Culture, Klingon. Warlike. Honor-driven, culture centered on combat. Government is Klingon High Council. Mating rituals and sexuality--*

"Computer, that's enough!" Borgenson said firmly. The disembodied voice fell silent. "They're basically an alien species. They are the Earth's main enemy, always competing with us for Dilitheum crystals and other supplies."

"Does it always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Talk back to you?"

"That's how they're programmed. I thought you lived in an area with technology."

"No... Hogwarts didn't have any technology beyond the Middle Ages."

"What's a Hogwarts?"

"The magical school I attended. What is this place? Can we leave here?"

"No. We can't leave Greenland. The people who live here live in the old Muggle base. Greenland is moving North and West because of plate tectonics, and so we're icelocked. Our food comes from replicators and small greenhouses, we use our waste to make fertilizer, and we are a self-sufficient colony."

"Great. I've fallen into an icy greenhouse," Harry grumbled. "I'm not defeating Voldemort again. Your student resurrected him; let him deal with the consequences." He tossed a couple marshmallows into his cocoa, causing it to overflow with a splash.

"It sounds like you could use some help."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. My family and friends are all dead. For all I care, Voldemort can bugger you. I'm leaving. I don't care about this place. I don't care about Voldemort. I don't care about anything. My entire life's gone. Gone and dead." With a twist, Harry Potter apparated, not even finishing his cocoa.


Ruins of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Scottish Highlands

March 16, 2256

"Idiots," Harry muttered to himself, crossing what had once been the Great Hall. He picked his way through the rubble to one of the few still-covered hallways. A gargoyle made cheerful faces at him as he stared at it with a bittersweet smile. "Do you have a password?" Harry asked. The gargoyle pulled a face with his fangs and tongue, and then leapt aside. Behind the stone guardian, the rotating staircase was silent and unmoving. Harry began to climb, feeling it in his muscles. When he reached the door, he pushed it open. Inside was the Headmaster's Office, covered in dust and dirt. The portraits were all asleep or silent, still as Muggle paintings. The only sign that the room was ever occupied was the claw marks in the dust on Fawkes' old perch.

"Fawkes?" he called. The cheerful phoenix didn't answer at all, and he sneezed. He explored the office, the one part of Hogwarts still standing that was above ground level, and sighed as he saw the desk splintered and all of Dumbledore's little gizmos were dusty or in pieces. He couldn't return here. Where could he go, though? Maybe the United States. He remembered the man in the Greenland school talk about San Francisco and some space program. Maybe he would go into space. He needed a break. That's what he would do. He would go into space. With his mind made up, he twisted out of existence.


Star Fleet Academy

San Francisco, California

March 17, 2256

Harry Potter smiled as he walked up to the recruitment desk. People looked at him oddly; he wore current Magical fashion, which was a dress shirt, trousers, boots and a long robe-like overcoat lined with fleece. He had removed the overcoat, draping it over his arm.

"I would like to apply for the Star Fleet Academy," Harry said. He filled out his application, and handed it to the recruiter.

"Not funny," the woman said, going through the application. "Date of birth: July 31, 1975? You really think we let jokers into Starfleet? And schooling, Stonewall High School in Surry, England? What are you, an idiot? Get out of my sight." She threw the application datapad back at Harry, who stalked off. He should have probably come up with a better tactic than to use the truth! He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, holding his datapad. He erased the information, calling himself by his true name and using a birth year about twenty years before the current time. He then found a different recruiter, and handed him the application datapad. The recruiter slid a strange disk into the datapad and copied the application onto the disk then looked it over on his own datapad.

"Everything here seems right," he mused as he pursued the information. "Come to the shuttlepad here tomorrow morning, 0500 hours."

"Thanks," Harry said with a grim smile.

"Welcome to Starfleet Academy." Harry nodded and walked off towards his hotel room. He was going to leave this place, and let everyone else deal with Voldemort.

The next morning he awoke at three AM, pulling himself from dreams of the past. He dumped himself in the waterless shower, feeling the unwelcome tingle of something sterilizing his body without water. The clothing he wore were still the ones from the academy, and probably still very radioactive from the mess that had been England at one point. No matter. He wasn't going to be on this piece of dung planet any more.

As he walked up to the Starfleet shuttle, something started beeping incessantly.

"What the Hell?" someone cried. "Are you crazy? Come with me, now!" The strange woman seized his arm, let go, and beckoned to him. He ended up in a large room. "Disrobe. Now." She also began to remove her clothes, and as he began to stare at her strangely, she hit a button on the wall. Powerful jets of hot water shot out of showerheads on the wall, needling into him. He quickly removed his clothes, and she handed him a bar of soap, washing herself, especially the hand she had grabbed him with, with the soap. It burned and stung, and with the ache that it burrowed into him, he couldn't think about anything else, even a pretty blonde woman naked in front of him. She contorted into odd positions to get at every inch of her skin, and washed her hair thoroughly with the soap. She hit another button on the wall, and the stall beeped lazily. "Well, don't stand there all day! Finish anti-rading yourself!"

"Anti-what?"

"Anti-rad. Anti-radiation. When were you born, the twentieth century?"

"Yes..." he muttered to himself, scrubbing viciously with the soap. Finally the beeping stopped and the jets of water changed into hot air. The same tingling feeling he got from the waterless showers covered him, and the pain from the soap left, leaving him feeling clean, scrubbed to death, really. The mild nausea and general ill feeling he'd had since just after he returned from Hogwarts had also fled, leaving him feeling better than he had in years. Clean, whole, and new. It was fitting for him to feel this way, because he was new. He was a whole new person now.

"What are you standing there for?" the Starfleet officer asked as she handed him a set of clothes. He dressed, having been dried by the hot air blasting out of the holes in the wall. They were a uniform grey, with a Starfleet logo on it. "Come on." The blonde woman pulled him into line, combing her fingers through her hair. A diamond ring sparkled on her marriage finger, mutely proclaiming her status as an engaged woman.

"What was that?" Harry asked. The woman looked at him like he was crazy.

"An anti-radiation unit. Enough radiation is left over from the Eugenics Wars that we need them at every recruiting post in case people lived in the places with radiation. You should know this. It's common knowledge. What, are you one of the first cryogenic freeze subjects?"

"Uh... yah," he said, trying to wrap his head around what she was saying.

"No wonder you're so confused then. Someone should have taken the time to bring you up to date. What year were you born?"

"Nineteen seventy five."

"Twentieth century. So you're over three hundred years old. You've got a lot of history to catch up on, gramps!" She led him into a shuttle where she told him to get fastened and got herself strapped into the seat beside him. "I'm Chris."

"Harry Potter."

"Nice to meet you. I'm sorry about the reactions, but we can never be too careful with radiation."

"I'm unfamiliar with radiation poisoning," Harry said, looking at his new friend.

"You will probably have symptoms for quite a while. How long were you in the radioactive zone?"

"I don't know. Where is the radioactive zone?" Harry asked.

"Where were you before here?"

"Greenland then the UK."

"The United Kingdom? For how long?"

"An hour, two at best."

"You might not get very sick afterwards, but I want you to visit the hospital after we land. You can never be too careful." Harry smiled at her gratefully and then got into the shuttle beside Chris. After he secured himself into the seat, the shuttle began to lift off, moving with a shrill whine. As they gained altitude, Harry looked out of the windows. Blue skies gave way to darkness spangled with innumerable stars. Harry caught his breath, staring out the windows at his future. It was beautiful. He would do anything just to stay out in the vast void of interstellar space. "Like it?" Chris asked.

"Yah," Harry murmured, awed by the sheer scope of the vista.

"Roger, my fiancé, is out there, somewhere. He's a scientist. He was going to Exo III before we lost contact with him. It's been five years."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. He knew how it felt to lose someone you loved.

"Hopefully I'll find him. Anyways, I'm going into the med program. What about you?"

"I don't know yet. Possibly officer training... there's no reason for me to stay, after all. Everyone I knew is dead three hundred years. Time for a new start." Chris smiled at him, then settled into her seat, staring out of the porthole.

"Here's to fresh starts," Chris said softly.

"And luck," Harry put in with a smile.


Balrog: Sappy. I don't like it much.

Celebwen Telcontar: Sappy? How is it sappy? And I don't think you like anything I write, Balrog.

Balrog: You're right there.

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