NOT AGAIN!

Celebwen Telcontar: Well, Balrog, I don't suck as a writer! One of my reviewers told me that I don't and shouldn't listen to you! So there!

Balrog: And now you're down to trading petty insults? What is with you? First your--

Mystery woman: Shut it, both of you! Just shut the hell up!

Balrog: Who are you?

Celebwen Telcontar: I think she's the mystery woman in this chapter. Hi, mystery woman!

Balrog: (Looks strangely at Celebwen)

Mystery Woman: (Looks strangely at both Celebwen and Balrog before shaking her head dispairingly) Why are we here? This is a disclaimer, not a bad stage production. Neither Celebwen nor the Balrog own the characters described or... meddled with below. If you have any questions or comments regarding this piece of fiction, please leave your inquiry in a review. Thank you.

Balrog: (Looks strangely at Mystery Woman before looking at Celebwen)

Celebwen Telcontar: (Looks strangely at Mystery Woman before looking at Balrog)

Celebwen Telcontar and Balrog: (Shrug simultaneously)

Marla McGivers and Carolyn Palamas' dorm room

Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, California

2225 Hours, March 6, 2259

Harry Potter smiled at the red-haired girl beside him. They were working on a project for their history class, and since Harry needed to learn over three hundred years of history, they had chosen to do their project on one of the three hundred odd years he needed to catch up on, and his partner, Marla McGivers, was partial to the last years of Khan Noonien Singh's reign in the late 20th century. His partner was enthusiastic about the project, and was unable to sit still. Harry had found out that she was a witch whom had graduated from Salem Witches Institute in Pennsylvania and had a talent for Divination and painting, both magical and Muggle. She was drawn to the late 20th century, and especially to Khan Noonien Singh. She believed herself to be a future empress over the super humans, which confused Harry quite a bit. However, she was excellent at what she did, and their project was far better than it could be alone, so he ignored her eccentricities. Harry did his best to tune out a pair of fighters passing spells back and forth as well as insults, glaring at himself and Voldemort who were perpetually fighting to the death on the Hogwarts grounds, the painting be-spelled so only wizards and witches could see and hear the painting move and talk. The first time he walked into Marla's quarters and seen and heard the painting, he had nearly cursed it off of the wall. Eventually, he had become amused at the piece of artwork; he didn't think Voldemort had known such a wide variety of foul language. Also, some of the curses that were flying back and forth were very interesting. Harry conjuring and propelling a large amount of rusted cutlery? He would remember if he did that. Also, he would remember being attacked by a malformed... something. Perhaps it was supposed to be a very demented and oversized bug. Whatever it was supposed to be, it was intended to be daunting. It only looked hilarious from this angle. He never remembered turning Voldemort into a tree, either, however briefly. Interesting use of Transfiguration. He wished he had thought of that during the real battle.

"Harry," Marla said softly, yanking him from his contemplation of that blasted painting. "This woman... who is she?" Harry walked over from his computer, where he had been putting together their project. He was far better at writing than she was, and she was far better at research.

"Just a mo'..." He stared at the picture the computer showed them. It was a woman, sleeping in a cryogenic tube provided by the USS Botany Bay. She had pale skin marred by various third-and-second-degree burns, which had also consumed her hair, and a thick, ropy scar running from just under her chin to below her uniform.

Flashback

Harry felt the curses flying around him as he tried to get to the Hall of Prophecies.

"We've got him! In an office off of--"

"Silencio!" Hermione cried, silencing McNair, who was screaming their location. The Ministry executioner grinned at her and swept his wand down in a violent slash, purple fire lashing Hermione on her chest from her throat to her navel.

"Petrificus totalus!" Harry cried furiously, binding McNair. Hopefully Hermione would be alright.

End Flashback

Harry shook off the memory. This couldn't be Hermione; she had died, three hundred odd years ago, probably of old age. He had probably seen her in Death, even though he had absolutely no memories of being dead. Whoever this woman was, covered with burns and almost unrecognizable, wasn't her, even though she had the same... no a similar scar. Harry shook his head.

"I don't know. Why did you ask me?" Harry asked. Marla shook her head.

"I don't know. I got a sort of premonition, like you two are linked or something." The red-haired woman shook her head and chuckled. "Sorry, Harry."

"Is there a name?"

"Nope. Absolutely nothing, aside from that she was probably born in the mid-1970's and was captured around London in a massive fire." Harry looked again at the woman and shook his head before putting down the eighty-five passengers of the sleeper ship "SS Botany Bay" in the report, listing the woman as "Unknown female, recovered in London, 1996".

The door slid open, revealing a blonde woman.

"Hi, Marla," the woman said, flopping onto one of the two beds.

"Carolyn," Marla replied.

"Hi, Potter. How're you doing and what are are you still doing here?" the woman asked, looking carefully at him.

"Fine," Harry replied. "What time is it?"

"2230 hours, or half past ten, civvie speak."

"2230?" Harry yelped. He had lost track of the time; it was almost curfew! He saved the project to his disk, ejected it, waved to Carolyn and Marla and walked from the room. It wouldn't do to look like he was late for anything and so he walked with a great deal of decorum and poise.

"Potter?" a voice asked. He turned, finding a beautiful woman with silver-gold hair and a roundish face. She was the woman who had submitted him to forceful anti-radiation treatment when he first arrived.

"Hello," he called. "I never did get your name."

"You can call me Chris." She smiled at him, then turned. "Meet me at the mess hall, 1145 hours, tomorrow?"

"Certainly," he replied. He remembered that she had joined Starfleet to look for her lost fiance. "I'll see you at lunch." The two of them went their separate ways, Harry looking back over his shoulder at the woman. If she wasn't engaged, he might pursue a relationship with her. She was a good friend, for all the little time he knew her. He also liked Carolyn; she was a good friend and someone he could talk to. Like Marla, Carolyn was helping him to adjust to this time, and they were in the same Humanities and Extra-Terrestrial History classes together. Unlike Marla, Carolyn was a Muggle, but when Marla had "read her future", Harry was there, and Marla had said that Carolyn, like Marla, would "change the universe" just by being herself.

Mess Hall

Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, California

1200 Hours, March 7, 2259

"So," Harry began as he dug into the meal that looked like it was supposed to be Salisbury steak. He still hadn't gotten used to the food replicators using pond scum and algae to recreate anything edible.

Christine looked up from her own meal. She was devouring it like she was used to replicated food and not at all grossed out by it. "Dr. Nand, my diagnosis instructor, is an Orion who was adopted by Humans then raised in Iraq. She's honing my ability to diagnose and treat problems with as little time wasted as possible. I'm a natural at it, as is Dr. Nand."

"Amazing. I'm glad you're doing well. I want to thank you for stopping me from contaminating the entire shuttle when I first joined."

"No problem," Christine laughed. "Did you have any issues after?"

"Some nausea, and some skin discoloration and flaking."

"Hey, you two," Carolyn said, leaning over Marla. "You can stop talking medspeak. We are eating, you know."

"I can't eat pond scum," Harry retorted.

"Back to that, is it?" Marla jibed, slowly eating a piece of her meal, winking at Harry.

"Stop being a tease," a female cadet said. She sat down opposite Harry. "Hi, I'm Jan. Janice Rand."

"Nice to meet you, Janice."

"I hear that you're the time-traveling cadet."

"That's me, Harry Potter, time-traveler extraordinaire," Harry said. Danielle Secura, a friend of Carolyn's, had placed that moniker on him. Shortly after, he realized that whatever happened, he would still be a hyphenated super-powerful person. Just as long as he didn't have to demolish some crazy fascist regime, that was fine. He quickly changed the subject. "Say, Christine, have you had any luck with finding your fiance?"

"No. Roger seems to have completely fallen off the map. I've been hoping to get a position on a Constitution class explorer ship to help me look for him. What about you? Where do you want to end up?"

"I don't care, as long as I don't have to remain on the planet for too much longer."

"I know what you mean," Janice said with a sigh. "I've had too much time here." The young woman looked very young indeed then, possibly still in her late teens. Harry didn't ask her age; he wasn't a tactless moron like Ron sometimes was. Thinking of Ron made Harry blink his eyes repeatedly, staving off tears. It felt like he and Ron had just parted less than a year ago, when in fact it had been around three centuries. Besides, thinking of Ron made him think of Hermione, and his grasp on his hope was just too tenuous to be let down. He made an effort to stop thinking about the mystery woman who had been in the USS Botany Bay. Besides, the Botany Bay would probably have been demolished by now from some stray asteroid, a hostile new or known alien race, or sucked into the gravitational pull of a planet or star. The likelihood of the woman still being alive was ridiculously low. Harry put it out of his mind yet again, promising himself not to think of her, and focused on Janice's small talk, intent on enjoying his algae-manufactured meal.

Celebwen Telcontar: Well, that wasn't so bad, now was it?

Balrog: Dr. Nand? Nand standing in for Neanderthal, perchance? An Orion diagnostician raised in Iraq by Humans? I think you've been reading a bit too much Auel.

Celebwen Telcontar: Sorry! Well, how did you like it?

Mystery Woman: It's good. Keep working.

Balrog: Hey! My job is criticism! I'm the peanut gallery, like those old men in that puppet's show!

Mystery Woman: The Muppet Show?

Balrog: Yah! That's it! Now leave me alone to do my job!

Mystery Woman: Fine. (Leaves behind curtain)

Celebwen Telcontar: (Looks oddly at both the curtain and Balrog before shrugging) I hope you all enjoyed this!

CT

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