Timothy McGee and the Annoying War Hero
Summary: The MCRT is about to go through some changes, and not the hot flashes kind! Magic, Death Eaters hell bent on revenge, a new wizard, and an annoying one, crash courses, and Gibbs doing just about whatever it takes to get his caffeine fix, whatever happens, this is one for the grandkids!
AN: Before we start this trippy little journey, I'd like to personally thank you for taking any interest in it at all. It's not your, ahem, usual crossover. I take liberties with both series (such as Quidditch being played in the US and not that other…thing. If baseball and football/soccer are the same worldwide, why wouldn't Quidditch be? They have the world cup, you telling me the US doesn't partake? I reject your reality and substitute my own!), and with these teensy changes, I have no shame. Will there be errors? Probably. I'm not perfect nor is this some serious story that's going to bring me any money, so why stress over minute details. Skirting along with the aforementioned, my blanket disclaimer is that I own nothing recognizable. I make NO money, nor do I intend to.
The idea came to me…a thousand years ago. Seriously. This is a long time coming. I've had so many ideas for this piece of crap that I'm having a hard time choosing what to use and what to discard.
The first part of this jumbled up bit of storytelling isn't much. I don't go into much detail because that's not what the story is about. Save for the first little prelude (which serves as a minor introduction to a well-loved character that you'll probably figure out right away), the rest is simply a foundation for this wackiness. This takes place not long after Ziva left since I'm not the biggest fan of hers, sorry, no bashing though, I promise. I adore Ellie but I'm not writing her in yet. Also, let's suspend reality for just a second and pretend that the events leading up to and the beginning of season 11 happened months earlier.
My style is bizarre; I tend to bounce back and forth through certain tones dependent of what I'm looking to project; know that I do this willingly and purposely. I also dart back and forth between serious drama and comedy—I refer to this technique in my own terms of real-life-situational-movements. I'm probably completely wrong in how I go about it. Whatever. It works for me and since I have some original shorts published, apparently it's not awful.
This is me shutting up. Enjoy.
A Prelude of Sorts:
Once upon a time, there was a young boy. He was full of curiosity and was very mischievous. His mother, a beautiful full blooded witch by the name of Sophie Francis, had shown him the wonders of magic, how to bloom the most beautiful flowers, how to fix a tear in a silk dress shirt, and the best way to keep wine cold while it swished in a long stemmed glass. She was his world.
His father, a muggle, could not fully grasp the concept of magic. He drank too much, and he yelled much more. But through even his darkest faults, he thought Sophie Francis a beautiful ethereal creature and their son an almost fairy-like extension of her.
For eight wondrous years, they lived in relative peace, far from her hate-filled family in England, and far from the frightening war that was taking place in the magical community.
This bright little boy looked forward to the day that he would return to the United Kingdom and attend the prestigious school his mother called her alma mater. She would hold him in her arms, smelling of jasmine and lavender, and tell him of how everything was taken care of—things he didn't understand quite yet!—and that he would one day stand upon the same bridge and in the same Great Hall as her many moving photographs.
They were a very flawed but rather happy little family.
Until a brisk and grey September day, the twentieth, to be exact, at precisely half past three in the afternoon when the men in the silver masks broke down the big door to his happy little castle.
"Run, my son! Run!"
The world crumbled around him and he begged his little feet to move faster. They took him as far as the black Victorian cabinet at the end of the foyer. When the doors slammed shut behind him, he knew it was his mother's doing. His beautiful mother who could have run to save her own life but chose instead to hide him away with a kiss pressed quickly to his temple and a muttered prayer.
"Momma!"
From behind the dark mesh of the cabinet doors, he played witness to the masked figures as they turned their wands towards the beautiful Sophie Francis and with a rush of green light, her life was gone.
They forgot all about the little half-blood hidden in the cabinet, crying over the first woman to break his heart.
Nothing was the same after that.
1. Timothy McGee Doesn't Really Get it, But Okay, Sure!
The heavy parchment in Timothy McGee's hands fell away to land on his kitchen counter silently. It was a frightening prospect. A joke, perhaps? But, no, the woman—a witch!—that sat at his small table sipping coffee was far too real. So was the strange magic she had shown to him.
Magical? Him? It was obscene.
Tim swallowed, once, twice, and three times, before turning to face her once again. "It's real. All of it? And I'm, I mean, I.."
Her smile was friendly, "Yes. See? You won't have that much history to learn, now do you?"
He swallowed again, that was not exactly comforting at the moment; he was well aware of far too much of that particular history; it wasn't all sugar and rainbows. "When, uhm, when do the, uh, classes start?" That did not mean he didn't want in though!
"September first."
"Of course they do." He couldn't help the giddy chuckle that bubbled up his throat. Honestly, the first? Would there be a shiny red steam engine to take as well?
"No train, though." Damn. Her laugh was fluttery and pleasant. "For adults, it's a tad different," she began, "Your classes will run more like a college semester. Quite a bit will be crammed into one class. Whereas the estimated projection for graduation as a minor is seven years, for our adult education courses, it's typical for the student to complete his or her course work in four years. We assume, since you weren't able to attend one of our schools as a child, that though this is all new to you, you'll be able to quicker learn. You did attend MIT? From what I've read, I don't think this will be difficult for you."
He shook his head and laughed softly, no, this was going to be cake. He knew it. He was Timothy McGee; he was smart and not raised in a cupboard. No, that wasn't right. If it's all actually real, then that was a truly real abused little boy. Nothing to joke about, can I meet him, can I meet him, can I meet him?!
Stop right there, young man! Interestingly enough, Tim's inner voice tended to bounce back and forth between his grandmother's and Gibbs. She was currently winning.
Shaking his head to clear his ridiculous thoughts, he asked, "But, my parents, they, uhm, I don't understand. They said no?"
"It's not uncommon," she sympathized, "which is why we wait until you're an adult and reach out to you then. Unfortunately, the fact that it's not uncommon means quite the extensive list of untrained muggleborns in the country; we're not always able to get to you as soon as you turn eighteen. The average age is mid-to-late twenties. Your, uh, generation, is a bit of a baby boom though. We do apologize for the tardiness."
He nodded, even though he didn't fully understand. "How does it all work, Miss, uh…I'm sorry, what's your name again?"
"Clarinda. Antoinette Clarinda." Her small nod told him she was used to having to repeat her name. "I work for the COM, that is, the Congress of Magic, the American equivalent to the Ministry of Magic."
"Right."
"In two to three weeks you will, by owl, receive a course list, billing statements, and a supplies list. With that will be directions to Origin Alley, which is the American answer to—"
"Diagon Alley."
"See? Look at how much you already know. On it is listed six dates and times, at those listed, and only those listed, will be another representative of the COM to let you in and instruct you how to do so yourself for future reference. It could be me, or someone else. Usually a volunteer. You will enter; buy your wand, a standard set of robes, and your school supplies such as texts and quills. On the first of September, at six in the morning, a portkey will be sent to you. That will take you to the school, I believe the conservatory chosen for you is NYAM—New York Academy of Magic. They are night and weekend courses, so your job should not interfere. If it does, well, we'll take care of that."
He frowned, "Take care of that?"
"Nothing bad, don't worry. But you will be allowed to attend."
"Right, okay. Uhm. Good. I think."
She smiled and stood, swallowing the rest of her coffee. "I think that is everything. Any questions, don't hesitate to contact us."
"Uh, how exactly does one do that?"
"By owl, of course!" And with a crack, she was gone, leaving Timothy McGee alone in his kitchen, staring down at a letter and a future right out of the Harry Potter books.
Abby was going to freak.
2. Abby Joins the Not Getting it Fun and Gets Too Excited
Abby did freak.
"You're a WHAT?"
Tim really couldn't be blamed for diving right into that opening. "Yer a wizard, Harry!" The stinging slap to his arm was worth it though. He gave her a cheeky grin, "It was right there, Abs, you walked right into that one!"
She made a face, "Yeah, I kinda did. So, like, you're not pulling my leg, right? Because if you are, Timmy, I will be forced to murder you in the most ungentlemanly way and not even Harry Potter can save your ass!"
"Abs, on my honor as a boy scout! I swear! This is real! I was given permission to tell my family. And, uh, you're family, so, yeah, I'm telling you. 'Cause you're family."
She raised her eyebrows, "Smooth like butter, McGee."
"Thanks, Abby. But you need to swear to me, you need to…to…swear on Kate's grave, Abigail! You can't tell a single soul!"
"KATE'S GRAVE, I SHOULD RIP YOUR EAR OFF AND FEED IT TO TONY!"
He knew he would pay for that one but it was imperative that she fully comprehend the seriousness of keeping this whole magic thing secret. And, as expected, it took quite a bit to convince her to not go blabbering to everyone they knew. She was insanely jealous, of course, but let her happiness at her Timmy's luck override it. Besides, if she went ape shit, he would NEVER allow her to accompany him to Origin Alley and, as it stood, he needed the help. Tim was in way over his head. And, duh, she just HAD to go!
In the end, he made her cross her heart, swear to wizard god, swear on Kate's grave and Jenny's, swear on Bert, swear on Gibbs' silver hair, the Israeli flag, and Tony's…that really didn't bear repeating. But he made her swear to shut her yap. And she had to show both of her hands while doing so, no take backs, and no backsies.
On the morning of June 10th, they set out together for the several hour journey into Manhattan and into the bustling streets of Chelsea, where, behind an almost decrepit looking diner, a man in an emerald green robe opened the entrance to Origin Alley for them.
It was…everything Tim could have hope for. For a moment he felt as if HE were Harry Potter walking into Diagon Alley for the first time, just, instead of a half giant, he had a visibly excited goth by his side. Time, as it had not seemed in the universe he so often delved into with his books and movies, had most definitely touched here. Though there was the whole Charles Dickens thing going on, the modern world coexisted. A young witch with an iPod blasting ran past them just as a gust of wind blew an old man's top hat right from his head.
"This. Is so. Cool." Abby breathed, taking Tim's hand and squeezing it. "Come on, we need to get to the bank! I WANNA SEE A DRAGON." And they set off, past Maury's Ice Cream Shoppe, and Gladrags Wizardwear, Alberto's Owl Emporium, Brandy Apothecary, Quality Quidditch NEW YORK, Mangino's (a rather dark store with a large wand on the sign that made both newcomers almost scream with excitement), Julie's Housewares, and OH!
"Weasley's Wizard Weezes?!"
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!"
"Bank! Abby! We need to go to the bank first!"
"I wanna look! I wanna see! I'll just DIE if I can't go in!"
It took all of Tim's willpower to pull her away and continue down the alley, not just because it was hard to say no to her but because HE would die if he didn't go inside as well!
Sadly, though the Gringotts of America was also run by goblins, there was no crazy cart ride to open his new vault and they saw no sign of any dragons. Instead, they took an elevator down, down, down, way below the subway systems and a small boat on an unhealthy looking underground river took them to vault 3657, the newly opened vault of Timothy McGee, where his cash was effortlessly converted into gallons, sickles, and knuts.
He was so excited he almost threw up.
The goblin was not amused.
Upon resurfacing, he was handed an ordinary looking credit card engraved with his name and birth date and GRIGOTTS in large lettering. On the back, instead of a black magnetic strip, was a rune.
"We've updated." The goblin told him, and ushered both out of the bank with an annoyed grunt.
Outside, a bit shell shocked on the marble steps, Tim stared at the gold card in his hands, awed at the whole experience.
"What a little jerk!" Abby exclaimed, then after a beat, "Just like in the books!"
Ah, there was his unflappable friend!
Tim pulled out his wallet, slipped the card into one of the slots, and replaced it in his back pocket. From his jacket, he tugged his list. "Okay, so, I'm guessing a wand first?"
"A'duh, Timmy! GIMME THAT!" She swiped the list and read it aloud in a voice clearly meant to be authoritative:
1 Wand
1 set or more Casual Robes
1 pair Protective Gloves (dragonhide)
Suggested: One Winter Cloak
1 Cauldron (standard size 2)
1 set Glass Phials
1 Telescope
1 set scales
Quills
Parchment
Texts:
Beginning Magic by Armanda Adello
Defensive Strategy for Beginners (6th Edition) by A.D. Jr.
A Beginner's Guild to Magical Beasts (56th Edition) by Desmond Dubois
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord (3rd Edition) by Hermione Granger (She squealed, reading this one.)
Herbology Volume I by N. Longbottom (Yup, this one too.)
Introduction to Charms by Anne D. Smith
Introduction to Transfiguration by M.M & A.D. Jr.
Potions Volume I&II by Sandeep Singh
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
The Unveiling—A Muggleborn's Introduction by Elise McLean III
It is suggested but not required to procure an owl for correspondence and/or another magical pet.
All practical equipment to be brought on the first day of classes and stored in the Adult Ed classrooms as NO PRACTICAL MAGIC WITHOUT SUPERVISION IS TO BE PERFORMED OUTSIDE OF SCHOOL UNTIL GRADUATION.
"Oh snap." She snickered, upon completion of her reading. "They're gonna send your butt straight to Azkaban! Gibbs can't even get you out of that!"
"Abby, they're not going to send me to—"
"OKAY, LET'S GET YOU A WAND!"
By the time they settled in at the hotel that night, Tim had all the supplies needed to start his first year of adult education at NYAM—including a wand that chose him (13 inches, unicorn hair, and slightly springy!)—and Abby kept elongating the school's name to Nye-candied-yams. Tim was completely over it, completely exhausted, and completely enamored with his new wand and new owl, an adorable little guy the forensic scientist named Agent Owl. Abby thought it was suiting and adorable and really, why would he be shocked at this at all?
The summer began as normal and a slew of cases kept Tim from digging through all of his new school books with any sort of direction other than flipping through occasionally in marvel. It wasn't until the second week of July that things got a little weird and he began to question more than just the full validity of the supposedly fictional Harry Potter series.
At least on September first he could say with confidence that he hadn't practiced magic without supervision. Because he certainly had a lot of supervision…and a crash course in magic!
3. In Which Tim Thinks Tony Has Some 'Splaining to Do!
The ding of the elevator was followed by Tony angrily spitting into his cell phone, "Charlie, call off the freaking hounds! I'll be there! …NO! Your mother too! …SHE'S NOT MY MOM! YOU DEAL WITH HER! …Don't…don't tell her I said that. She's my mom too. Charlie…CHARLIE…SHE'S MY MOM TOO DON'T HANG UP ON…ARGH!" More than a bit ticked, he threw his bag down. "Why did I convince him to get a cell phone? What's wrong with me? I'm going to be made into one of his mom's mince meat pies, I know it. My life is over! I'm doomed. Tim! Say my eulogy, please?"
Tim barely glanced up from his computer, "Not getting involved, Tony!"
"I thought you loved me," Tony mumbled, petulantly.
"Now, why would anyone do that, DiNozzo?" Gibbs snarked, coming around the corner with a cup of coffee in his hand. He gave Tony a gentle and conspicuous look that only his SFA would catch, letting him know he didn't mean it maliciously.
"Not a clue, Boss, no one would ever love me, Boss." Gibbs grunted and smacked him upside the head. Tony gave a soft smile, "Love you too, Boss."
"Save it, DiNozzo! Dead marine in an empty warehouse downtown, let's go!"
"On your six, Boss!"
Tim's smirk was wiped off of his face expertly by a well timed smack to the back of his head.
The warehouse was only recently abandoned; boxes of unknown junk polluted the floors and shelves and only a barely there layer of dust had yet to settle on anything. When they entered, it was to silence. No responding officer and no body.
"Something's fishy, Boss."
"Ya think, DiNozzo? McGee, clear the back room, Tony, get the right, I got the left."
The trio split up. When the third call of "CLEAR!" sounded, Gibbs slipped his gun away. They met in the middle.
"Right warehouse, Boss?" Tony asked, his eyes still skirting around the room.
Gibbs nodded and looked at McGee.
"This is it, Boss; I had dispatch text me the address."
Tony said, "Phony call?" Gibbs shook his head. Something didn't feel right. "What's that famous gut of yours saying, Boss?"
Gibbs opened his mouth to speak but the appearance of three fast moving swirls of black smoke cut him off; his mouth dropped. McGee blanched and Tony yelled, "GET DOWN!" He pulled them both down just as the three streaks converged above them. They flew off to block the only exit. And materialized into three humans. In cloaks. With silver masks.
Both Gibbs and McGee moved to stand in front, one out of protection, the other thinking they were after him. Both were blocked by their SFA.
Tony stood, one arm out keeping his partners behind him and the other pointed forward, armed with not his gun, but a dark, gleaming wand and fire in his eyes.
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Okay, I'm so sorry, I know, my weirdness knows absolutely no bounds, but, in the off chance you're like me and actually enjoyed this, please, review and let me know. I'm almost done with the second part and I'll get it up within the next few days. As for length, it may be about five uploads total, I say uploads because I haven't exactly sorted this into chapters, for whatever logic my brain decided to use. This is probably about five years, at least, in the making, so, you know, be kind. :)