Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Mass Effect. They both belong to J.K. Rowling and BioWare respectively. Nor do I make any profit from this. This is just for the sheer entertainment value and to let my imagination run wild.


/-/Author Note\-\\


Merry Christmas to all my readers! A little late (Okay very late), I know, but I had originally wanted to post this chapter on Christmas Eve, but got sidetracked. I had spent five hours writing this out for all my loyal readers (while listening to Trans-Siberian Orchestra), and forgot to post it when I was done. And then my internet service went out, and I only got it reconnect like thirty minutes ago so...consider this my Christmas present to all of you! Or not, either or. Its short I know, but there really isn't much to this chapter in comparison to my others. Also I am going to at some point repost my original chapters with some grammatical corrections. Word isn't that helpful with catching errors aside from misspelled words, and I unfortunately tend to forget to add certain words to a sentence, like he or has, which just butchers whatever it is that I'm trying to write. Also, news on the ME3 demo was suppose to be coming out late November regarding an early release, and there has yet to be any news of sort released. Disappointing, though I hope there'll be news out by the beginning of January.

And on a completely separate note, I watched The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo the other night. A really good movie, it is somewhat graphic, though one of the few films actually very true to the book. I highly recommend both the movie and the book to anybody how has a slight interest in the series.

Okay so enjoy the chapter.


Chapter 3: Hell's Guard Dog and the New Recruit


Glancing out at the artificial night sky, Harry returned his gaze to his sleeping companion, back facing towards him as she slept peacefully beside the crib that held her younger sister. It had been a few days after the attack from what Miranda had explained where mercenaries sent after her by her father. More specifically, they were known as batarians, a race known notoriously for their slaving practices. The implications from that alone where frightening enough, which brought up the question, at least in Harry's mind, how far this man was going to go to get Miranda back, and what exactly he had planned in dealing with her betrayal. It was an additional worry adding to his growing list of concerns, much of which he didn't need, the most important being that as far as he could tell, he was stuck here in the future.

Hours of searching had yielded no results, and from what he could see, the magical world even more than one hundred years in the future, had still kept itself hidden. He had considered the fact that perhaps he had not landed in the future, but some sort of alternate dimension, but had ruled that out upon discovering an old newspaper article of his centuries old "death" via the extranet, which briefly mentioned an accident at a boarding school he had attended, small halfhearted grievances from his relatives, and a small tombstone in a public grave site in London.

Reading up that he was considered dead in his previous timeline was slightly disenchanting but he should have expected nothing else. Regardless, he was trapped in this unknown future, and with no money, knowledge on the workings of today's world, or any real prospects or skills, his own future was looking bleaker and bleaker.

That was the reason why sleep was now eluding him. Fear of the future, of his life and the direction it was now free falling towards was invading his line of thought every time he closed his eyes. And without the aid of his now dead friends and mentors, he had no one to confine in or catch him should he stumble and fall on this wayward path.

At that thought, he glanced back towards Miranda, whose rise and fall of her shoulders told that she was still asleep, her mind no doubt plagued just as heavily with the fate of not only herself, but her younger sister as well circulating in her thoughts.

Part of him, a rather desperate part of him, considered asking Miranda if he could go with her. However, whenever this part of his mind rose, an image of Miranda's angered expression as she killed the two batarians looming over him would appear, and the guilt from that day would rear its ugly head. He was certain that even if a small chance had lingered in which Miranda would have agreed to his request, that chance had all but evaporated into thin air as a result from his failure to protect her younger sister.

And where he had been slightly useful beforehand, that was no longer the case. He glared dispassionately at the broken wand that once belonged to his old rival, Draco Malfoy, and what was now utterly worthless.

It had been damaged severally by the batarian's ill care, and he had tried to (discretely) use it away from Miranda's sight. He had felt his magic push into the wand, but ultimately it had done nothing as it gave a soft glow before dying down. He had tried it again, but got no results. Not even the glow. For all intents and purposes, the wand was dead, and what more, useless, now making him officially defenseless.

Certainly there was wandless magic. He had seen both Voldemort and Dumbledore cast various spells without a wand or incantation, but he had no true talent for it, as far as he knew. He never really tried it, and whenever he did, circumstances involved were usually life threatening and trying to make a conscious effort in wielding similar results often failed.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Harry wished he could just as easily get rid of his anxiety.

Looking back up into the skyline, Harry asked aloud, "What am I going to do now…?"

Unable to find an answer to his question from the surrounding darkness, and wishing he had a calming draught so sleep could come easier, Harry settled back onto the couch, drifting into an uneasy slumber.

Unbeknownst to him however, his female compatriot had awoken during his silent musings, and heard his unanswered question.

Biting her lower lip and throwing him a concerned look over her shoulder, Miranda settled deeper into the covers, her mind racing with various possibilities.

As upset as she was about his performance against the batarians, she could not entirely place the fault on his shoulders. Her father had done the unspeakable, sending slavers after his own daughters, particularly from a race that did not care for the restraints that morality placed on the conscious minds of all people in the galaxy. Harry had fought admirably, suffering injuries for his defense of a child and a young woman he didn't even know. It was…a humbling experience, as Miranda didn't entertain thoughts that she would've done something similar if the positions had been reversed. Regardless however, it only proved that he was nothing else but a liability, and that he had no real skill sets. And with no identity (she had tapped into a few of her connections in the Alliance and did a bit of a background check on his name. Aside from a young man with a similar name some one hundred and seventy years back, no other Harry Potter had been born in the area of her home) she knew that Harry was not going to have a very viable future. She had of course not confronted him about his lack of credentials; she wasn't that tactless as the possibility of being a former slave had entered her mind, and she didn't want to possibly bring up bad memories. Still, it showed that he was virtually on his own, buried deep in a hole that wouldn't be able to climb out of on his own.

Still mulling over a few possibilities, Miranda settled into a restless sleep as a plan started to formulate in her brilliant mind. She could only hope that Harry agreed to it…


Location : [ENCRYPTED]


"You wan' to hire wha' now?"

Though his response to his partner's suggestion was spoken in a calm and reasonable matter, Vido new from the frosty tone and narrowed eyes that Zaeed Massani was anything but at the present moment. Still, he pressed forward, though he did take a few steps back, placing his desk between them. You couldn't be too careful after all…

"You heard me Zaeed. This protection racketing and occasional pirate raid isn't exactly rolling in the credits. The payroll that we use to hire out these mercenaries of yours takes a nasty chunk out of our profits, and unless we broaden our horizons a bit, we're stuck at being a small time merc band that isn't going to last past the turn of the coming decade."

It was an exaggeration and a lie, and Vido knew Zaeed could see right past it the moment the words left his lips. As high as the payroll was for the men that Zaeed had handpicked for the Blue Suns, they were damn near worth it. In addition, while their last contact wasn't particularly happy with their refusal to obtain his daughter, and with a confirmed failure from the batarains he had hired on the side from a future business venture he was looking into, he had still awarded them a rather handsome amount of credits for a job well done. While not on a job currently, Vido knew they were getting a variety of job offers from various individuals, military or otherwise. And he knew, despite his efforts in keeping his partner in the dark about those contracts, that Zaeed knew it as well.

"Maybe, maybe not, but where the hell does hirin' goddamn batarians fit into the damn situation?"

"They fit in mostly as a cheap labor force. Dozens of men, already armed, for a fraction of what we pay the men we currently have. The best part about the whole situation is that even if we lose a few during a job, their easily replaceable, unlike the men and women we have under your employ. We get the numbers we need for bigger jobs, keep our people from possibly getting killed by lowering the risks."

Crossing his burly arms across his equally fit chest, Zaeed gave Vido a piercing glare before he carefully spoke, his tone of voice suggesting his sheer disgust with Vido at the moment.

"Will in tha' case, my answer is gonna be no way in ruddin' hell! I ain't keen on hiring up a bunch of damn slavers, cheap labor or not! I've seen those fuckin' bastards at work out on the Verge, wha' they do to the people they manage to catch. I've done a enough shit in my life to kno' some lines shouldn't be crossed, and those damn batarians don't even toe those lines, they run right bloody through them!"

Uncrossing his arms and stepping towards his partner, Zaeed slammed both his fists on the table, denting the metal into the shape of his hands as he glared resolutely into Vido's slightly panicked expression.

"I'd rather be six bloody feet under the ruddin' ground then having any goddamn slaver on my payroll."

Grabbing Vido by the collar of his armor, he jerked him forward, glaring angrily into the cowering man's eyes. "Are we clear here, Santiago?"

Swallowing both his fear and his pride, Vido gave a jerky nod in acceptance before Zaeed threw him backwards, not even glancing back as Vido impacted with the wall heavily before slumping to the ground, the breath knocked out of him from the impact.

Glaring at Massani's back, Vido finally snapped.

Already planning for this inevitability, Vido activated his comm. link on his Omni-Tool, sending out a decrypted message to the men and women whom he was able to payoff for their loyalty.

Massani would pay, and pay dearly…


Location: Milky Way/Serpent Nebula, Citadel


The Illusive Man looked up at Miranda, an unreadable expression on his face as she silently awaited his verdict.

She had just proposed an additional request from Cerberus' illustrious leader, in addition to the one requiring the safety and security of her baby sister.

The previous evening, right before she had fallen asleep, she had concocted a plan of sorts for Harry's future. Knowing that requesting him to join Cerberus presently was asking too much, especially considering the fact that he offered nothing in terms of skills or ability, she had discovered an alternate solution, one in which would give Harry not only a skill set, but also viable cause to be recruited into Cerberus ranks in the future. Ideally of course, under her supervision. That was why she had come to the Illusive Man with a proposal for Harry to join up with the Alliance Navy.

Of course, for this to work, Harry would need a variety of schooling to catch up with the current technological aspects of the world, in addition to a new identity and background. The former she could easily do on her own, should the Illusive Man agree to the plan, but it was the later that she needed help with. She had already discussed the plan with him earlier this morning in a small amount of detail before contacting the Illusive Man through a private channel he provided for her convenience.

True, he had probably done so as nothing more as a mere courtesy to her, and she probably wouldn't have thought of using it unless under the direst of circumstances, but Harry made rational thinking and logical actions improbable.

She told him as much, and he only gave a weak shrug before muttering something about it being 'part of his charm.'

Presently, she awaited the Illusive Man's decision, and fervently hoped that the man would agree to her suggestion.


The Illusive Man, otherwise known a few years ago as Jack Harper, was no fool. Having faced off against the turians in the First Contact War, in addition to the Arca Monolith artifact with Saren and Desolas Arterius saw to that. He easily gazed through the farce that Miranda was waving in front of her, and knew there was more to the boy than simply being an accomplice in her escape. If that were the case, he could simply have the boy killed, thus tying up any loose ends and as calculated and logical as Miranda was, would probably agree with his decision. To suggest a new alias for the young man, in addition to conscripting him into the Alliance, spoke of levels of concern that piped his interest.

What was so special about the boy that Miranda would feel the need to figuratively put her neck out for him? He wasn't a biotic, that much he knew for certain, but by her own admission, he had some sort of gift as he had somehow managed to aid in her escape from her father, by, according to her own report on the incident, transport them out of a sealed underground chamber to a mile or so out of a nearby town that was about twenty or so miles away from her home. Perhaps he was some sort of engineering savant, able to build a teleport device, maybe even a portable if not miniscule mass relay? Outlandish as the idea may be, he was nonetheless curious.

So with no other reason than for his own curiosity, the Illusive Man gave a small nod in acceptance, which caused Miranda's shoulders to slacken slightly in relief and a small, tentative smile to spread across her lips.

All in all, if the boy didn't meet any of his expectations, he could arrange for a little accident to occur and Miranda of course, would be none the wiser.

Signaling for Miranda to take her leave and contact her associate with the good news, the Illusive Man answered a private transmission being sent to him from Eden Prime, its contents pleasing him and causing him to forget about the young boy for the moment. Sending out a reply in regards to his subordinate's message about a the biotic potential found in a young girl called Jacqueline, the Illusive Man took a drag of his cigarette before taking a look at the vid screen before him, playing out the news feed of humanity's acceptance into the Galactic Community as they were finally awarded an embassy after eight years. Eight years late he mentally added, but nonetheless, a step in the right direction; though he was unconfident in the Alliance's ability to truly utilize such responsibility to the true benefit of humanity. Only time would tell…


Location: Unknown


Zaeed groaned slightly, struggling slightly to move his weary body and open his eyes.

Though he was in no pain, he felt a heavy weight on his body, his movements slow and sluggish, in addition to a feeling of lightheadedness he only associated with one thing.

'Drugs. Somebody's been keepin' me out for god kno's how long with goddamn anesthetics.'

Zaeed had vaguely recalled leaving his partner's office, Vido, after a very tense disagreement over the future employ of the Blue Suns. As racist as it may have sounded, Zaeed didn't want any batarians in his mercenary group. Their reputation of being slavers wasn't something he wanted to be associated with his small band of mercs, in addition to the fact that he didn't much care for it. He honestly preferred turians over the four eyed blokes, and they were quite happy to shoot at him some eight or nine years ago. Regardless, he hadn't made it farther than the elevator before it opened up, revealing a small squad of his own men standing there waiting for him, all armed with stun guns. A blink of an eye later and he was out cold, and now found himself in what looked like a small cargo room of sorts.

Knowing that panicking would not yield any results, Zaeed tried to get his body to purge the drugs still running in his bloodstream, and could feel the effects within minutes even though he still felt very weak. As useful as gene therapy was, it was a bitch when it didn't do what you wanted it too. He tried moving his arms, but discovered they were bound behind his back with metal bracings, though his feet were still free.

"So the great Zaeed Massani finally awakens?"

The guttural tone of voice as well as lower pitched voice immediately indicated to Zaeed that whomever had spoken was either wearing a helmet, or wasn't human.

Glancing up from his position on the floor, Zaeed let out a snarl of rage as he saw a batarian looking at him with all four eyes, a smug expression on his face, dressed in Blue Suns armor.

His lips curling into a sneer and baring his teeth at the stink of flith wearing what was once a proud symbol, Massani growled out, "Why the hell are you wearin' my fuckin' men's armor you good for nothin' slaver!"

The batarian snarled back, his sharpened teeth more than enough to scare any other man, but Zaeed remained unfazed. He faced down bloody insurgents and a whole platoon of krogan mercenaries all by his lonesome, and he wasn't about to be intimidated by a wet behind the ears ugly ass wannabe merc who thought he was tough shit because he was wearin' some stolen armor!

"Watch your tongue human, or I might just cut it out!"

Gathering a wad of saliva, he spat it at the batarian's face, grinning as it landed in one of its eyes, causing him to scream out in surprise and pain.

"Try it an' I can guarantee it'll be the last thing you ever do."

Wiping his face, and glaring at with his three remaining undamaged eyes, the batarian got up and stalked towards him, pulling from a sheath strapped to his waist a krogan battle knife.

And not just any battle knife, it was his own bloody knife he had nicked off from the dead warlord back on Tuchanka a few months previously.

Seeing red, Zaeed waiting for the batarian to get close enough before moving his sluggish body in a complete arc, slamming his boots into the alien's shin, the force of the blow causing him to stumble forward, caught completely off guard by Zaeed's attack.

Moving quickly, Zaeed jumped to his feet, the room spinning from the effects of the now diluated drugs, before slamming his weight into the batarian's back.

Watching the alien fall to the floor in a heap, Zaeed quickly went ground level once more, placing both his legs around the batarian's outstretched arm that held his knife, his feet wrapped securely around the batarian's head. Giving him one last biting smile at the batarian, Zaeed gave a sharp twist, snapping the creature's neck.

"That's for trying to kill me with my own knife you four eyed bastard."

"And this is for killing my friend you retched human."

Eyes widening, Zaeed looked up from his position on the floor in time to see a second batarian, again wearing Blue Sun's armor shove his armored boot towards his face.

With a loud crack, Zaeed went down once more, unconscious.


Struggling to open his eyes once more, though this time due to the very painful throbbing of his skull, Zaeed Massani instead of feeling the cold tiled floor of the cargo room he had awoken earlier in, was being held up by his arms and dragged somewhere.

Opening his eyes blearily, he looked to either side of him and found to his relief, his own men escorting him. About to tell them that he was awake and to release him, his mouth went dry as he noticed right beside them equally heavily armed batarians walking in a line with them.

A smart man, Zaeed knew what his brain was telling him about the situation, but he refused to believe it. His own men…were betraying him?

Glancing at them each once more, and realizing that they knew he was awake as their grips on his arms tightened, and their free hands reached for their pistols, only made the reality he was facing all the more accurate to what his gut instincts were telling him.

They stopped abruptly, and Zaeed gave a hiss as the lights at the very front of the room turned on, shining directly in his face, revealing a desk of some sort placed directly in front of a glass window, showing the mix of colors and lights signifying FTL. Seated at the desk was a figure, unrecognizable but clearly male, who slowly stood to his feet, walking around his desk and heading right towards him.

Struggling in the grip of his own men (soddin' traitors!), Zaeed turned his gaze up to the approaching figure, the light of the room shining brightly in his still adjusting vision, causing the figure to be distorted.

"Hello Massani."

He recognized that smug tone anywhere.

Gritting his teeth and watching as his vision slowly cleared up, revealing the sneering face of his former friend and partner, Zaeed didn't need to ask why his own men attacked him and were now holding him down on his knees.

The rotten bastard was betraying him, and Zaeed didn't deal with betrayal very well. A former army man, the one thing Zaeed took away from his time in the service was that you never betray a comrade. Ever. And he had told Vido as much, an unspoken warning to never double cross him.

Apparently he didn't take his warning seriously.

His mistake.

"Vido…! You sodden' miserable little rat! Is this wha' its come 'own to then? Payin' my own men to, capture me, an' for wha'? A disagreement over a bunch of lousy stinkin' slavers?"

Vido in response merely shook his head, giving out a little chuckle as he did so.

"Trust me Massani, this has nothing to do with our little, 'disagreement' as you so eloquently put it. In fact…"

Closing the distance separating the two, Vido gave a solid punch to Zaeed's cheek, his armored hand splitting his cheek open while also giving him a nasty bruise. He struck any harder, and he could have cracked his cheekbone.

"This has been a long time coming, old friend."

Spitting out a bit of blood from biting his tongue to keep the cry of pain that would have been released from the cheap shot Vido took, Zaeed gave his former partner a glare that even from his superior position, gave Santiago chills up and down his spine.

"That one was free princess…try it again, I dare yea'…"

Not feeling entirely confident in the men holding down Massani, Vido opted out of taking another shot at him, but instead started to pace in front of him, getting his thoughts together. For so long he had dreamed of this moment, where he had Zaeed fucking Massani on his hands and knees, completely at his mercy. Fantasies of torturing the miserable old bastard, of telling him exactly what he thought of him, it was all to tantalizing and

"You know Massani…I've dreamt of this moment more times than you can possibly imagine. Every night for so long, I've thought about killing you in the most painful of ways. Of putting you down like the mad dog you are…"

Pulling out his pistol from his hip, Vido leveled the barrel at Zaeed's head, looking triumphantly into his eyes, hoping to see a trundle of fear like he so often did in the many scenarios that circulated his mind about this very moment. Instead, he saw nothing but rage, a burning, unquenchable fire burning in Zaeed's eyes. For a moment, a small single moment, Vido thought about changing his mind. About letting Massani go and grovel for his life, begging for the old mercenary's forgiveness for his foolish actions.

The grip on his gun slackened, the barrel moving lower from his intended target…

And then Vido regained his former dominance, and rationalized that Massani couldn't come after him if he was dead, and pulled the trigger.

Blood sprayed from the wound, covering the barrel of his pistol and his hand, and Vido looked on with satisfaction as Massani slumped to the ground, unmoving.

Holstering his pistol and making a point to remember to put the thing on display later as a trophy, he gestured for his men to clear the area and move out.

Glancing one last time at his former partner and friend, Vido allowed a cruel smirk to grace his features before turning on his heel and moving forward. At long last, the Blue Suns were under his control. He had finally gotten what he deserved, and nothing was going to stand in his way.

Later on while aboard a transport ship back to Citadel space, Vido would recall that he never checked to make sure Zaeed was dead before dumping his body on some backwater planet, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. He had shot the man pointblank in the head after all, and no one could survive that.

Staring out into the vastness of space, Vido frowned slightly as a nagging doubt ate away at him, causing him to lose his sense of accomplishment and instead replace it with a sense of foreboding.

Then again, it was Zaeed Massani after all…


Location: Local Cluster, Arcturus Station


Stepping off the transport with his bag strap over his shoulder, Harry took a deep calming breath before taking a look at his surroundings.

Arcturus Station was just as magnificent as the images on the extranet showed.

It had been nearly three months since his arrival into the distant future, and during the first initial week, he had no hope for a way back to his own time, nor any prospects for the future. He had been looking undoubtedly at a life spent in the backalleys of the Citadel, doing whatever he could to survive, while fleetingly hoping to hear from a possible witch or wizard a familiar location or term that would be his way back to the magical world.

Even though he had promised to leave that world behind, circumstances had changed such self-proclaimed commitments.

And then Miranda Lawson, her newly established surname and alias, had come to his rescue, of sorts. Understanding his plight to a limited degree, as she still did not know of his magical abilities, nor his leap through time, both things he would undoubtedly take with him to the grave, she had told him of her deal with a pro-human organization known only as Cerberus. Taking his previous encounter with Fluffy, in addition to what he knew of the magical beast, had found the name to be a rather fitting, considering from what Miranda had briefly explained of the organization in being the "watch dog" of humanity. However, he was a bit uncomfortable with the views they had, which was for the betterment and advancement of humanity, at any cost.

It reminded him too much of the Pureblood agenda, which had been the advancement of all those with pureblood lineage, no matter the cost.

Even if it meant genocide.

He shivered slightly as he recalled the muggleborn camps that Voldemort had been creating after Dumbledore's fall and the Minister of Magic's assassination. It reminded him of the work camps from the holocaust, and as twisted as the Dark Lord had undoubtedly been, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if he gained a little inspiration from the horrors that took place during those times.

Shaking himself from such dark thoughts, Harry recalled Miranda making arrangements for him with the leader of 'Cerberus', only known with the title the Illusive Man. He had granted the necessary resources to construct a background for Harry, in which he and Miranda both put together two days after the meeting took place. He had been able to keep his name and date of birth, though he had to change the year accordingly to match his age, and from there he, though it was mostly Miranda, had come up with fake parents, medical history, education, and other particular details.

As it stood now, he was Harry James Potter, born to one Harold Orion Potter and Elizabeth Lily Potter née James. He had born on one of the outlaying colonies on the verge of the Terminus Systems. Born from a poor family background and his parent's adverse to modern technology explained his medical history omitting the use of genetic therapy and immunizations, in addition to lack of knowledge with today's modern technology or history. His home had been attacked by slavers early on in his youth, age eleven, and as a result, become a slave. (Miranda had at this point been sending him cautious glances, though he did not understand why). Seven years later he had been freed from captivity by the Alliance, whom he had gotten psychological profile done and determined that after a three month cycle of therapy, was fit for reentry into the world. With no background on him however, formal education, and no living relatives, and indebted into the Alliance, he signed up for the service.

This was why he was currently here, at the very heart of the Alliance Military.

He was about to join.

All the paperwork had been done, courtesy of the Illusive Man, and the three months supposedly spent in therapy had actually been spent with Miranda at an undisclosed space station, where she had spent day and night getting him up to speed with the current happenings of the world and technology.

It had been a pain, also considering the fact that he had essentially have to relearn everything he had forgotten while in primary school, in addition to finishing school which he had never attended. In the end however, he had prevailed, or had impressed enough upon Miranda that she felt confident enough for him to manage well enough on his own.

On a completely separate note, Miranda had joined up with Cerberus, and was now working as one of their agents. Already finished with school, and already having a few PhDs and Master Degrees, she had been immediately put into the field following their three month stint. In addition, Oriana had been given away to a family, one with no ties to either Cerberus or Miranda's father. Admittedly he did not know what Miranda was feeling presently in regards to her sister, (she had seemed more aloof then saddened when she had given her away) though he assumed that she probably believed it was for the best.

Breaking his thoughts away from the dark haired young woman, Harry continued down his path off the ramp and into the hanger of the heart and soul of the Alliance Navy. In front of him and littered about were his fellow recruits, men and women of varying ages and appearance, all dressed in navy blue fatigues, much like him, all with similar, and vastly different reasons for joining the service.

They were all separated into little groups, based off of social quirks or baseline personalities. He witnessed a few of them fiddling with their omni-tools, sharing photos of family and friends, while others were waving their hands in an exaggerate motion, telling stories of a misspent youth. Others had their members speaking quietly amongst themselves, talking about the new embassy that humanity had now gained, while others stood off to the side, speaking about a long service history in their family, and how it was their turn to continue the tradition.

Harry himself stood near the groups, though he didn't join a single one. He had no family or friends to speak of, no stories to share of a misspent youth unless one would like to hear a story about being a slave to batarian slavers (true or not), and he did not have a opinion on humanity's political uprising, nor about familial figures that wore the navy blue uniform he was no sprouting.

Simply put, he didn't fit it, and it was probably the only consistent from his time at Hogwarts that had stuck with him currently that he was fairly comfortable with.

"At ten, hut!"

Reacting quickly to the loud voice booming over them, the various groups of recruits quickly fell apart, forming a single file line, some with a straight posture and others with a laidback or slouched one. Falling in line with the other recruits, Harry glanced at the man who had spoken, straightening his own posture as he marched closer to his position.

Dressed in his Alliance dress blues, with a variety of service medals pinned to his coat chest, the man looked haggard in appearance, his skin having taken a leather-like quality. Wrinkles adorned his face making him seemed older, if not in similar appearance to that of Alastor Moody. If not for his broad and fit body, Harry could have easily mistaken him for a frail old man.

Walking down the line of recruits, and not even glancing at one of them for longer than a second, he stopped at the end of line before turning about-faced, before walking down the line once more, though this time taking the time to address them as a whole.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the ground you walk on is Arcturus Station, the very heart of the System Alliance. This place is more than a space station. It is a symbol of how far humanity has come, and how far we have yet to go. For the next six months, this place is going to be your home as you learn from the best the Alliance has to offer."

Glaring down at all of them, Harry swallowed a lump forming in his throat as the man's eyes settled on his own before he addressed the group once more.

"The Alliance only takes the best into their ranks. You need to not only be strong in body, but in mind as well. Questionable decisions and orders may be made in the heat of battle, decisions and orders you are going to have to abide by whether you like it or not. This isn't the place for the hopelessly optimistic, nor for glory hounds looking to make a name for themselves. We are not a mercenary band, where that lone wolf crap is the norm instead of the exception. I am going to make myself perfectly clear on this point. If any one soldier here believes he is worth more than his fellow recruit, you're dead wrong. I don't give a damn if you have better reflexes, better hand eye coordination, or better mental capabilities then the people standing right next to you. Because outside these walls and in the deep recesses of space, that isn't going to mean shit because just like the people your supposedly better then, all its going to take is one shot to pluck yours lights out. The Alliance acts and functions as a cohesive unit, not a set of individuals doing whatever they damn well please. If that's your mentality, you can get the fuck out of my sight right now. Clear?"

Most of the recruits gave sourly or hesitant nods in response, those of family with service history's, merely gave salutes in acknowledgement with "Yes, Sir!" escaping their lips.

Not at all pleased with the majority of responses, the man barked out loudly, "IS THAT CLEAR?"

With all hands rising, some more quickly than others, all the recruits quickly snapped out, "Sir, yes sir!"

"Good!"

Giving a salute himself and glaring at nothing in particular, the man didn't even glance at them as quite a few recruits who had released their salute after their response hastily snapped a similar stance, hoping to make a good impression.

"Welcome to hell ladies and gentlemen. Dismissed."

Releasing his stance and lowering his arm, Harry watched as the man walked out of the hanger in a single line formation, his fellow recruits hastily grabbing their luggage before heading towards the hanger exit and into the station itself, with only one thought on his mind.

'Just what the bloody hell have I gotten myself into this time?'


Author Note

End of the latest chapter, and things are starting to pick up a bit. Next chapter will be up in a few weeks, though I'm hoping for a job by then, and after which I've posted new chapters for my other neglected works, so also stay tuned for that. Other than that, leave a review and give me some feedback. Constructive criticism is welcomed as always, so type me a thought or two. Also, I don't really know military speak aside from a few phrases and whats available on the Mass Effect Wiki site, so if anybody wants to correct me on a few terms or send me corrections, feel free.

Until next time, and have a Happy New Years!

TheCursedAndTorn, signing off.

;P