Disclaimer: On second thought, I may end up using actual science sometime or another. We'll see. In other news, I will be going away for a few weeks, so don't expect updates or responses to PMs or reviews after Saturday in that time period. After that, regular, if possibly slightly slower, updates will resume, and I will respond to and answer questions and reviews. Also, I don't own these franchises.

(Transitiooooonnnnn, transition!)

Catalyst

Abathur looked around the train station. Aside from the obvious displays of power, it seemed almost disappointingly terran, grey and crowded. Ignoring the loud groups of people and tearful farewells, he walked straight towards the train, entering it. He found an empty seat, took out a book, and began studying, ignoring others surrounding and passing him. It was quite an interesting book, one discussing many of the creatures that appeared to possess psionics. Abathur was particularly interested in a creature called a centaur. Such an obvious hybrid between two different species created by means unknown would likely be quite intriguing, should he ever encounter it.

Unfortunately, he didn't have enough time to go through enough of his literature. The train ride ended far before he finished the textbook, leaving Abathur to pack up his books and exit the cabin, heading out into a deluge of rain. Most of the students were getting into carriages, pulled by odd, skeletal, winged quadrupeds. Oddly enough, most of the terrans didn't acknowledge the likely equine relatives, something that Abathur resolved to examine later. He began to approach the carriages, only to be interrupted by a loud call.

"First years! First years over here!" It was the hybrid again. Apparently, first years of the school were removed from the main group, to be escorted by him. Abathur walked over, taking note of the other students heading in the same direction. None appeared particularly impressive, but Abathur had learned his lesson on underestimation after the headmaster. Abathur kept a careful eye on all of them as they scrambled into the boats. He continued keeping an eye on them as they rowed across the large lake, only occasionally glancing away to examine the creatures below him, in the water. Abathur could have sworn that an immensely large creature was below him, but dismissed the thought immediately. That was ridiculous, it wouldn't have nearly enough food to eat, and would starve to death within a week.

The remainder of the boat ride was uneventful. The rain was not conducive to conversation, even if Abathur had been interested in interacting with the other occupants of the watercraft. After a few minutes of rowing, the group of boats arrived at a shore, and the passengers promptly disembarked. One by one, they filed into the gates in front of them, briefly stopped for a speech by one of the teachers, then went into a room to wait. It was there that Abathur suffered his first truly big shock of the magical world.

Ghosts. Sentient, immaterial, collections of thoughts. How they sustained themselves, how they came to be, what they did, Abathur didn't know, and wasn't sure he wanted to. It both thrilled and terrified him to see them. On the one hand, their mere existence promised a wealth of knowledge, and spoke to the things he had yet to uncover. On the other hand, it spoke of his things he had yet to discover, and that not all of them would react as predicted. It was troubling, to say the least.

Fortunately, the ghosts did not stay for long. Before any significant amount of time had passed, the ghosts had left, and the students were filing off into a larger room, where the remainder of the older terrans were seated. Most were talking to their peers, or merely looking into their lap, but all looked up at the procession of first years moving to the front of the room, nearby to an old, pointed hat on a stool. Abathur was just wondering when anything would happen. It was only when the hat started to sing, that Abathur became nervous, not because of the stares of the students and staff, or the constant fidgeting of those around him, but because of the hat.

More specifically, the fact that it was insinuating that it was going to read his mind. That was not an option. If the hat peered into his mind, saw him as he was, and exposed him, they would all try to kill him. Everyone around him. The students, the teachers, it was entirely possible that the ghosts would as well, he didn't know their capabilities. If Abathur put the tattered thing on his head, he would be completely at its mercy. The only other option was escape, but that was even worse. If he attempted to flee, or fight his way through the crowd, he would be ousted for certain, and the outcome would be the same. Abathur was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Paralyzed with indecision, Abathur stood deathly still, listening as McGonagall worked through the list of students.

"Seamus Finnigan."

Abathur desperately thought through his options. The amount of names standing between him and that hat was growing shorter much faster than he would have preferred it to.

"Hermione Granger."

In the end, there was only one option. Running was a clear way to get killed. Fighting would get Abathur killed.

"Gregory Goyle."

The hat appeared to keep its opinions and observations to itself. Abathur couldn't be sure that this applied to him, but compared to extinction, it was an acceptable risk. Abathur had to put on the hat.

"Thenabar Jaren."

Nervous, Abathur stepped up quickly to the stool and sat on it. Moments later, the hat was placed in his head, and Abathur could feel it starting to dig through his head. It almost felt like he was back in the hive mind, if not for the unmistakeable alien feel of the hat.

"Well, this is interesting," a voice said within Abathur's mind. "I have to say, it is definitely the first time we have had an alien here at Hogwarts. Vampires, werewolves, sure, but never an alien."

Well, so much for any hope of keeping that a secret from the hat. Abathur hoped it had a self-preservation instinct, and flooded his mind with images of the hat saying it out loud, then burning, being ripped apart, immersed in acid, and other similar effective methods of headwear destruction. To his surprise, the hat gave the mental equivalent of a chuckle. "Rest assured Mr. Abathur, your secret is safe with me. What I see in your head is completely confidential. Couldn't tell it even if I wanted to. Now, shall we get onto the actual sorting part?"

Abathur internally confirmed this, some of the faculty and students appeared a bit suspicious at the longer sorting time. The last thing he wanted or needed was additional delays leading to additional suspicions. "Well, Hufflepuff is right out. You're certainly hard working enough, but you quite literally don't know the meaning of the word loyal. Not particularly brave either, Gryffindor wouldn't work." Abathur simply sat there as the hat mused to itself, not making any movements or sounds. "Ravenclaw could work, you're certainly intelligent enough, even without including the several hundred year head start. But knowledge isn't your goal, it's a tool for you. Your goal is... perfection. What's more, you know it's impossible, but you're still doing it. Well, with ambition like that, it'd better be SLYTHERIN!" The last word was announced out loud to the hall as a whole, met with applause by a table decorated with silver and green, which Abathur went to after McGonagall gestured him to.

After Abathur had been seated, and the rest of the terrans sorted, a large quantity of prepared biomass appeared on the table, seemingly out of thin air. Yet another thing to research. While he ate, Abathur inspected the humans sitting around him, noting to his mild surprise that many others were doing the same. A feat of caution that appeared to be beyond most other terrans. It warranted investigation later. But for now, acclimatization was the priority. Learning to fit in, the standard customs and rituals. All of them would be known in time. Whether that would be soon enough, remained to be seen.

(Transition)

After the meal, Abathur and the other first year students were led to a lower level of the large castle, into a humid stone chamber, apparently beneath the lake that Abathur had rowed over earlier. There, they were shown their sleeping quarters. Accompanying this was a short speech, packed with comments about superiority over other houses, some drivel about being snakes, finishing with a short phrase imploring the almost entirely immature terrans to use cunning, something Abathur doubted they were physically capable of at this point. Terrans aged so slowly, they took twenty years to do what the swarm did in twenty seconds. Well, not literally in most cases, but pretty close to that.

Overall, Abathur counted the first night as quite successful. He had infiltrated the human psionics, and was posed to learn of their secrets. He had managed to avoid detection, although he was loath to do it merely by a feature of an animated hat. And as a bonus, his accommodations vaguely reminded him of the Evolution pit, which was unexpected, but far from unwelcome. As Abathur set his few possessions near the bed, and prepared for the night, he couldn't help but think that things were going very, very well.

Overseer: Mutated from the swarm's bureaucrat, the Overlord, the Overseer functions as the main scout and detector for the zerg. Being both more mobile and more capable of seeing the unseen than its previous state, Overseers often accompany the main forces of the zerg, sniffing out unknown threats and opponents, seeing through all disguises. The Overseer is also capable of spawning Changelings, and, while this is not used commonly, contaminating enemy structures, preventing them from functioning for some time. Overseers are essential components of the Zerg Swarm.