Disclaimer: None of the supposed science below is made by someone who knows precisely what they are talking about. Do not use this for a test. Also, don't own it.

This chapter was written on paper over the course of three weeks, and was then transcribed on my computer, hence the delay. However, it is quite lengthy to make up for that. In other news, I'm back, regular updates should be resuming, and the Dumbledore/letter conversation has changed to be an decent scene, and not crappy, awkward, and incredibly vague foreshadowing.

(I assume all of you are aware of the transitions, yet here is the example. Why? Who knows?)

Catalyst

To his mild surprise, Abathur was actually quite enjoying his time at Hogwarts so far. The classes were very interesting, hinting at the potential for fascinating uses of psionics, many of which no member of the swarm had witnessed or even considered, even if most of it was restricted to older students. Still, the implications and promises were fascinating. Even the classes that didn't deal directly with the uses of psionics, such as herbology were highly intriguing, showing how psionics and biology mixed together to create very, very interesting life forms. Even if none of their essences were useful, their structures and uses were very, very intriguing, even if the really interesting stuff was yet again only for the older students. Moreover the electives, although only mentioned in passing, were yet again unique and very much something Abathur wanted to learn more about. However, they were only available for older years. It seemed to be a common theme here. Still, what was learned was excellent, what had yet to be learned was tantalizing, and Abathur hadn't even had all the classes yet.

At the moment he was heading towards a class titled "Potions". Of the classes available, it didn't seem particularly interesting, more closely resembling chemistry than psionics. The ingredients and results may be somewhat interesting, but certainly not the techniques or knowledge. Regardless, Abathur continued forward, eventually coming to a dimly lit, humid room within the dungeons, reasonably close to his own quarters. He took out his collection of tools and materials, observing the number of fireplaces close to the desks. After some quick deliberation, he sat next to a round faced boy, nervously looking around the room. He looked up, startled by Abathur's sudden presence.

"Err... hi. I'm Nev-"

"Conversation, superfluous. Disinterest total. Cease attempts," Abathur cut in. He was here to learn about psionics, not random terrans. The terran immediately sank back into his seat. Abathur continued to wait for the start of the class, staring straight ahead. It did not take long. Barely a minute after Abathur had sat down, a long, dark haired terran in a billowing cloak strode into the classroom, and made his way to the front of the class, where he began a speech Abathur almost paid attention to. Something about the powerful flowing blood of dunderheads? Past that point, the human decided to bombard a different student with questions. Abathur largely ignored the both the speech and the exchange in favor of combing through the list of ingredients in his book, and making minor muscular improvements.

He was quickly interrupted by the potions master. "Now, if we are done with showing how much Mr. Potter needs to study, we shall begin the cure for boils. Ingredients and instructions are in your book," He paused to tap the blackboard, "And on here. You may begin."

Abathur looked up at the ingredient list on the blackboard, checking it against the one in the book. There seemed to be no discrepancies, which gave him a sense of confusion. Surely this couldn't be the actual list? Incredulity filled his face as he walked over to the potions cupboard, looking through the ingredients contained within, closely. A quick taste test confirmed his suspicions. Ignoring the contents, he walked over to the potions master, who looked up to see his yellow eyes.

"Is there a problem, Mr...?"

"Abathur. Ingredients, imprecise. Inadvisable to use. Request more precise list."

"And what exactly is so imprecise about," Snape looked up at the board. "Horned slugs? They are right there on the board, and labelled clearly in the supply closet."

Abathur could hardly believe the terran. Did he truly not see the problem? Perhaps he thought Abathur was discussing something else. He began to clarify. "Listed ingredients, complex. Contains numerous substances, many useless for potion. Dilutes result, adds unneeded elements, reduces efficiency of product. Request list of useful derivatives," Abathur said, looking expectantly at Snape.

"Mr. Abathur, what 'useless substances are contained within, for example," Snape looked at the board again. "Ginger root?"

"Uncertain. Many possibilities. Do not know desired reaction. Is reason for request, determine reactions, can induce. Can do without, longer, more difficult." It would not have been an issue, were it not for the terran body he occupied. It simply wasn't capable of running the reaction experiments on a large enough scale as was required, even with the years of modifications. Thus the necessity of asking. Now to wait for the terran to fetch the list.

"If you have nothing better to do than waste my time with nonsense, you may return to your partner and continue your work," Snape said, glaring.

Abathur just stared at him. Did he honestly not grasp what he was saying? Did he truly not understand the finer points of his own area of expertise? Did he honestly expect Abathur to just dump in the ingredients, useless and disruptive elements included? He looked around the classroom. To his immense surprise, his classmates were doing just that. Each and every student was putting the already stated ingredients into the cauldron, barely treating them, then just dumping them in the cauldrons. Abathur simply couldn't understand. They were either ignorant or intentionally crippling their own works.

Abathur returned to his seat, where his partner had already began the potion without him. His head spinning, he simply watched in silence as the human ground up the snake fangs, before adding most of them straight in and heating the mixture. Abathur merely observed. It was simply beyond comprehension. The terrans were doing the equivalent of cutting their own toes off, and nobody seemed to notice or care except him. Abathur just didn't understand it. Then he realized he didn't need to.

All that he needed to do was correct it.

In a sudden rush of movement, Abathur pushed his partner aside, then dumped the boiling mixture done the nearest drain, and ran to get replacement ingredients. Ignoring his partners protests, he then returned to the table and pushed his partner aside, taking all the tools and materials for himself. First the snake fangs were held up and inspected at eye level. Seemingly random bits of material were shaved off and discarded, before the fang was ground up and added to the pot. As the fangs boiled, Abathur inspected the horned slugs. He proceeded to remove the edges of the foot,. Then came the porcupine quills. Then the Punguous onions. Then the dried nettles. Each and every ingredient was examined, dissected and summarily added, parts that were inert, parts that would simply break apart, and parts that would damage other components all removed. In the end, every ingredient was reduced to the bare essentials. All useless fluff was cut away..

Finally, after each ingredient was prepared, Abathur put it into the cauldron in front of him, roughly following the guidelines on the board and in the book. At several points, Abathur had to stop his partner from "helping". If nothing else, the child seemed to have a talent for creating explosions, intentionally or not. However the timing was very inappropriate. Despite the intrusions, Abathur soon had a deep red potion sitting in front of him. He grabbed a bottle, filled it with the potion, then took his completed project up to the front. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Abathur, your potion isn't supposed to be nearly this dark. Would you perhaps like to go back and try again?"

Abathur remained still. "Color irrelevant. Possibly because of loss of contaminants. Potency increased. Adequate for intended purpose."

Snape sighed internally. Even if the boy was one of his snakes, he was stretching Snape's already thin patience. Well, the least he could do was humor the boy. "I'm sure you don't mind if I test that then?" Snape put a hint of a patronizing tone into his question. It wouldn't do to get soft after all.

"Acceptable outcome," Abathur replied. He was curious. How would a terran test the potency of a potion without Abathur's own tools and insights. Would he taste it? Did he have a test subject ready? Was there a reactant that would demonstrate it? As Abathur watched, he was rewarded with the sight of Snape waving his wand over the bottle, causing several neon numbers and letters to float in the air in front of the wand. Snape glanced over the numbers, then, blinking, looked through them more closely. While the display was just nonsense to Abathur, he did recognize mild surprise on the potion master's face.

Snape turned to Abathur. "Surprisingly, your work is quite exceptional. Full marks Mr. Abathur. You may return to your seat." He glanced at the display once more, then dispelled it. Abathur continued to look at Snape for a second more, then turned around and began to make his way back. He allowed a grimace to form across his face. That solution had been far from ideal. All Abathur had done was remove the obviously useless parts, a simple task with minor results. He still had left numerous poor substances within it, for fear of crippling the reaction. And the terran had judged it "exceptional"? All that demonstrated was a lack of standards and knowledge on the human's part, rather than great skill on Abathur's. It was naught but disappointing.

After the class had ended, two masters of their respective crafts moved apart from each other. One, a master of ingredients, mixing and matching, studying chemical power, was pleasantly surprised by the other master's skill in said craft. The second master, a master of bone and flesh, of strands and sequences, walked away disappointed in humanity and the first master. The difference was, the second master could fix both.

(Transition)

Abathur had taken to the habit of wandering through the abandoned castle corridors during the night. It was a surprisingly productive way to spend the evenings, as well as serving a few other purposes. For one, it got him away from the distractions of the terrans sharing his living space. He quickly tired of their snoring, discussions, and, most of all, their attempts at dominance games. They thought to create dominance with words. Words! Not even a hint of psionic connection. It was as if the terran society was entirely based on transient phrases, which Abathur knew to be absurd. After all, what kind of society of sentients could function without a stable mental connection? No, more likely the terrans were simply too immature for it. But to think they could succeed with it was simply insulting. Abathur couldn't even retaliate, for fear of discovery.

It was also a good way to find things otherwise unknown. Rooms completely abandoned, random books and other knowledge reserves unavailable elsewhere. Abathur had found books ranging from Animagi and you, to A Wizard's guide to the Bedroom Arts, although, oddly, both those titles were sticky and had a number of stains for some reason. There was even the occasional psionic pest Abathur could take the essence of. Although some of the latter were more tricky than others. He had had to spend an hour isolating and counteracting the Doxy toxin when it had been introduced to his system. Regardless, the knowledge and essence were well worth the pains, and promised more and better things in the future.

When his expeditions were coming up empty, they also provided a conveniently distraction free time to work on his own form. Even after years of work, the terran form had so many inadequacies that need correcting, and there was always something else to improve or fix, or bits of new essence to integrate or store. Speaking of that, Abathur increased his eyes sensitivity to light. He had to be absolutely sure of what he was seeing.

Abathur had thought it one of humanity's greatest successes. It had been a monument to terran ingenuity and creativity in spite of their biological flaws. He had believed it almost zerg-like in its efficiency. Yet what he saw before him completely erased that. It told him that terrans preferred to avoid problems rather than solve them. It told him their attention and knowledge extended only to the end of their sensory organs. Most of all, it told him of the terrans simple and sheer inefficiency and waste.

Before Abathur stood pits and piles of absolutely huge amounts of human waste.

This, was completely irredeemable. Potions, at least, still worked, were still functional. But every aspect of what Abathur saw was infuriating. The stockpile was constantly being fed by various tubes, which presumably was the endpoint of terran plumbing. There was a great amount of mass here, but not nearly enough to account for all of humanity, meaning there must be similar piles scattered all over the planet. All of this, combined with the fact that he had thought it praiseworthy... it awoke sheer fury that Abathur had not felt since Zerus.

But... there were still possibilities here. This much biomass could be used for, well, essentially anything. It would take time, years even, and transportation would be an issue, but if the terrans kept adding to it, and Abathur kept converting it, then it would be his biggest asset to date. After all, he could always speed it up later.

Abathur raised his left hand, held it in the air momentarily, then flicked it out at his biomass. Barely visible, a series of spores lost their grip and floated down, resting on the waste. The first growths would begin soon, and spread exponentially. After a critical mass, roots would spread through the entire area, refining the biomass, and using it to spread his own growth. Bacteria would burrow into it, preparing it for conversion before the spores reached that critical mass. Abathur had no essence that was properly suited for this task, making most of the organisms used improvisational at best, and downright makeshift at worse. However the task would still get done. And Abathur would have enough resources to do whatever was necessary.

Abathur stood still for a few minutes, watching as the preliminary growths took root and grew, preparing to spread and reproduce perpetually. Then, he turned around and walked out, the smell and sight of the feces fading behind him. As Abathur turned the corner, he couldn't help but feel grim satisfaction. The terrans greatest folly would be the swarms greatest asset. No one could accuse Abathur of being poetic at the best of times, but even he had to admit to the irony of the situation. What the terrans ignored would bite them in the ass, possibly literally.

Abathur rounded another corner as he made his way back to the Slytherin dormitories. He had been out long enough, and being caught would make further excursions that much more difficult. A quick retreat would cover his bases, and leave him free to explore the castle the following nights. At least, that was the plan. It was abruptly halted when the headmaster of Hogwarts appeared suddenly in front of him as Abathur rounded yet another corner. Dumbledore blinked.

"Well well, Mr. Jar-,"

"Abathur." Abathur was quickly getting tired of doing this.

"Mr. Abathur. This is a pleasant surprise. What are you doing out so late?" Dumbledore asked.

"Was just leaving." Abathur made to get around Dumbledore, but soon found that the elder terran was everywhere he tried to go.

"Now, don't be in such a rush. I'm sure Professor Snape wouldn't mind if you got back a bit late while talking to the headmaster." The implications being, he would mind otherwise, and there would be consequences, which could hamper his future efforts.

"Conversation, acceptable. What topic?" Abathur asked, relenting.

"Well, how was Hogwarts been for you so far Mr. Abathur? I recall hearing that back at the orphanage, you weren't in the happiest situation," Dumbledore said, and begin to walk along the corridor, Abathur following.

"Hogwarts, good. Knowledge increasing at acceptable rate. Unsure of reference to orphanage. Situation there, acceptable," Abathur replied, confused at the places mentioned. It certainly hadn't been an ideal habitat, but it was still surrounding by a fairly diverse ecosystem, with plenty of essence, and the caretakers were decidedly non-interventionist.

"What I mean, is that you had no friends there. Surely it was lonely, not having anyone to talk to?" Dumbledore said. "Perhaps you have made some friends here?"

If anything, Abathur was even more confused. "Why? Friends do not serve definite purpose. Unnecessary, take time, are superfluous."

Dumbledore looked down at Abathur, a disappointed look shown on his face. "Mr. Abathur, friends are people you can rely on in a crisis, who support each other, who share experiences, good and bad. They are certainly not "superfluous" and are far from a waste of time."

Abathur said nothing. Clearly, there were aspects of terran society he had far underestimated. Among these were the focus on companionship, evident just from how vehemently the headmaster spoke of it. This would have to be corrected. But how? He had to rely on others for it, and more humans around him would increase the risk of discovery. But then again, so would staying alone, standing out. Not to mention the difficulties of finding terrans that didn't already dislike him. It was a conundrum that would need solving.

While thinking about this, apparently both Abathur and Dumbledore had arrived at the Slytherin dorm entrances. Abathur made to head in, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Mr. Abathur, the purpose of Hogwarts is not just to learn, but to meet people, and grow from it. I feel many people neglect these parts, thinking they have time for them when they grow up. I hope you will not be one of those people."

"Do not worry. Will grow,will change," Abathur said. Dumbledore released him, and walked off with a nod towards Abathur. Abathur walked through the doorway after stating the password. Only when Dumbledore was out of earshot did he add, "Will change to swarm."

Drones: Drones are the basic workers of the swarm, charged with harvesting and transporting resources to hatcheries, where they are processed for the swarms use. Drones resemble clawed bats, hovering over the ground on a large membrane, stretched out around the main body. The membrane also serves as a protective covering during the drones secondary function. When given resources, the membrane of a drone swells over a surface of creep, and fills with fluid. The drone, contained within this bubble, grows to become any desired structure of the swarm, from hatcheries to spine crawlers. The drone in this process is irreversibly changed, meaning it can no longer harvest, and a replacement must be created. This process can be aborted at any time before completion, refunding most of the materials, and allowing the drone to continue harvesting. While drones are not designed for combat, they can still attack lighter enemies in a pinch. No pun intended.