Author's note: Many thanks to spoonercat for the SG1 info!

Crumpets Aren't My Style

By Marz

The Cat

O'Neill was still grumbling about cats when he got to the front gate, where Farthing's car was being searched. There were fewer owls that morning, but the two dozen that remained made up for it by being much louder then the day before. The insignificant matter of strange animals was quickly pushed from his mind however, as he saw the BMW and his eyes drifted to the license plate.

"This is hardly necessary," Farthing said very loudly to O'Neill as he approached the car.

"Every vehicle entering the embassy has to be searched," O'Neill said, as an evil but just idea formed.

One of the guards walked over and politely asked Farthing to open the trunk of his car. Farthing grumbled but complied. O'Neill peered into the trunk with them. He wondered what kind of lunatic had the trunk of his car upholstered in leather.

"What's that?" O'Neill asked pointing at a slightly lumpy spot in the leather.

The guard, whose name tag declared him to be Collins, and Farthing looked on with him.

"It's just a little snag in the leather," Farthing answered.

"It looks like there could be something under there," O'Neill said, trying to sound extra suspicious.

"It's nothing!" Farthing declared.

"It looks like something to me," O'Neill said.

Collins pulled a knife from his belt and slit the upholstery open. Farthing gasped as if it were his own skin that had just been sliced. Collins very carefully pried the slit open. There was nothing beneath it. Farthing glared. O'Neill shrugged.

"Does the back seat lift up?" Collins asked, opening the side door of the BMW.

"No it doesn't!" Farthing nearly growled.

O'Neill went around to the other side of the car and opened the door. He tapped on the paneling under the seat.

"It sounds hollow," O'Neill pointed out.

Farthing was glowering silently as they boarded the elevator, but he had given up complaining about the molestation of his precious car when O'Neill mentioned in passing that red lights meant stop, and nearly running over someone in a crosswalk was incredibly impolite, especially when the person nearly flattened catches the plate number. O'Neill assured Farthing that after the appropriate forms were filed and processed, he would be compensated for the damage to his car.

Two guards checked their security passes as they stepped out. The subbasement was lit with fluorescent strip-lights, and the air was re-circulated and pleasantly cool. It reminded O'Neill of the SGC a bit. Agent Farthing looked up at the ceiling as if worried it would collapse. O'Neill tried not to smirk. They came to room 5 and one of the four guards opened the door after giving the General a salute.

Greasy sat at the unadorned card table with a newspaper spread before him. The only other furniture in the room was the bed. Greasy didn't bother to look at them as they came in. He turned to the next page of the paper, and then looked disdainfully at his long pale fingers as the newsprint rubbed off on them. O'Neill gave a little wave to the security camera in the corner. Teal'c was watching them from the security office.

Farthing tried to give the prisoner a scathing look, but was ignored. O'Neill slouched into the chair across the table from him. Greasy still refused to acknowledge his presence. Farthing stalked around the table as if he thought his circling would some how add to his menace. O'Neill wanted to smack him upside the head.

"I am a representative of the government of the United Kingdom, and I am here under the authority of the Prime Minister. I demand you identify yourself, and disclose all you know about the group that accosted General O'Neill and Harry Potter from London on the 14th of July," Farthing said.

Greasy raised a disdainful eyebrow, but did not look up from his paper.

"Are you being compelled not to speak?" Farthing pressed. "Is someone here threatening you?" he continued, glancing at O'Neill.

The General rolled his eyes. Greasy continued to ignore them. Farthing began to pace the small room, spreading the stench of his excessive cologne into every square inch of air space. I shouldn't gag in front of the prisoner, O'Neill thought, it's a sign of weakness. Farthing continued to pace, apparently out of questions. Time to take over I guess.

"Nice threads," O'Neill said to Greasy after several long boring moments.

The prisoner finally looked up at him through a curtain of unwashed hair.

"It's not my color," Greasy said, tugging on the short sleeve of the orange jumpsuit the embassy had so kindly provided him with, after he woke up undressed in a hospital bed. His right hand released the cloth and went to cover the skull and snake tattoo on his left forearm. O'Neill couldn't tell if he was conscious of the action or not. He'd also bet a year's pay that the mark on Greasy's arm would exactly match the one on the kid's chest, once the bandages were removed.

"What are we supposed to call you?" O'Neill asked. He tipped his chair back on two legs and rested his feet on the edge of the table. "You could just make something up you know. Because if you don't we will, and there's nothing flattering in the suggestion box."

Greasy scowled. "You may call me Mr. Smith if a title is necessary."

"Right," said O'Neill, putting his feet back on the floor, as looking so casual was starting to give him lower back pain.

"So," O'Neill continued, "Which ego maniacal evil over lord do you work for? The kid mentioned somebody named Voldemort."

As O'Neill said "Voldemort" the corner of Greasy's eye twitched. A nervous tick definitely meant something was up. If the name made Greasy squirrelly then it was obviously the button to push.

"Is that right, Voldemort?" he asked.

Tick!

"Kind of a strange name, Voldemort," O'Neill drawled on.

Tick!

"Doesn't sound English. Maybe it's German, or Dutch. Does Voldemort,"

Tick!

"Sound Dutch to you?" O'Neill asked Farthing.

Farthing shrugged. He was starting to look as freaked out as Greasy did.

"I wonder how you spell that? Voldemort…do you think it's with an 'a' or an 'e'? Vold-e-mort? Vold-a-mort?"

Greasy's eye was twitching so much O'Neill doubted he could even see out of his right eye.

"Vol-"

"SILENCE FOOL!" Greasy declared so loudly the walls echoed for several seconds afterwards.

"Why shouldn't I say Vol-"

"He must not be named!" Greasy hissed.

O'Neill looked at him more carefully and realized the man had clamped his hand down on top of his tattoo so tightly his left arm was starting to swell up. Greasy glared at him, but O'Neill matched his stare.

"Why shouldn't I say…"

O'Neill couldn't finish his sentence. He couldn't look away from Greasy's black glittering eyes. His mind felt filled with worms. He couldn't blink. The room and the staring prisoner disappeared. He saw the men in robes and skull masks flying overhead on brooms. The image was instantly replaces by the kid, kneeling in the alley, using a stick weapon to shoot a spark at he wall. O'Neill's hands gripped the edge of the table but he couldn't seem to find his voice. The Nox city faded into being above his head. Hathor held a Go'auld towards him. Her unnatural voice echoed in his head.

"The first thing you shall do when you wake is kill your friends."

He stood before the Gate, blue light washing over him.

O'Neill finally managed to make an inarticulate grunt. In the distance he heard Farthing speak.

"Are you alright, General?"

"Grrrrk! No!" he growled through clenched teeth.

He pushed at the edge of the table but could not turn his head away.

Thor was leaning over him, assuring him he was not going to die. Ba'al released the blade and it sailed towards him. The sound as it bored into his chest echoed in his ears. He felt his heart shudder as it struggled to work around the metal. Something struck him.

It took him several seconds to figure out what was reality and what was only in his mind. He was lying on the floor. Teal'c was standing over him asking if he was injured. He looked to the side and saw four guards were kneeling on Greasy, and twisting his arms up behind his back. Farthing was on the far side of the room, being useless.

"Are you injured O'Neill?" Teal'c asked, definitely real that time.

"Feels like my head's in a blender," he grumbled as the larger man helped him to his feet. He immediately began to tip over. Teal'c held him upright by the collar of his shirt.

"You will consult with Doctor Gaster," Teal'c stated.

"I'm fine…" O'Neill started to say, but the Jaffa had already began to pull him along, "But I'll check in with the doc anyway."

"It looks like a bucket, Carter."

"To be honest sir, it's the best we could come up with in-"

"I'm not complaining," O'Neill said, as he readjusted the cold pack on his aching head, "I was just saying that it looked like a bucket."

"Well that's all it is really," Carter said.

She picked up the combination helmet and goggles again and turned it over in her hands. She fiddled with the chinstrap.

"We've never run into a true telepath before. All the alien cultures that have something similar depend on a direct interface with the brain, organic or technological. We searched Smith very thoroughly and found nothing. I suspected it might just be some sort of hallucinogen but again, we couldn't find even a trace. Dr. Gaster doesn't have anywhere near the resources of the SGC but he was able to pick out some irregularities in your alpha waves. The only thing I can really think to do is to try to prevent whatever signal Smith is generating that caused the disruption. This is all assuming the signal would originate in his brain…"

"It's fine Carter. Go put that thing on him," O'Neill said.

She nodded, and turned to leave.

"Make sure you take lots of pictures," he called after her.

Farthing was waiting for him. They started down the hall with Teal'c shadowing. Farthing immediately started to complain.

"I don't see why I am not allowed to speak to the prisoners unsupervised," Farthing said.

O'Neill knew he was frustrated. The kid was only a few rooms down from the room O'Neill was being examined in but Farthing had not been allowed to take those twenty additional steps on his own. O'Neill was about to make a comment about if he didn't see why, he shouldn't be going in at all, but he was prevented from speaking. He bit his tongue. He bit his tongue because he was once again tripping over a cat.

The animal yowled and streaked off down the hall. O'Neill tried to instruct the guards to grab it, but couldn't seem to produce any consonants. Dr. Gaster came out of the kid's room to see what all the noise was. The cat darted in. The guards rushed after it. It took O'Neill longer then it should have to force his way into the now very crowded room.

The kid had wrapped his arms around the cat and was sort of curled up around it, making it impossible for the guards to apprehend the animal. The tabby cat was gazing at them imperiously from beneath the kid's chin. It looked very offended.

"Wass gowin on hew?" O'Neill asked loudly.

The guards looked at him, more then a little concerned.

"I bid my tugn," he explained, glaring at the cat. "Wade out side," he told them.

"Give me the cat!" Dr. Gaster commanded.

"She's mine!" declared the kid stubbornly.

"Just because the cat jumped in your lap doesn't mean it's yours!" Farthing said, as if the kid were slow and slightly deaf.

"I know that," the kid drawled, sounding every bit a teenager getting ready to rage against something. "She's mine from before. I recognized her. See? Look at her eyes, see the weird pattern. This is my cat. She ran away from my aunt's house last year when I was at school. Well actually my aunt said she was hit by a car, but here she is so I guess that wasn't true."

"You really expect us to believe that?" Dr. Gaster said.

"Believe it or not. It's true. I wonder how she got in here?" the kid said.

"So do I," O'Neill said, enunciating carefully. "I've been twipping over it all day."

"Miracle or not you can't keep that animal in here. It's not sanitary," Dr. Gaster said.

An idea struck O'Neill upside his already aching head.

"How about dis?" O'Neill said. "We'll have the cat checked out by a vet. You can have it back when we're sure it's safe."

Dr. Gaster looked ready to object again, but O'Neill silenced him with a look.

"So you're only going to take her the vet, then bring her right back?" the kid asked.

O'Neill nodded.

"And the vet will just…er…"

"What is it?" Farthing demanded.

Harry put his hands over the cat's ears.

"It's just…well…er…" the kid didn't seem to know how to start.

"Is there something the vet needs to know about your cat?" O'Neill prompted.

The kid nodded. "It's only a check up right? You aren't going to try to do any…any unnecessary surgery…because…er…"

He tightened his hands over the cat's ears.

"You're not going to try to…er…prevent future kittens are you?" he whispered.

The cat let out an offended yowl, and looked around with great concern. Either the kid's attempt to shield the cat from such an awful possibility had failed, or the cat didn't like having its head crushed. O'Neill thought the latter was more likely.

"The vet won't do anything but a quick exam for parasites and vaccines, alright?" O'Neill said.

"She doesn't like shots," the kid said.

"Neither do I, but the doc's not going to let the cat stay in here unless he's sure it's safe."

The cat looked up at the kid and mewed softly.

"How long will it take?" the kid asked.

"A couple of hours at most. We have to call in a vet."

"And you swear you'll bring her right back?"

O'Neill nodded.

"I should go with her," the kid said and made as if to stand.

"You should stay in bed. We'll bring her right back after she's checked."

"She'll…she'll be scared if she's with strangers."

O'Neill sighed. He never understood cat people. He leaned down to take the cat from the boy.

"She won't be with strangers. I'll--"

The cat hissed and swiped at him with its claws.

"—Murray, will escort her to the vet. He has a way with cats."

Teal'c's eyebrow disappeared up under the baseball cap he wore. O'Neill shrugged, and waved him toward the hissing, spitting animal. Teal'c stepped to the side of the bed. The cat hissed again. Undaunted Teal'c's arm darted out and a moment later the cat was cradled against him massive chest. He smoothed down the cat's aggravated fur, and after a few seconds of soothing the animal let out a deep contented purr. The kid's mouth dropped open slightly, and then he let out a very startled laugh. The cat stiffened suddenly and tried to wiggle out of Teal'c's grasp, but the Jaffa rubbed it behind the ears and it slumped boneless in his arms, purring again.

All cat people are nuts, O'Neill thought watching the kid. "Anyway, Murray will take the cat to the vet and have her back in a few hours. Alright?"

The kid nodded, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

O'Neill and Farthing spent another half hour with the kid after Teal'c and the cat departed, trying to get him to talk a bit about where he was from, but the kid either changed the subject, or talked about the public school he used to attend with his cousin. Strangely enough Farthing seemed not at all bothered by the kid's evasions. Farthing left the embassy as quickly as security would allow after the interview concluded.

O'Neill decided to catch up on paper work, but ended up taking a nap at his desk. Whatever Greasy had done to his brain that afternoon had left him feeling exhausted. He'd been asleep for no more than an hour when the phone rang.

"What?" he groaned.

"Sir, you'd better come see this," Carter's voice buzzed in his ear.

"Is it more owls?"

"No sir, it's the cat."

"The cat?"

"The boy's talking to it…"

"And?"

"It seems to be answering."

By the time he got to the security office the events of interest had concluded, but Carter had recorded them. She called up the images on the computer monitor, selected the room and time frame, and hit play.

The image was slightly grainy, but the sound was crystal clear. Teal'c entered the room. The kid said hello to him, and thanked him politely for escorting the cat to the vet. Teal'c set the cat on the end of the bed, gave the kid a little bow, and left.

"That wasn't so bad, was it Professor?" Harry asked.

The cat huffed and let out a quiet yowl. The kid turned his face away and blushed furiously.

"S-s-sorry Professor. I didn't think about that. They had to check if you had a fever I suppose."

"Mew. Meow-row!"

"Hang on for one second." Harry said.

Very slowly and stiffly he crawled out of the hospital bed. His leg was still dragging from where he'd been shot with an energy weapon and his breath came out in short pained gasps. He pulled his I.V. along on its rack, taking tiny steps. He disappeared from view for a moment then reappeared directly in front of the screen, apparently standing on a chair. There was a popping sound as he pulled the plug on the security camera. What the kid didn't know was that the camera had a back up battery. He climbed off the chair and got back into bed, tugging the I.V. with him.

"Meeeeer row?" the cat asked.

"They could be watching with the camera. They'll probably come down in a few minutes to plug it back in so we have to talk fast. Did you see Snape yet? I think he's in this building somewhere."

"Meow mew mew."

"Really? Over his entire head?"

"Mew!"

"Alright! Sorry. When can you get me out of here?"

"Mrow. Meow mew."

"But didn't you bring a portkey? If you could get Snape a wand he could just disapparate."

"Meow meow! Mew mew mew mew!"

"I know about the Statute! I didn't end up here on purpose. Voldemort tricked my aunt into bringing me into London. They sent the Dursleys some fake tax audit stuff that said they had to prove I existed because I haven't been going to the school I was registered for. I didn't think Voldemort understood muggle bureaucracy that well, but…When we arrived at the office in London, the auditors said they'd never heard of us. We were walking back to the car and…I'm not really certain what happened. I got lost somehow. It wasn't more they a few blocks from the office to where we were parked, but I couldn't find the car, and then I couldn't find my aunt. I never even felt whatever spell it was that hit me, a confundus charm maybe. Where was my guard anyway? I thought someone from the Order was always supposed to be watching me?"

"Mew meow mrow mew."

"Oh. That makes sense. But why can't we just disappear? They don't know anything about us. I heard the guards talking. They think we're aliens or some such thing."

"Mew mew mew mew mew."

"We can't do that!" the kid exclaimed. "They got in Voldemort's way. He'll come after them. He won't care if they don't remember! That's…that's as bad as killing them ourselves!"

"MEOW!"

"I am not being hysterical! They saved my life! Snape didn't even know I was there! Mr. O'Neill saved me from them, and I owe him a wizard's debt. If…if the Ministry erases their memory I'll have to stay here and protect them."

"Mew mew. Mew meow meow mew meow mew-"

"Professor please stop! I don't need another lecture. I-I…I told him I couldn't do this. I told him. They'll all die. I can't do this."

The kid's voice started to break and he put his face in his hands. The cat walked up the bed and gave him a little head-butt in the arm.

"Mew mew mew?"

"He…he…he put the mark on me."

The cat yowled, and turned to look at his left forearm. The kid shook his head and put his hand to his bandaged chest.

"Mew meow mrow mew."

The kid nodded and swallowed loudly.

"Mew mew meow."

His hands went to the metal collar around the cat's neck. He felt along it for a catch or buckle but of course he didn't find one.

Carter had made the collar while the cat was being examined. O'Neill's theory was that if the kid managed to sneak off, he'd take the cat with him. The tracking device embedded in the collar wasn't obvious, but if they took it off the cat, it would be a wasted effort. The metal collar used just a smidgen of Tok'ra technology. It required either an electromagnetic key, or a very large set of bolt cutters to be removed.

The kid tried to slide the collar over the cat's head, but only managed to pull out some fur and cause the creature great discomfort.

"Mew!"

"I can't get it off!" the boy said desperately.

"Mroooow!"

"What do you me you can't transform with it on?"

"Mew mew meow!"

"No I don't want you to strangle to death! Can't you just…"

"Meow! Meow!"

"I do pay attention in class! I'll have to find some scissor or something."

The kid started to get out of bed again but the cat meowed at him and he stopped.

"But we don't have much time!"

"Mew."

"I'm not tired. I've been in bed all day."

"Mew, mew."

"It's not primitive. They just don't have magic."

"Meow mew mrow mew."

The kid settled back in his hospital bed.

"Fine, first thing in the morning. You shouldn't be so hard on them Professor. They're good people."

"Mew meow meow," the cat said, as it settled down against the kid's left shoulder.

"That's can't be true, Professor." The kid turned toward the cat and smiled. "You seemed to like Murray well enough."

The cat glared at him, and the kid fell asleep with unlikely speed.

"Well that was odd," O'Neill said and the clip ended.

"There's more, sir," said Carter.

"Isn't there always?" sighed O'Neill.

"The vet's report on the cat came back. At first they thought the sample was contaminated, but…see for yourself sir."

She handed him a pile of papers. He handed them right back.

"The cat isn't a cat sir," she explained.

"What?"

"It's very strange. Physiologically it is a cat. The fur, the skeleton, and the muscle structure are entirely consistent, but the blood tests were way off, and when a tissue sample was examined under a microscope, they found the wrong number of chromosomes, 46 chromosomes sir."

"Fascinating," O'Neil said monotonously.

Undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm she continued. "They sequenced its DNA. Guess what they found!"

"A hairball?"

"The cat has human DNA sir. It isn't really a cat at all. The tissues are all the correct shapes and sizes, but the creature doesn't have the genes to make them. According to the analysis, the cat should be a human female. A study of the telomeres in the dividing cells indicate her age to be about seventy."

O'Neill sighed again, and leaned against the wall of the security office.

"I don't know if this can get any weirder," he said.

He glanced at the screens showing the sources of his most resent headaches. Greasy was sitting at the card table in his room, looking miserable with a bucket-like helmet and dark goggles strapped to his head. The kid was sleeping with the cat who should be a little old lady curled up next to him. He was about to ask Carter if she'd had any luck with the magic wands when sudden motion on both monitors caught his attention.

Greasy was on his feet, backing into the corner of his room. He'd knocked over his chair but didn't seem to notice. His right hand was clenching the tattoo on his left forearm.

The kid was sitting bolt upright in bed. His arms were crossed over his chest. The cat was standing on his lap mewling desperately.

In the same instant, both prisoners screamed.