Crumpets Aren't My Style

By Marz

Going Further

It wasn't so bad really, Harry thought. The food was pretty bland, but he didn't have to cook any of it. The people were nice, though they made it very clear that he wasn't allowed to go anywhere except for a few rooms, and he always had to be supervised. He liked the gym the most, since the off duty soldiers invited him play basketball with them. It wasn't Quidditch, but it was still fun.

He had to see the doctor twice a day for tests. He didn't think they'd have any luck removing the Dark Mark, but it was sort of uplifting to know that strangers who had never even heard of the-boy-who-lived were trying so hard to help him. Harry also thought it was rather cool to see x-rays of his skull and M.R.I.s of his brain.

Mr. O'Neill had stopped by to check on him a few times, but was always too busy to stay long. Harry felt guilty about lying to him, but he did want to go back to Hogwarts some day, and Harry knew the Ministry would never forgive him for telling all to a muggle, no matter what prophecy he was in. With all the spy stuff the Americans had access too, they would probably find out all they wanted to about wizards without Harry ever saying a word. O'Neill seemed a bit angry with him, and had given him homework.

Harry didn't understand trigonometry very well. He swung his legs back and forth under the chair. He wondered if Hermione would be able to figure it out. She hadn't been in a muggle school since she was ten either, but she'd probably be able to do this. Sine and Cosine and Tangent, all those numbers and you couldn't even get a spell out of it. He sighed and put his head down on the table. Hermione and Ron and Mrs. Weasley were probably very worried about him.

He knew he should feel guiltier about running off with the Americans. Especially now that he understood how much people were depending on him. Dumbledore seemed to truly believe that Harry Potter was the only person on Earth capable of killing Voldemort. Not that Harry believed the Prophesy. If he possessed a power that even Voldemort didn't have, he would have been able to save Sirius. All that prophesy did was paint a big fat target on him. And now Voldemort had painted him with something worse. Even if he could go home without the thing killing him, no one would trust him.

After all that, I deserve a real vacation, away from the Dursleys, away from the Order and Voldemort and most of all Dumbledore. I deserve it don't I? The condemned get a last meal and a last cigar, why shouldn't I get a bit of real rest before the whole mess gets going again?

His moping was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" he called.

The door sung open and Mr. Teal'c stepped in, carrying Professor McGonagall. She was still a cat of course. Harry had yet to find a set of bolt-cutters to free her from the collar that prevented her transformation. Not that he was looking terribly hard. She would probably make him return to England and the Order the second she was free.

"Your cat was in a restricted area HarryPotter. She set off several alarms," he said.

"She was probably chasing mice. She can't read the 'restricted' signs after all. Sorry if she caused any trouble," Harry said, taking the cat from the large man. "Thank you for bringing her back," he added.

Mr. Teal'c bowed and left.

"See anything interesting Professor?" Harry asked as he set his teacher down on his cot.

"I still haven't been able to get to the lowest floors," she said, stretching and digging her claws into the blankets. "There must be something down there, else why would they be putting so much effort into guarding it?"

Harry shrugged. He was still having trouble reconciling the strict voice of his head of house coming from the tiny feline body. He paused for a second to listen and make sure no one was at the door. McGonagall had insisted that the translation spell would only work for wizards, but he still didn't want to be overheard talking to a cat.

"It's probably just nuclear stuff, redesigning A-bombs and all that," he said finally. "Does sine equal opposite over hypotenuse, or over adjacent?"

"What are you talking about? Are you still struggling with that muggle math?" McGonagall asked, hopping from the cot to the desk. She looked over the triangle he was studying with more than a bit of contempt, and then sat down on his book.

"I don't see why you're bothering with this now, Mr. Potter. You took Divinations rather then Arithmancy after all."

"Muggles my age are supposed to know how to do this. You don't want them to think there's something unusual about me do you?"

"You could feign stupidity Mr. Potter. Simply make that face you always wear in my class."

"Hey!" he said, frowning. He wasn't that bad at transfigurations. He always got average or better, and he was certain he'd done well on his O.W.L.s though he hadn't yet received his scores.

"Really Mr. Potter," McGonagall chided, her tail lashed back and forth sharply. "I'd think a boy your age would know how to deal with a bit of levity."

"Oh! Sorry Professor. It's just that I've never known you to make jokes."

The cat sighed. "It is rather difficult to maintain my usual demeanor when I haven't had an opposable thumb for two weeks. I'm attempting to find the 'bright side' in my situation. Speaking of the bright side, I believe I smelled tuna fish as I passed the cafeteria."

"So it's lunch time then?" Harry asked, setting down his pencil. He thought of making a comment about fat cats, but he didn't think McGonagall's new fondness for levity would extend that far. He went to the call box. They'd given him a private room, two days earlier, so he wouldn't be in the way of the medical staff, but whenever he left the room he had to get an escort. He pressed the button, hoping it would be the same pretty officer who had been assigned to watch him the day before. She had said she really liked his accent.

"Yes?" said a rather annoyed and electronically distorted voice from the tiny speaker.

"I'd like to go to the cafeteria please," Harry said as politely as he could.

"Someone will be with you shortly."

The kid looked slightly disappointed when he opened the door. O'Neill was going to ask what was up, but then he remembered Airman Emmett had been assigned to the kid the day before. He supposed he was not a great substitute in that regard.

"Hello Mr. O'Neill," the kid said.

"Hey. Heard you were hungry," he said, stepping back from the door so the kid could get into the hall.

"A bit, it's the Professor more then me," he said waving to the tabby cat that shadowed them as they walked. "She's getting spoiled. I don't think she'll ever settle for tinned food after this."

"Meow!' said the cat.

"Right," said the kid.

It took a second for O'Neill to realize the kid was responding to the cat.

"So, how are you doing?" O'Neill asked as they stepped into the elevator.

"I'm alright," said the kid.

The boy was tensing up again, as he always did when O'Neill started asking questions. As they pushed through the swinging doors of the cafeteria, he decided to change tactics. They picked up their trays and got in line. He was about to bring up hockey when the cat jumped up onto the boy's shoulder. The kid didn't seem startled by it. The cook however, glared at them over the steam trays. The cat mewed softly and the kid politely requested one of the tuna stuffed tomatoes. The kid also got a bowl of soup and taco casserole for himself. O'Neill had a brief flash back to the meat surprise that so often occupied the lunch line in his high school days. He got coffee and a bologna sandwich. They sat at a table in the corner of the room, which gave them a bit of privacy as the rest of the lunch time rush arrived.

The kid set the tuna stuffed tomato on a napkin, and pushed it a little way down the table. The cat hopped from his shoulder to table top and started nibbling away at its lunch. The kid poked at his taco casserole. O'Neill was waiting for him to start the conversation, but the kid didn't seem anymore comfortable with that. O'Neill sighed. He usually got on really well with kids.

"Any chance at all that you're going to tell me what's going on?" he asked.

The kid looked guilty but didn't answer.

"We're not going to be able to take these cult guys out unless we know more about the situation. With enough intel we can deal with just about any thing the universe has to throw at us."

"I can't tell you," the kid said sullenly.

"Why can't you tell me? In case you didn't notice, secrets are a large part of our business here. I can guarantee that what you say to me will not be passed on, and it definitely won't get back to England."

"It doesn't matter who you tell. They'll know I told."

"Who's going to know?"

For just an instant too long, the boy's eyes rested on the cat.

O'Neill wanted to mention that the cat was the one least likely to give him away, but then he looked at the animal, which had paused in its consumption of tuna to stare at him. The bright yellow eyes with thin slashed pupils seemed to be standard cat issue, but there was something in its gaze that made him think back to Carters report; a cat with little old lady DNA.

The kid seemed to be sinking back into silent brooding, so O'Neill brought up hockey. The kid seemed more confused by the game then anything else. Apparently he'd never been ice skating and found the entire concept of two hundred pound men sliding around on the ice while trying to slap a little puck with sticks to be the second most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard of. He wouldn't explain the first. Despite not getting any information on the wizard cult the conversation seemed to be going well. O'Neill was about to bring up Monty Python and the Holy Grail, as it was the only part of British culture he really understood when the kid slapped both hands to his forehead.

"Ouch!" he said, his eyes starting to tear up.

"What is it?" O'Neill asked, reaching across the table.

"No!" the kid whispered. In the next instant he was jumping up from his seat. "I have to get out of here! Right now!" he shouted.

"What's wrong!" O'Neill demanded.

"I…I…" the kid stuttered as he backed away. Everyone else was getting up from their tables as well. The kid's eyes went to the exit, but there were too many people in the way.

"Please! I have to go," the kid said. His hands moved away from his face. A thin lightening shaped scar in the center of his forehead, which had so far escaped notice, was now glowed bright blood red. "He's coming!"

"Just calm down!" O'Neill said, holding up his hands. "You're hundreds of feet under ground. No one is going to get to you in here."

The kid stopped backing away and for a second O'Neill thought he'd gotten through. Then he noticed smoke coming from the boy's shirt. The kid looked down.

"Uh-oh," the kid said.

Green flames erupted through the fabric, and for a moment the kid's entire upper body was engulfed. O'Neill pulled of his jacket and tackled the kid to the ground, trying to smother the fire. The cook appeared a moment later with an extinguisher, but the freezing white mist had no effect. The fire ate through O'Neill's uniform jacket and burned his hands. The sprinklers hissed to life.

With in seconds every person in the room was drenched, but even as the boy lay on the wet concrete floor, the green flames continued to rise, struggling to consume in spite of the water. In the center of the kid's chest, O'Neill saw the skull and snake mark silhouetted against the unnatural light. He moved around the kid, so he could reach his neck without putting his hand in the fire. There was no pulse.

The air was hot and smelled of dust and faintly pine. Huge boulders and slabs of dull red-ish rock lay scattered among the twisted trees and short dry brush. It was quite. Not even the faint buzz of insects interrupted the still summer day. Only the faint crunch of three pairs of boot across loose stones could be heard on the mountain top.

"He's here," said the old man, holding up his hand.

The woman on his left already had a wand in her hand. The younger man, following a bit behind, drew his from his sleeve, and sniffed the air. Somewhere in the distance, a rock tumbled loose, clicking and clacking down a distant hill. The three stood tensely, eyes darting about.

The blast of green light came from the left, and might have struck the old man had the woman not thrown herself in its path. Before her body struck the ground the younger man sent a wave of fire into the trees, and they went up like Roman candles. The wind came at them filled with smoke and bitter ash. The two men exchanged looks. The younger spoke.

"It's a trap Albus. We should go back."

"We cannot, Julian."

"Of course not," called a high hissing voice from the depths of the burning forest. "He cannot leave without his golden pawn."

A shadow appeared in the fires, coming slowly towards them, resolving into a tall man covered head to toe in a black cloak. Only his long spider-like hands were visible. One held a wand.

"The muggles thought they could hide him under a mountain, but I can find anyone who bears my mark," the man in the flames hissed. "He's mine now Dumbledore."

"Stop this foolishness Tom. Leave the child alone."

"Appealing to my sense of morality old man?" he laughed. "I know longer have one. Morals are for lower beings, only power matters."

"The boy has a power you will never know," Dumbledore said calmly.

The man in the fire laughed again. "What power old man? Courage? Loyalty? A true heart? If you believe that drivel you are further gone then even I realized. But tell me, do you posses any of those weak qualities you so value in the boy? Do you truly care whether he lives or dies, or is he simply another soldier in this little contest of ours?"

The man stepped out of the flames and drew back the hood of his cloak.

"You are falling old man. You can't even break through my wards and apparate in to save the boy. Your days grow short and your power fades. Would the boy's death really trouble you? I am not completely uncharitable, old man. I'll make you a deal; your life for the boy's. Even now he is burning, but he's not beyond my power to revive. If the boy is so important shouldn't this be an easy choice? Your life for his? Think quickly old man, before he is nothing but ashes."

"WHERE THE HELL IS THAT MEDICAL TEAM?" O'Neill roared.

The cook rushed forward with a pile of kitchen towels. Already soaked by the sprinklers they were less inclined to combust. They spread them over the boy's chest. O'Neill struggled to suppress a string of sarcastic thoughts. I can't seem to remember the proper CPR procedure for when the victim is still on fire. He tilted the kid's head back, pinched his nose, and breathed air into his lungs. The cook started chest compressions. They went through fifteen cycles of compressions and breathing. O'Neill was starting to get dizzy. It was on the sixteenth round that the kid coughed smoky air in O'Neill's face. The kid's eyes were half open and his pulse was thready, but when O'Neill grabbed his hand, he squeezed it in response, and didn't let go until the medical team finally arrived. The kid was loaded onto a stretcher.

"Bring him to the gate room," O'Neil ordered, obeying an instinct he didn't quite understand.

Dr. Brightman started to argue, but then the green flames ate their way through the rapidly drying towels. They all crammed into the elevator. At the last second, just as the doors were closing, a wet, smelly cat leapt in as well. It huddled miserably at O'Neill's feet. As they stepped out on the lowest floor of the base, lieutenant Barns rushed up to meet them. Alarms were going off and red warning lights flashed around them.

"There's a fire sir," Barns said breathlessly.

"I noticed," O'Neill said, waving towards the kid and the unnatural green flames.

Barns stopped for a moment, completely dumbfounded. "I mean the forest sir," he finally choked out.

"The forest?" O'Neill said as they rushed the stretcher towards the gate room.

"There is a massive forest fire on the mountain sir. We've had to switch to internal air because of the smoke and pull back the guards. Are we locking the base down sir?"

"Yeah," he answered.

He was torn for a moment, wanting to make sure the kid got through the gate alright and knowing the safety of the base was his first priority. Fortunately Teal'c came running down the hall, solving at least half his problems.

"We need more distance," O'Neill said.

Teal'c nodded in understanding.

"Go with him alright?"

Teal'c nodded again.

O'Neill watched them rush down the hall and turn the corner. He felt relieved but at the same time a little voice nagged him. He was forgetting something but could not remember what.

He and Barns jogged to the command room. As the techies dialed up the gate, O'Neill picked up the big red phone.

He felt as if he was coming loose from his body, and only thin strands, like stretched taffy allowed him to hold on. Harry tried to open his eyes, and realized they already were. He became aware of the light, the stinging fluorescence over head and the green glow from under the towels on his chest. He was wet and people were mumbling loudly and incomprehensively in his ears. Someone took his hand and he held onto it as hard as he could, but then things were moving and it was gone.

"…the gate…the gate…the gate…"

The words were chanted over and over again in his head, each time in a different voice.

His chest burned. It hurt so badly he could not think of words to describe it. He was still moving. A woman with dark brown hair and a white coat leaned over him for a moment. She shined a light in his eyes then disappeared. Suddenly they were in a room with a high concrete ceiling. There was a strange rumbling noise, interspersed with loud echoing clanks.

He struggled to speak. "What?" was all he could manage.

"Do not fear HarryPotter. So you shall soon be beyond the reach of your tormentor," said Mr. Teal'c.

Harry twisted his neck trying to see him. Instead he saw the ring.

The cold circle of metal twisted, and jerked to a stop momentarily. Despite his tunneling vision he saw the runes carved into the ring. There was a clank, and the ring spun again. His voice came back to him a little then, though even he was unsure about what he was trying to say.

"…the arch…holds the veil of death…falling…I won't go…"

Suddenly in the center of the ring, a blue light burst into being. It expanded out ward and Harry was certain it would engulf them all. He tried to raise his hands to defend himself, but they would not obey. The light shrank back, forming a wall of wavering, water like brightness across the span of the circle. Then he was moving again, up a ramp toward the light. Fear filled him. The lights above him flickered and several of them burst, raining down bits of broken glass. The people around him stumbled but kept pushing his forward. He tried to find the strength to do more, to force his magic to work even without a wand, but he felt empty inside.

"No!" he mumbled.

He was pushed into the light.

She never considered herself a coward, but as the muggles disappeared into the strange portal, she felt filled with a terror so strong it was almost paralyzing, and for an instant she considered abandoning her student. She lashed her tail once, pushing away the unworthy thought, and charged. She darted around the men in fatigues that tried to snatch her up, and leapt over the wires and boxes that covered the floor. The room filled with shouts as she reached the ramp, digging harder with each bound. The portal loomed before her, and every instinct told her that she would drown in that strange light. Taking a deep breath, she dove.

His heart was pounding against his ribs, and he knew that even if his magic lasted the rest of the battle, that tired old thing might not. Riddle ducked another binding spell and tried to conjure more demonic monstrosities from the scorched earth. Before they were even half formed Dumbledore dissolved them. Julian tried once more to disarm the Dark Lord, but the American wizard's spell was no match for the layers of wardings that surrounded the evil being. Julian was forced to dive aside as a killing curse flew his way. He rolled uncontrolled down the side of the mountain.

Suddenly both of the powerful wizards stopped. In that same moment they felt a burst of terrified and uncontrolled power, and then nothing. Dumbledore removed an object from his pocket, careful not to take his eyes off Riddle as he did. He held up the handle of a knife. The blade had melted away to nothing, but its owner had kept it, under a few spare shirts at the bottom of his wardrobe at Hogwarts. It was the only personal object of Harry's he could get on such short notice. Dumbledore had used it as the center of tracking spell which had led him across an ocean and half a continent. Now the spell was broken. The owner of the object was gone.

"Something the matter old man?" Riddle asked.

He stepped closer, and Dumbledore did nothing to stop him.

"I really did think he would last a bit longer. Perhaps the muggles decided to put him out of his misery. Do you regret not trading for him? I wouldn't mind ending your misery as well."

Dumbledore said nothing, he only looked at the empty handle with a lost expression. Riddle took another step.

"The boy was never anything but a boy was he? The Prophesy was just something you set up for Trelawney to speak in the presence of one of my operatives. The Potters were bait in another trap you laid for me, weren't they?" Riddle hissed.

Dumbledore knew that Riddle feared powers that were still beyond him. Divination was definitely one of those powers. Even now, after he'd carried out his part and killed the only one able to defeat him, Riddle tried to free himself from it. He came closer still. With blurring speed Dumbledore took aim and shouted two words he'd sworn upon his own grave never to speak.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The mountains shook as the green light blasted across them. The plants and animals spared the fire withered to nothing as it passed. But it was pointless. Riddle had already moved. Dumbledore turned searching, but a hand seized his wrist. His wand was snatched away. Riddle leered down at him.

"I won't kill you now old man. It's not worth the bother, with no one important around to see it. When I come for Hogwarts, I'll take your life as well. It won't be a long wait. If you'll excuse me, I have an announcement to make to the Wizarding world."

Riddle disapparated, but long after he was gone, his laughter echoed across the burning mountain side. Among the ashes, the old man sank to his knees.