Author's note: Sorry this update took so long. Classes are in full swing again and I am overrun with midterms. Comments are always welcome. I've been getting a lot of questions and requests for more Stargate background in the story, so I've tried to add a little more. I just didn't want to bog things down with long paragraphs of summary. If I am still being confusing, please let me know.
Crumpets Aren't My Style
By Marz
Boot Camp in Tennis Shoes
"Cree Jaffa!"
Lift the staff up, do the turn thing.
"Cree Jaffa!"
Spin the staff, do the whacking thing.
"Cree Jaffa!"
Turn around, swing and duck.
"Cree Jaffa!"
Step back bring the staff up and-
"Ow!"
For the fifth time in that hour Harry Potter found himself lying in the dirt with a ringing headache. At least this time it sort of wasn't his fault. He'd blocked in time, but his sparing partner, Ro'dan, had just pounded right through it. He could hear a couple of other Jaffa laughing softly in the background. Harry wanted to glare at them but as Ro'dan grabbed his hand to help him to his feet, he couldn't help but hiss through his teeth in pain. The Jaffa hadn't just knocked the staff out of his hand. He'd dislocated Harry's left thumb, again. It all would have been a lot easier to take if Ro'dan hadn't been five years younger and two inches shorter then Harry.
"Enough for today Tauri," their instructor Joe'mec said. "Go to Mo'tha."
Harry picked up his staff with his right hand and put it back in the rack, then walked across the camp to find the healer. Most Jaffa never had reason to see the large gray haired woman. If an injury wasn't lethal, the Go'auld parasite that each of the Jaffa carried would simply heal it up after a few days of meditation. Harry saw Mo'tha every other day. At first she seemed rather annoyed that he was in the camp at all. But they had come to a sort of mutual respect during Harry's first week there, when she was taping up his split knuckles for the third time in one day.
"You run your head into a wall enough times, one or the other breaks," Mo'tha had said.
Harry supposed she had been dispensing some sort of wisdom, but he was at a loss for what it might be. She didn't seem resent him so much after that.
Mo'tha raised an eyebrow at him as he ducked under the awning of her tent. He held up his hand so she could see the digit and its unnatural angle. Without preamble she grabbed his wrist and wrenched everything back into place. Harry was very proud of himself for not screaming. She tied some rags around it to hold it still while it healed.
"No more training today," she said. "Help prepare evening meal."
Harry nodded. He was a little disappointed but he couldn't very well train with just his right hand. He jogged over to the storage tent where the youngest children were chopping up vegetables and a strange root that tasted like a potato but looked like a thistle on steroids. A couple of the boys pointed and laughed as he approached. Harry made a face at them.
"Why do you do that?" one of the girls asked. Her name was Lobit or something like that. Harry couldn't remember.
"Do what?" he asked, picking up a knife and a pile of overly pink almost-carrots.
"You wrinkled up your nose and squinted. Is that because your eyes do not work properly?"
There had been much discussion among the younger children about Harry's glasses. Apparently all Jaffa had perfect vision. He tried to explain and show them how they worked. It ended up in a game of keep away, until one of the older Jaffa had yelled at the children. "There is no honor in stealing from the blind Tauri." It wasn't great for his ego, but it did get his glasses back.
"I was making a face…" Harry started.
The girl just stared at him.
"Never mind. It's an earth thing."
So instead of learning to be a warrior, Harry spent that afternoon on dinner duty. Cooking was one thing he could actually beat the Jaffa at, as preparing dinner for the Dursleys was very much on par with preparing dinner for an army. Not that they seemed to care all that much what they were eating, too busy rebelling against the false gods he supposed.
He looked into the heavy iron kettle as he dropped in assorted roots and vegetables. His friends could be in a potions class at that very moment, looking into a very similar cauldron. Well, Hermione might be at least. She was the smart one after all. Ron probably hadn't made it into advanced potions. Harry idly wondered how he had done in his classes. Every thing had gone to hell well before his report card arrived. Without thinking he tried to pick up the lid of the kettle with his left hand and winced. Had this really been a good idea?
It wasn't the first time the thought had entered his mind. It came up in his nightly arguments with McGonagall. She'd go on and on about how they had to get back to England and Hogwarts and how Professor Dumbledore would be able to set things right. But Harry didn't think it was true. He could not go home until he knew he could do what needed to be done. If he couldn't even cast crucio properly, how could he work up enough hate or anger or what ever it took to work a killing curse? The Jaffa, despite their lack of magic, knew just about all there was to know about killing and dying. In the past month and a half that Harry had spent with them, he'd seen seventeen people die.
The Jaffa rebels were involved in a war with their former masters, the Go'auld. Mr. Teal'c was one of the rebellion's founding members. Harry was still not clear on what the Jaffa had to do with the United States Air Force, but the people had not objected when Teal'c had dropped him off on this planet with fewer then three sentences of introduction. Harry had to gather the rest of the information himself.
The rebels were few in number and not nearly as well armed, but that did not seem to deter them in the least. The adults went out through the Stargate to recruit and raid for supplies, and on fewer occasions they would engage the enemy in small battles. The victories were always pricey. Harry and the Jaffa still too young for battle would take turns on guard at the gate, and while on duty, Harry often saw the Jaffa return to the planet, carrying their injured and their dead. He'd been drafted to help the healers on a few occasions. As he stoked up the fire under the kettle, one incident came to the front of his mind.
Er'ok was dragged in front of Mo'tha with a hole burned through his stomach. Harry was about to have the bandages changed on one of his deeper cuts, but of course gave up his place in line. Mo'tha had called him over to the dying man. Even Harry could tell he was dying. He was given a hand full of rags and told to hold them against the wound in the man's abdomen. Harry knelt down and obeyed. Mo'tha gave the man a few swallows of some awful smelling brew she kept in the back of the tent, and then knelt down on the man's other side.
"Shouldn't we be sowing him up or something?" Harry had asked.
"There is nothing we can do," she had answered.
Harry was wondering; if that was the case then why was he stuffing rags in the wound? A moment latter the man had grabbed Harry's elbow. The grip was so tight he felt joints popping.
"My son…"
"I'll get him-" Harry started to say.
"My son…I must tell you…" Er'ok said squeezing Harry's arm even tighter, "You fought with honor…but I have never said…"
Harry didn't know what to do. He knelt there nodding mutely.
"He knows," Mo'tha said.
Er'ok nodded. "Then…I die free…"
The man had let out one last long sighing gasp and then went still.
"Should I go and…and tell his son?" Harry remembered asking.
"His son died a few months ago. You look a bit like him, but much smaller," she said.
He was pulled out of his reverie by the kettle boiling over. Contemplations of death were put aside as he worked to salvage the stew.
The tents were set up in more or less even rows on the North Slope of the camp. There were usually four hundred or so rebel Jaffa there at any one time, though only half of those were permanent residence. Harry worked his way through the rows until he found his current lodgings. He shared the tent with three other Jaffa. The Jaffa never actually slept, but they would often sit for hours at a time meditating. And unless they had night training planned, most of them spent the dark hours quietly discussing strategy or weapons maintenance; the more academic aspect of their training. If they thought it strange that Harry collapsed in the corner of the tent every night and didn't move for six or seven hours he didn't know.
The others were also in their late teens but were not very talkative. They spoke another language most of the time when they did. He felt a bit excluded, but as he was on another planet, living with a group of people who were not exactly human, he wasn't overly surprised by it. He did find it strangely comforting that he wasn't the only one walking around with something strange marked on his forehead. All of the Jaffa had the mark of the Go'auld they used to serve tattooed in the center of their brow. Harry said hello as he came into the tent and they nodded back. They'd all finished up the evening run at the same time ( it was the one aspect of training in which Harry could actually keep up with his age group) but Harry had gone to the stream on the other side of the hill from camp to wash up, so he was the last one in.
Professor McGonagall was sitting on his sleeping bag eating a mouse, or the animal that did a mouse's job on this planet anyway. It had six legs and tentacles in place of whiskers. She glared at him for a moment and then went back to dissecting her dinner on his bed. She was acting more like a normal cat everyday. He wasn't sure if it was a side effect of her being trapped in her Animagus form for so long, or simply that she was losing her desire to speak to him.
"Hello professor," Harry said, as he sat down on the end of the sleeping bag, as far as he could get from the mouse guts.
"We must return to Earth," she said not looking up from her dinner.
"I tried to send you back." Harry murmured in a low voice so as not to disturb his roommates.
Harry had tried to send her back with Teal'c but she had refused to go. Or let go, rather. Harry still had the claw marks on the back of his neck and shoulders.
"I doubt I would have gone anywhere but a lab. You trust these people too much."
"They've never lied to me," Harry pointed out.
He picked up the green backpack from the end of his bed. The soldiers had packed it for him at the alpha site; a few changes of underwear and socks, a spare shirt, and a tooth brush. He'd never had many possessions, but he sorely missed having something to write with. He refolded his socks, busily ignoring the now glaring cat.
"We did not lie to you Mr. Potter."
"No, you're right. Conspiring and plotting about me behind my back really isn't lying is it? You would have had to tell me something for it to be a lie."
"You are not the center of the universe Mr. Potter. We could not possibly include you in most of the Order's activities. You were left out for your own protection."
"Well now I am left out of all of it. What should I go back for?"
"You have to go back so Dumbledore can help you."
"So what can he do? What amazing ability has he developed in the last month that you've heard of and I haven't? Or are you saying the first time I was nearly tortured to death he merely wasn't trying very hard?"
The cat stopped picking at her catch long enough to look put out.
"Hiding from your problems won't solve them Mr. Potter," she said.
"Firstly, I am not hiding. I'm learning how to defend myself-"
"You are learning how to hit people with sticks-"
"And secondly," Harry continued, cutting her off. "What problem do our people have that we don't hide from? We hide from the entire damn planet!"
"You have responsibilities-"
"Responsibilities! To what? To who? Where did I sign that said I volunteered to have my life ruined and my family slaughtered? Or is it that stupid Prophesy again? Because I didn't die when he shot me in the head it's my job to stop him? What kind of sense does that make!"
"You need to take what you were told that night I context."
"And what context would improve "one must die at the other's hand"?"
"Your responsibility-"
"You can take 'responsibilities' and shove them down your…mouse…hole…"
Harry stopped mid rant. He realized he was standing, but didn't remember doing it. He was pointing dramatically at McGonagall. The three Jaffa were staring at him with their mouths hanging open. He supposed they thought him quite mad for arguing with his cat. He told himself he didn't care.
He stormed out of the tent and did not look back. He crushed down his anger for the few minutes it took to creep out past the night watch and then took off at a run. The forest was dark around him, but he knew where he was going. It was mostly up hill, so he'd burned off the last of his rage by the time he reached the circle of stones.
He'd come across this place in his first week at camp, during mock battles with the zats. There were a few other ruins in the area, but he liked this place the best. The stones sat in a ring a few inches apart. They were about the height and shape of headstones and there were ancient carvings in them, melted to almost nothing by time, but the circle didn't remind him of a graveyard. In the center of the circle there was a dead tree. It was only about twenty feet tall and burned in several places as if struck by lightening. It might have been an oak tree, but the smaller branches had a strange red-ish bark on them that he'd never seen the like of on Earth. Since it was an alien planet and all, the tree might not even have been dead.
Harry climbed over the ring of stones and settled down at the base of the tree. There was a layer of dead leaves that made it into a very comfortable spot. None of the moons were out that night, so Harry put his hand on one of the roots and concentrated.
"Lumos!"
A small handprint of blue light appeared on the bark. It would fade in a quarter of an hour, but until then it was a comforting success. He practiced what little wand less magic he could when he was by himself there. It was going better then he would have hoped. He could conjure flames, slight breezes and lights, and with much exertion had been able to knock over a small pile of stones with a wand less Reducto. He only practiced when he was completely alone. He didn't want the Jaffa to think he was some kind of Go'auld spy or something, since those aliens could do something similar to magic with their advanced technology. He didn't want McGonagall to know either, though he thought that probably had more to do with spite then anything else. He sat there going over other spells he though might work wandlessly, and after two hours managed to get a dead leaf to hover a few inches above his hand. By then he was feeling more exhausted then he had after the 10 mile run, so he put his hands on the roots and started to push himself up, intending to go back to the camp. McGonagall would probably be asleep by then.
A sharp pain shot through his right wrist. He jerked him arm away. Harry made another luminous hand print, and leaned over to inspect the injury. Somehow he'd managed to stab himself on a large thorn like growth on the side of the root. The end of it had snapped off and lodged. He moved the fingers of his right hand and burning sensation spread through his hand. Of course I would find a poison plant to injure myself on. He grabbed the end of the thorn and tried to pull it out. The fingers of his right hand clench of their own accord. And it's touching a nerve, lovely. Mo'tha was not going to be happy about this. He was just climbing over the stones when the first wave of dizziness hit. Extra lovely, he thought as the world tilted and disappeared.
The branches of the hedge were broken, but the sap had already crusted over.
"He passed this way, no more then a day ago," Bre'tac said.
The two young warriors nodded and inspected the branches as they passed. Bre'tac shaded his eyes and looked further up the hill. There were no other signs of the boy. The old man adjusted his cloak and marched on. If the boy had not traveled this way the hill top would at least be a good vantage point to search from.
When Teal'c had brought the boy to their camp, Bre'tac had agreed to take him in, and when Teal'c had explained that the boy wished to learn the ways of the Jaffa warriors, Bre'tac agreed to have him trained. The boy had potential as a scout, he was light and fast and had particularly fine aim with a both staff weapons and the Zat'nek'tal, but he would never be much of a warrior. Though he was rarely in the camp, Bre'tac had observed the boy on several occasions. He seemed unwilling to strike his opponents, and would dodge rather then fight back. He also seemed a bit mad, even for a Tauri. On more then one occasion the Jaffa master had seen the boy arguing with his cat.
Teal'c had given him few details of the boy's past. The boy had somehow saved O'Neill's life, and was now hunted by the Trust, the same group that had murdered thousands of Jaffa, enemy and ally alike, with chemical weapons only a few months ago. Bre'tac thought it was unlikely they had tracked the boy this far, but the search was all the more urgent for it. A strange boot print told him he was on the right path. A hundred yards later he was found.
The boy lay on his back, eyes staring unblinking up at the sky. For a moment Bre'tac thought him dead, but as he stepped closer he saw the rise and fall of his chest. Other than that he was completely still. The only mark on him was a small puncture on his right wrist. Bre'tac motioned for the two young men to circle around and inspect the area.
"Boy!" Bre'tac called. "Boy! Get to your feet!"
There was no response as he moved swiftly to the boy's side, and none as he lightly slapped the side of his face. The boy was burning with fever. The young Jaffa returned.
"We saw nothing unusual, Master."
Bre'tac nodded.
"We will carry him back to the camp."
When he opened his eyes the world was at a very strange angle; nearly upside down in fact. Harry swallowed and sat up. He was on a table in Mo'tha's tent. He reached around, trying to find his glasses. Even without them he could see that his right hand was heavily bandaged. He looked around a bit more, but froze as motion in the dark corner of the tent caught his eye. A glittering object sailed towards him. His hand darted out and caught it.
"You are not nearly as blind as the Joe'mec seems to believe," a familiar voice stated.
Though still half hidden, he recognized Master Bre'tac. Harry wasn't sure if he should be standing or not. He started to swing his feet off the edge of the table, but it wasn't the sturdiest piece of furniture. It tilted over and dumped him on the ground. Harry put on his glasses and scrambled up again.
"Though perhaps the other comments were in earnest," the old man continued.
"Mister Bre'tac, sir…er…sorry. I…uh…don't really know what's going on," Harry finished lamely.
"I found you in the forest a few miles from the camp. You injured your self on some sort of venomous plant. A fragment of it is still lodged in your hand. Mo'tha considered cutting it out, but with out a symbiote, such an injury would never fully heal. You have been unconscious for four days. We intended to return you to the alpha site if you did not wake by night fall."
"Oh."
"You have marks upon you. A skull and serpent burned into your skin. Were you once a prisoner of the System Lord Sokar?"
Harry looked down and realized that his shirt was unbuttoned. He'd managed not to show off Voldemort's decoration since he arrived.
"I don't know who Sokar is. This happened on Earth."
Maybe there was something in Harry's tone, but Bre'tac did not pursue the issue.
"You may resume training tomorrow," he said before turning to leave.
Harry nodded. The Jaffa weren't much for sick days. He supposed he liked that announcement slightly better then the enforced convalescence he would have been restricted to at Hogwarts in a similar situation. Though he thought he might actually need it in this case. He started to walk out of the tent, but a wave of dizziness stopped him short. He sat cross legged on the floor of the tent, with his head in his hands, waiting for it to pass.
"I don't suppose this most recent incident has brought you to your senses?" asked a put upon voice, a few inches from his nose.
He opened his eyes and saw Professor McGonagall staring up at him with bright yellow cat's eyes.
"I'll have them take you back," Harry said.
"While you stay here and compound one foolish decision after another? I think not. Forget for a moment our earlier argument about You-Know-Who and what is expected of you. Think about where you are right now! These people, now matter how noble or skilled you believe them to be, are involved in a war that they have little chance of winning. When their enemy comes through that star portal you will be lost as well! You won't even have your wand to defend yourself!"
"I don't need it." Harry said.
"You seriously intend to fight with those weighted staffs?" the cat asked with contempt.
Frustrated, Harry got to his feet and searched the tent. He picked out a shard of broken pottery that had been pushed into the corner. He set it before the cat. He held out his bandaged hand, and closed his eyes to focus.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he said.
The pottery shard took off through the roof of the tent with the force of a small rocket. Harry hardly noticed, despite McGonagall's explosive yowl. It was overshadowed by the strange sensation in between the bones of his right palm. As he focused his magic on the pottery, the thorn embedded in his hand moved. The pain was very slight, but it was overwhelmingly disturbing. Harry unraveled the bandages and inspected the scab that had closed over the puncture wound in his wrist. There was a barely discernable lump in the very center of his hand. The thorn must have migrated. Harry gave it a careful prod with his left pinky. It didn't seem to be moving any longer. When he looked up, McGonagall was still staring at the roof of the tent.
"Without a wand…" she muttered, before slowly turning towards him. "How?"
"I've been practicing," Harry said, moving his right hand behind his back as innocently as he could.
"Practicing?"
"I've been trying spells without my wand and they've worked."
"And just like that, wand less magic?"
Harry nodded.
"It shouldn't be possible…not with so little training…" McGonagall turned towards him with a question half formed in her tiny fanged mouth.
A sharp pain exploded in the top of his skull.
Harry woke up on the table again a few hours later. Mo'tha had returned and was mixing something together in a bowl a few inches away from his aching head. Harry left after thanking her for dealing with his injuries once again. He couldn't come up with a good answer for her parting question however. She asked who hit him over the head with a chunk of broken pottery. "I threw it in the air and forgot about it" seemed too stupid a response.
With seven resounding clanks the gate came to life. Harry jumped a bit as the swirling vortex of light burst out of the gate, only to be sucked back in on itself a moment later. He raised his staff weapon as those around him did the same. Master Bre'tac stumbled through, and five other Jaffa came right on his heals. Harry only recognized one of them from the camp, but no one else was firing so he didn't. The gate shut down.
"Tur'bak has been captured by Ba'al's forces. This camp is no longer secure," Bre'tac announced.
"How long do we have, Master?" called Joe'mec, the leader of Harry's watch.
"As long as Tur'bak gives us," he replied, jogging up the hill.
The rest of the Jaffa joined them on guard duty at the gate. Joe'mec went to the gate and dialed up an out going gate. From what Harry understood of the machine, no one could dial in while their gate was on, so they'd be safe for a while. Harry watched the control panel light up as the seven symbols were typed in. The soldiers at the alpha site had called the control panel a Dial Home Device. The inner ring of the gate spun like an old fashioned rotary phone. Another pool of light formed.
Everyone knew the contingency plan. The Jaffa could never hold a planet against the Go'auld. They'd have to make a run for it. Harry shifted his staff weapon from one hand to the other. He didn't really know what to do, despite his training. He had to stay at his post. He'd left his bag packed, so he supposed it would just get grabbed up with the other gear. He hoped the Professor would come down to the gate when she noticed everyone else leaving. He didn't know if he'd be able to go back for her. He puzzled over whether to ask for permission to go find his cat for another forty minutes until the gate shut down again.
We're evacuating. His heart was beating much too fast. He supposed that was part of real war. None of the Jaffa seemed nervous. Even Ro'dan was calm. Everyone was expressionless to the point of looking bored until the lights on the gate came on again. Joe'mec had been reaching for the DHD to dial out again, but someone had beaten him to it.
"Cree Jaffa!" Joe'mec called.
They spread out, and the air sizzled as their staff weapons activated.
This is it. This is it. This is it. The useless mantra repeated itself over and over again in his head. The first enemy soldier through the gate was hit square in the chest and toppled down the three broad steps in front of the gate. The second one joined him with a shot to the belly. The third was struck in the chest as well, but then there was a fifth and a sixth and a seventh. Suddenly there were twenty of them and more coming every second. This is it.
Harry couldn't remember exactly when he started firing. He was only partially aware that he was doing so. Harry dodged a bit as blast of orange light tore past his leg. He managed not to throw off his shot too badly as he did. One after another the enemy fell, but more came to replace them. He dodged again. There was no cover but the DHD and that was already occupied. He ducked and rolled as three different Jaffa took shots at him. Dirt flew up around him.
They have to be hearing this in the camp. Help is coming.
The gate was at the very top of the hill so every angle of fire was in the enemy's favor. Harry fired and side stepped. He was moving so quickly he had trouble figuring out where he was. They kept coming. He pulled out his Zat and fired that with his left, the staff still blazing in his right. Then suddenly there was silence. The gate was still open but no one was coming through. Harry looked around, feeling suddenly stunned. The ground was littered with bodies. Only five others were still standing, all of them rebels. The fight could not have lasted more then a few minutes.
A faint moan caught Harry's attention. He ran toward the sound, hopping over other dead and dying Jaffa to get to the familiar voice. Ro'dan must have been charging toward the gate when he was hit. The wound was high in the center of his chest. Blood was welling out of it in time with his pulse. He looked up at Harry. He was struggling to say something and Harry would have bet his entire vault that it was "I die free."
Harry had never learned any healing spells. He'd never even tried to fix a paper cut. He knew a few potions but there were no ingredients. There was no time. He held out his right hand, and tried the only spell that was even remotely related.
"Reparo."
Ro'dan's entire body stiffened. Then his eyes rolled up and he started to shake. The thing in Harry's hand was writhing and grating against the bones.
"Reparo."
The wound was suddenly gushing. The shaking was getting worse.
A shout from the Jaffa behind him drew Harry's attention back to the gate. A metal sphere about the size of a magic eight ball was bouncing down the steps of the gate. Harry dove for it. As he scooped it up he was surprised by the weight. He stumbled a little as he compensated and threw. It sailed back at the gate. Halfway through the wall of blue light it exploded in a blinding flash.
Harry blinked but couldn't see. He realized he was lying on the ground. His ears rang. He could hear staff weapons firing again. Someone was shouting and grabbing him. He was dragged tipping and stumbling along. He was shoved against something hard and cracked his head painfully against what he realized was the DHD.
"Remain here until your vision returns!"
He didn't have a chance to argue. His rescuer had returned to the fight. Back up from the camp must have arrived. Harry felt around. There was another person next to him, apparently unconscious. He flinched as a shot hit the DHD right above his head. He blinked rapidly, and he thought the darkness across his eyes lightened a bit. A sudden weight in his lap made him jump a bit and he knocked his head against the DHD again.
"I don't suppose you now believe what I said about this being a bad idea, Mr. Potter?"
"Professor?" Harry gasped, ducking instinctively as another shot flew past his head. "What's going on?"
"From what I understand you picked up some sort of "shock grenade" and tried to throw it away. While you did manage to reduce the force of the blast by throwing the grenade into the portal, you were exposed to what ever manner of alien sorcery it produced. They expect the blindness to last several hours. Of course they expected you to be unconscious for at least that long as well."
"How many of Ba'al's troupes are through?"
"A good many of them. It would be prudent of you to get this collar off of me so I can get you out of here."
"I can't leave! They're being overrun. I have to help!"
"What can you do? There are too many of them for even me to disarm and there are more coming. You said you wanted no part of battles you could not win. Think of where you are Mr. Potter!"
"I can do something here. They have no magic. There has to be…"
His mind whirled. What spells did he know that could take out a group that size. All the jinxes and curses he knew were only effective in one on one dueling. He could conjure mist but then the rebels might just end up shooting each other in the confusion. Not to mention that most of those spells he'd never tried without his wand. What? What? What? A distraction? Harry clenched his fist. The thing in his hand was twisting as if it knew he was about to cast a spell. He pressed his hand to the ground. The sounds of fighting were all around him and growing closer every second.
"Verto!"
"Mr. Potter what are you doing?"
"Verto!"
"Any kind of complex transfiguration would be impossible without-"
"Verto!"
It felt almost as if something were running out of his arm, a reverse electrical shock. He tried to cut it off or slow it down, but couldn't think of how. Magic was bleeding out of him into the ground, and the thing in his hand was going absolutely insane. It seemed moment's away from tearing out through his skin. But it seemed worth it as his half formed idea became reality. The shouts coming from the grounds in front of the gate changed from battle cries and oaths of vengeance to incomparable surprise. Harry blinked and the world around him became brighter by another few degrees. Shadowy figures were struggling to move as they sunk into the ground that had rapidly gone from solid to the consistency of wet cornflakes.
McGonagall let out a hiss and scrambled up Harry's back to get on top of the DHD. Harry felt his knees sinking into the mire he'd summoned up. The DHD was sinking as well. Harry reached over with his left hand and grabbed a hold of the unconscious person he had felt earlier, before their head could go under. As the idea no longer seemed quite such a good one, Harry tried to stop the spell, but his arm seemed frozen to the ground.
"Finite! Nox! Stop all ready!"
It didn't help. The shouting from the hillside around them was starting to grow more then a little panicked. Harry squinted, trying to see. Most of the Jaffa were sunk up to there armpits. If he didn't do something soon friend and enemy alike were going to smother. There was a sudden metallic groan. As if things couldn't get worse…
Though his vision was not nearly back to normal, it was rather hard to miss the fact that the Stargate was tipping over. It only took a few moments for the gate to end up entirely horizontal. The stones it was set in didn't seem to want to sink any further, so the gate just lay there on its side. Enemy soldiers were still trying to come through, but they fell back into the shimmering blue light moments after they appeared through it.
The gate only goes one way…
It took several moments for him to realize that all those people were dying. You could only go one way through the gate. He wondered if being dematerialized hurt. When they come through the gate and saw only the sky, they must know they're about a second away from death. Only one of them called out for help.
Harry was up to his neck in muck when the gate shut itself down. He tried again to stop the spell. As the magic drained out of him he felt steadily weaker, but it didn't seem to be stopping. As the mud came up over his chin he wondered if the rebels would be able to escape with the gate the way it was. He struggled to get up out of the muck, but one of his arms was stuck and he couldn't pull himself up without letting go of the unconscious Jaffa next to him. If he let go he could save himself. Something shifted under him and suddenly the mud was closing over his head. He supposed that made the decision rather moot.