It is a bit embarrassing for Harry to note that he had woken up on his school robes in a very strange, well-lit place. The light that greeted his was offending, therefore he winced. Harry still knew right away that he had woken up in a wrong place. His legs shot out of the leathery stretcher that was his bed.

The bed is unlike that of his own back in the Gryffindor dormitory, or back in the Dursleys'. It had no blankets, no pillows, just plain black leather stretched across a metal frame served as its mattress. A boring white-yellow light glows above his, formed into some sort of plank embedded into the grey ceiling. The walls of the bed were as gray and as boring as the ceiling. And the door, Harry expected it to be locked. The make of the bed, the door, and the glass, which he thinks might be ballistic. Definitely Muggle-made.

Of course Harry decided that he must escape immediately. But overly genius he is, he contemplated. Who else would want to keep him prisoner other than Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters? And they-Muggle-haters, why would keep him in a Muggle prison?

What if it were Muggles who caught him? What is his crime, then? As if he were as armed and dangerous as Sirius Black is portrayed in the Muggle news. My God, what jail in Great Britain could this be!

If Muggles caught him, there could be only one explanation: the Ministry. The Ministry had been contacting the Muggle Prime Minister as of late; still running into the story of the mass murderer Sirius Black. How the hell did they find out that he's Harry Potter's godfather, he did not know. But that should give them more license to tighten their grip on him and Dumbledore. "The-Boy-Who-Lived and Albus Dumbledore: In League With Mass Murderer."

He still feels woozy all over.

"My wand, my wand." He thought. He quickly dug his hands through his pockets. He could not feel a thing. "Muggles took my wand?" Harry threw everything he could move, and still there was no wand at all.

"Perhaps I have dropped it back at Hogwarts." No, but he was clutching his wand as that red beam knocked his senses cold.

At the same moment when Harry was debating where his wand could have been, a stale, radio-like voice startled his into attention. Before him, through the glass, was a tall man with black-brown hair, that looked like in his forties. The man had a great build, muscular, like that of Goyle perhaps if the Slytherin lackey would hit a Muggle gym.

"I asked, whether you had a good sleep?"

Potter kept silent.

The big man paced before him back and forth. "Thought I might come undercover to seek people like you out, until I saw this."

He held out Hermione's wand from his blue jumpsuit pocket. Harry's stomach had never flinched so violently in his life.

"Seven of my men were attacked with weapons like these." Harry could hear the anger rising slowly from his voice. "One of them got wounded, one paralysed. Some of them suffered a neurological disturbance and the last one died."

Harry froze. Yes, the attack at Hogsmeade. But, neurological disturbance, what the hell is that specifically?

"Killed by people like you."

He got filled with courage to protest his innocence. But all the large man saw was his trying to look big and defiant. He wouldn't dare tell this big Muggle that it was Death Eaters who attacked them, whoever they are. No, somehow the Muggle figured out a little about the wizard world, but that doesn't mean you should reveal much.

The less he says, the better.

The fifth year Hogwarts student looked all over the man to say something clever-something that will not further reveal himself, his schooling, and the rest of the wizarding world, for that matter. The patch on his left shoulder, strange as it looks, is readable to him.

"Who are you?" Harry stared and growled at him in the most threatening manner he can muster.

The man, twirling his wand with his hands, gathered breath into his chest. He glared daggers at Harry though he was squinting.

"I am Captain Jonathan Archer on the Starship Enterprise."

"A stick, for a weapon?" Tucker gingerly picked up the wand from Archer's hand. Archer met them in Sickbay, where Phlox was conducting some therapy upon Trip and Malcolm. Reed was recovering remarkably; any indication of the memory was considered post-traumatic, whereas Trip has to stay a little longer. Apparently, the residual energy kept his sliced leg from completely healing.

"I want you and Malcolm to take it apart." Archer sped across them. "I want to know its range, its power output. I want to know what kind of things we're going up against."

"It doesn't look like we can take apart any of it." Trip felt the wood, twirled it, and looked all over it. "It doesn't open anywhere."

"Maybe it's perfectly sealed and thickly varnished." Reed picked the wand with his forefinger and his thumb.

"It doesn't look varnished." Trip contested.

T'Pol took one long look at the wand, and held her recalibrated scanner before it. "This device contains a lot of the residual energy."

Malcolm gave her an incredulous look; dropping the wand into Sickbay's floors. He picked it promptly, "Sorry."

Archer turned to Dr. Phlox, who added, "If I may assist Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed with studying the weapon."

The Captain found the idea to be quite delightful. "Work quickly." Then he sped to the Bridge.

Hermione woke up to see Ron in a bed right beside hers in the hospital wing that morning.

"I could not see Harry anywhere." Ron looked at her from his side.

Hermione's worried look is as terrible as Ron's.

They turned their heads quickly to the hospital wing door. It opened for Professor McGonagall, their Head of the House. Minerva swept across the wing until she reached them two.

"Madam Pomfrey has informed me that you will be able to resume your classes in the afternoon. You can join your fellow students in lunch later."

"Professor, where's Harry?" Hermione immediately asked.

McGonagall, pursing her lips and eyes downcast for a while, slowly put her hands into her robe pocket. She pulled out the phoenix-and-holly wand from her robes and slowly handed it to Hermione. Her two prefects gave her shocked looks.

"We did not see Mr. Potter in the common room, Miss Granger." She finally spoke. "We could not find your wand. Maybe you can use this while we look for Mr. Potter."

The rubble in the Gryffindor common room had already been cleared. The china bowl had been repaired. Fortunately for the Fat Lady, she had found a temporary home with some of the other paintings. While the canvas had been repaired, McGonagall Transfigured some boulders into two armoured trolls. These trolls would not let anyone in without hearing the password, which had changed at Neville's behest. To keep the Gryffindor common room covered, McGonagall hung a carpet over it.

The Daily Prophet kept gloating on the success of Dolores Umbridge as High Inquisitor, earning the scoff of Hermione Granger. The Ministry obviously has kept silent about the incident in Gryffindor Tower; if they have heard of it at all. She and Ron were curious for a while, when they observed that Professor Umbridge shot Professor Snape venomous glances. As for their own health, they have recovered remarkably.

"Maybe they have taken Harry Potter to Voldemort." Ron gobbled his soup.

"If these vigilantes are allied with Voldemort," She mused, "You and I could have died already, or maybe just me. I'm a Mudblood." She trailed off, hating that term.

"It's not in the news. The Order has to know. We have to tell Sirius." Ron whispered.

"I think they already know. Professor Snape-"

"Yeah, and what about Quidditch," Ron trailed, "We've lost our Seeker."

Pause. Hermione stroked her coffee cup. "Great, just when I was suggesting."

"Suggesting what? What were you saying about learning Defense Against the Dark Arts by ourselves?" Ron leaned to her, giving the faraway Professor Umbridge a wary look.

"She's not teaching us to defend ourselves, she's not helping us with our OWLs." Hermione, "And Harry, who has the best experience when it comes to this." She stroke her forehead, "He could have helped."

"You mean you want Harry to teach us just that." Ron declared.

"Well, now that's not going to happen with him gone, is it?" Hermione interjected, giving him a cool glance to the side.

Pause.

"What if we learn it on our own, while and then we look for Harry?" Ron leaned a little bit nearer to Hermione, and his voice is now down to a whisper.

"Ron-" Hermione did not like the idea.

"Of all people who wanted to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts-" He finished his soup bowl and started at the toasted bread. "Do you want to save Harry or not?"

Hermione shot him an angry look. Then it melted. Apparently, Ron had been right.

In the Armory, Tucker and Reed ran almost every imaginable test with the Hermione's wand, apart from taking it apart. They could not see how it could be a weapon-it's a vine wood stick! But maybe the stick serves as a conduit for the transmission of this mysterious energy. So they scanned its interior. They could not make of the interior of the wand, which is organic and filled with a substantial amount of this energy.

"If somehow we could tap the energy inside this weapon, perhaps we can generate some of this energy for ourselves." Tucker leaned to Reed with his working leg. He did not like putting too much weight on his wounded thigh. They looked to the screen showing the electronically-generated image of Hermione's wand in cross-section. The middle showed a thin line containing that energy that their computer could not image, but certainly is organic.

"But don't we have to have that kind of energy in our bodies ourselves?" Reed drawled in protest.

"What about that guy in the Brig?" Tucker suggested.

"Too risky." Reed shook it off. "But with the Captain's permission, we can use him as a last resort."

Pause. Tucker puckered his lips, the best indicator that he was actually thinking. Then he suddenly had an idea. He pressed his thumb against the nearest com he can find. "Tucker to Dr. Phlox."

"Yes?" Dr. Phlox's voice answered.

"Could you come down here for a minute?"

"On my way."

Malcolm stared at Trip with anticipation.

"So you're the vigilantes." Harry muttered under his breath.

"The what?" Archer scowled.

"It was in our news." Harry continued. "Twelve people found dead outside the village."

Hoshi had not picked up any communication indicating that the incident brought these people's attention. Maybe the secret society has their means of broadcasting among themselves-something that Enterprise cannot pick up.

And Jonathan did not recall Trip telling him that they killed twelve, not seven people.

He paced the Brig, then after a long silence it brought, he turned to face Harry through the window. "I'm taking you back to your castle."

Harry beamed, although something does not sit right. From the looks of it, Archer seemed the sort of person who would want to have as little catch from him as possible.

"What do you want?" Harry intoned, insinuating his awareness to Archer's terms.

The Captain smiled and chuckled. Just then Harry heard an offhand Southerner voice. "Tucker to Captain Archer."

"Go ahead."

"Sir, would you come to the Armory immediately? it's the weapon."

"On my way."

Archer shot Harry a look that made them feel like Harry had a lot to do with it. Jonathan made a step towards him. "We'll see."

Jonathan pressed something that is out of view from Harry, and he quickly got out of sight.