Have you ever played Paranoia, a role-playing game set in the 'darkly humorous future' of cloned Troubleshooters attempting to carry out the commands of The (lunatic) Computer in Alpha Complex? Well, imagine that the Boy-Who-Lived somehow ended up there.
And then he (or at least his current clone) was called back, so probably just after Halloween 1994…
Harr-Y-PTR looked down at his robes again. Black. That meant INFRARED clearance. Had he been demoted? He looked up again and into the Great Hall. Four tables, but confusingly each table was adorned in two colours. As were the robes of the young people sitting at them.
According to the 'Headmaster' of this place, one had to be 'sorted' into one of four 'houses', not that Harr-Y… or was it just Harr now?... quite understood. He eyed one table that featured yellow prominently. Another house seemed to be RED clearance, the others BLUE and GREEN; both inaccessible to him.
Then it occurred that he had a good fifty-percent chance of being promoted to one of those two. BLUE, hopefully. Twice that of demotion to RED. Or since that table sported red and yellow, perhaps it was ORANGE. So demotion wouldn't be so bad after all, then.
Dumbledore, he noticed, was standing up, in purple robes (probably the sort of thing VIOLETs wore) this time. The fact that people didn't see fit to always wear their clearance colour irritated him. It was bad enough that these commie mutant traitors had somehow abducted him from Alpha Complex and the protection of The Computer. It was worse that they kept insisting he was some sort of hero, as well as a 'wizard', which must have been their term for mutant. He slipped a hand under the robe and traced the yellow stripe that identified him as a registered mutant. Now what was…
Dumbledore – in his mind, Harr-Y designated him Dumble-U-DOR – had finished speaking, and the greasy-haired INFRARED they claimed was a Potions Professor turned to him. "That's your cue, Potter," Severus-SNP snapped, "just sit down and the Sorting Hat will do the rest."
Ghastly, isn't it? A Harry who's obsessed with security clearance, is suffering withdrawal symptoms from lack of happy pills, prefers to keep his laser rather than his wand handy, and what if R&D manage to work out how to 'rescue' him? Now there's a question: Hungarian Horntail versus Mark IV – who would win?