Author's Note: In a fandom as rich and robust as the Harry Potter fandom, there's not much that hasn't been done before, to the point that I'm never entirely certain where any given idea comes from - my own Muse/subconscious or another work I read sometime in the past that the Muse/subconscious wants to riff on. For this story, though, I can say that I first encountered certain concepts in the works of MaryRoyale and LeQuin, and I hereby thank them for their stories as well as the inspiration for this one. If you haven't read their works, why are you still here? Go! Read! This story will still be here when you get back, I promise.

In an excess of caution, I'm warning for a few bad words scattered throughout.

As always, all rights in this work are hereby given to the respective copyright owners of Harry Potter and Stargate: Atlantis.

Summary: John Sheppard's posting to Antarctica gets more interesting than he'd expected when he recognizes part of what they're working on as being similar to the Ancient Runes he'd once studied with his cousin Harry Potter.

: = : = : = : = :

In hindsight, the drone that almost shot him down was an omen of weirder things to come, John Sheppard decided as he reclined in a chair older than any pyramid, any cave painting, on Earth, staring at a holographic display of stars and galaxies that had bloomed into existence overhead.

"Did I do that?" he asked, even though the answer was so obvious he couldn't not know it.

Not ten minutes later, a vivacious redhead calling herself Dr. Elizabeth Weir was giving him a tour of the facility.

Well, if John were honest, it was less a tour and more a sales pitch to try to get him to join their expedition to another galaxy to find the fabled lost city of Atlantis.

He was about to brush her off with an, "I'll think about it," when a whiteboard caught his eye. More specifically, the symbols drawn on the whiteboard caught his eye.

"What's that?" he asked. "Those symbols, I mean?"

Weir's eyes lit up. "That's the alphabet of the Ancients. We've been studying it for years, and only understand a fraction -"

John's blood ran colder than could be explained by the Antarctic temperatures outside the base, and after a moment of shock, he cut off Weir's explanation with, "Where's General O'Neill?"

Weir blinked at him, obviously confused. "What?"

"I need to talk to the general," John said. "Where is he?"

"Major -"

Her expression made it clear that she wasn't eager to help - or maybe she just didn't like having her sales pitch interrupted - so John waved her off.

"Never mind, I'll find him myself." The base wasn't that big, after all, and most of the activity seemed to be on this level.

It took only a few minutes of searching, Weir hurrying to catch up with his longer strides and protesting every step, before John found O'Neill in conversation with a dark-haired man wearing glasses.

"General," John said, then flashed an apologetic grin at the other man. "Sorry to interrupt, General, but I need to speak to you. Privately. Now."

Which was, he admitted ruefully, a bit peremptory given the differences in their respective ranks. Maybe he should've gone for polite rather than urgent.

O'Neill didn't seem too put out about it as he responded, "About what, Major?"

"It has to do with this project, sir," John replied. "And information I have that may help - if I can get permission to talk with you about it."

"Permission?" Weir had caught up to him, and the incredulity in her tone would've made him laugh under other circumstances. "From who? Everyone here has clearance to know about the stargate."

"Except me, technically," John replied. "That aside, you wouldn't expect me to reveal anything about the stargate or Atlantis without permission. Why do you expect me to reveal something to you?"

That appeared to set Weir back on her heels, and John returned his attention to O'Neill. "Please, sir. I've made a number of oaths and vows related to my service and … otherwise. Please don't ask me to break one."

O'Neill studied him for a long moment, and apparently what he saw reassured him - or else John's fancy flying to save their asses, or maybe how the chair had reacted to him, had bought John a hearing.

"Okay," O'Neill said. "Who do you need permission from?"

John didn't hesitate. "The president."

O'Neill raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Will the vice-president do?"

John considered that for a moment, settling on, "Maybe?"

"Huh," O'Neill said. Then, "Somebody tell me what time it is in D.C."

:-:-:-:-:

Secure Compartmentalized Information Facilities were the same everywhere, John reflected as he watched O'Neill insert the correct keycard into its slot on the keyboard before starting the videoconference.

Moments later, Vice President Kinsey appeared on the screen.

"Good to see you again, Jack," Kinsey said. "Who's this with you?"

"Major John Sheppard," O'Neill replied. "He was my pilot down from McMurdo, did a bit of fancy flying to save our asses from a rogue drone."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," John said.

"I'm fairly sure a bit of fancy flying, as you say, isn't the reason for this call. So, Jack - care to fill me in?"

"There's not much I can say, sir," O'Neill said. "Sheppard says he needs permission to talk about something that will help our crew down here."

Kinsey's sharp gaze landed on John. "And you can't discuss it with Jack? He's in charge of the entire program."

"Yes, sir," John said. "But he's not cleared to know something else. I'm not entirely sure you are, either."

Kinsey's eyebrows rose. "Really? And what is that?"

John didn't answer, other than to raise one eyebrow at O'Neill. After a moment, O'Neill huffed and hit the button to mute both audio and video while keeping the call active.

"This better not be a waste of his time, Sheppard," he said, "or that black mark you got from Afghanistan is going to look like a goddamned gold star."

"Sir," John said by way of acknowledgment.

When the door closed behind O'Neill, John un-muted the call, debating how to raise the subject.

Finally, he said, "Does the term MACUSA mean anything to you, sir?"

Kinsey paled but recovered his aplomb quickly. "How do you know about that?"

John met Kinsey's gaze as levelly as he could through the video connections. "My mother's family was magical."

"But she wasn't?" Kinsey asked with an insight John hadn't expected. At John's nod, he said, "Why do you bring this up, Major?"

"Because the alphabet of the Ancients is the same as what I saw my cousin working on as summer homework."

Kinsey looked as shocked as John had ever seen anyone look, and it took almost two full minutes before he cleared his throat. "Your cousin?"

"Yes, sir," John said, and then, because Kinsey would want to follow up on that, added, "Actually, first cousin once removed. His name's Harry - Harry Potter."

Huh. Judging by Kinsey's reaction Harry was known on this side of the Pond, too.

"I - see," Kinsey said. He cleared his throat. "Would you bring General O'Neill back in?"

John nodded, cut the audio and video, and opened the door to the SCIF. O'Neill lounged against the wall opposite the door, though his expression wasn't nearly as relaxed as his posture.

"Sir? The vice president wants to speak to you."

The door securely closed behind O'Neill, John re-activated the call.

"What the hell is going on here, sir?" O'Neill demanded.

"I'm getting you a specialist consultant," Kinsey replied. "Rather, Sheppard is. I assume you want your cousin, Major?"

John knew how to answer that. "It's your call, sir. Harry has advantages over other Brits, but you could as easily bring an American in."

"I could," Kinsey acknowledged. "But the family connection would help with trust… Right, then - I'll make the appropriate calls. Expect to hear from your cousin soon."

"Sir, yes, sir," John replied, snapping to near-attention.

"You can brief O'Neill about the bigger picture," Kinsey said. "Jack - what Sheppard's going to tell you will be hard to believe without seeing it - but keep an open mind. I've seen what he's talking about, and you'll see it soon, too."

The call ended, and O'Neill turned to John.

"You've got ten seconds to tell me exactly what's going on," he said.

"It'll take longer than ten seconds," John drawled, but sobered when O'Neill glared at him. "But we can get started in ten seconds." Then he couldn't help grinning. "Tell me, sir - do you believe in magic?"