Note: This fic is in honor of a wonderful friend, who asked me to write it. Please review!
My Harry Potter world is AU after the fifth book, and will be unveiled in due course.
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Battelstar Galactica or Harry Potter.
There were a lot of places Kara "Starbuck" Thrace thought she might end up after her viper exploded. Heaven, perhaps. Hades, more likely. She could quite easily envision herself condemned to a place where she would be forced to fill out paperwork for the rest of time, or to endure that godsawful physical therapy on her knee.
To be honest, she'd even half-thought she might end up on Earth. After all, Leoben loved to harp on about her destiny, and after her little jaunt to Caprica to get the Arrow of Apollo she figured that destiny might have something to do with Earth—though of course if she ever heard anyone accusing her of having a destiny she'd deny it long and loud, despite what she might have actually thought in the privacy of her own mind. So if she'd blown up and then found herself the Colonies' representative on Earth, well, she wouldn't have been too phased by it.
But she had never expected to find herself in a castle.
She let out a little oomph as she fell several feet to land on her rear, confused as hell by the solid stone beneath her gloved hands and the slick stone ceiling above her head. She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the twinge in her bad knee, and checked the atmosphere using the device on her sleeve before removing her helmet.
"Wow." She stared in wonder around herself. She was standing just within a large set of double doors, inside what appeared to be an entrance hall, and several corridors led away from her position. The ceilings were high and the walls spread far apart, and she felt a strange discomfort at being in such a large open space after living inside the Galactica for so long. It was an unpleasant reminder of what it had been like to live on New Caprica, in a way. She pulled off her gloves, running her hand over the walls, marveling at the rough texture. She directed her eyes upwards. "I don't know what you're up to, gods. I just hope you know what you're doing."
Resolving not to waste any time figuring out where the frak she was, she picked a corridor that seemed as likely as any and marched determinedly toward it, leaving her helmet, gloves, and flightsuit bundled safely in a dark nook. The halls were ominously quiet, and even her careful steps echoed as she slipped through the corridors. She wandered for what felt like hours, getting more and more confused as she went, almost certain at times that she saw motion out of the corner of her eyes, at others sure that she was seeing the same portraits over and over again even thought that was impossible. She was busy staring at one particularly suspicious-looking suit of armor when she walked straight into a solid mass.
She let out a curse as she stumbled backward, barely avoiding an ungraceful fall as her strong balance kept her on her feet. Falling back on her old defense mechanism, she glared at the man she had just run into.
He was of average height, about as tall as Lee—and there were other similarities, as well. He had the same traditionally handsome, chiseled face and short black hair, although this man's looked almost windswept. But where Lee had eyes like the ocean, this man's were a piercing emerald. And where Lee always looked at her with either anger or friendly affection, this man was watching her as if she were a cylon centurion--with suspicion and not a little surprise. He was also wearing a thick black robe.
"Why don't you watch where you're going?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.
He raised an eyebrow, his lips curled faintly in amusement though his eyes were still hard. He spoke—and his accent was strangely similar to Gaius Baltar's—but she didn't understand a word he said. He switched languages a couple of times, watching her closely for some sign of comprehension, but she continued to stare at him blankly. At last, he sighed, glancing at the battered watch he wore on his left wrist, then used the universal gesture for "come with me," waiting only a second before heading purposefully down a corridor.
She thought about refusing out of spite. Then she reconsidered, thinking that if she could do worse than to try to make friends in this strange place. Fortunately, the man wasn't walking too quickly and she caught up easily, refusing to look at him as she fell in with his stride. They backtracked down several corridors she had already walked before, then through some she was sure she hadn't been in—but she was sure, absolutely sure, she had seen that portrait of the fat man with a horse before—and stopped before a gargoyle. Her escort said something to it, and to her shock, it moved, revealing a moving, winding staircase. They stepped on, and rode it to the top.
Starbuck decided that at some point she had entered the realm of unreality, and she just couldn't be bothered to be shocked by all of the strange things in this world. Even if she was standing on stone that was moving, apparently of its own accord. She glanced at her guide and saw that he was still watching her closely. She gave him her best sneer, then glanced away when he just looked amused by her reaction.
They arrived at a thick wooden door, and the man knocked politely, then let them in. She found herself in a cozy office, with a crackling fireplace, little knickknacks, portraits, a desk, a very old man, and a bright red bird. She blinked.
Her guide and the old man exchanged words, glancing at her every once in a while as she ignored them, and finally seemed to come to an agreement. Before she could do anything, the younger one pulled a long wooden stick from one of his sleeves, pointed it at her, and said something. Her world went black.
She swam out of unconsciousness in much the same way she had entered it—jarringly. She groaned as she opened her eyes, her head pounding as she directed her most evil glare at the two men standing unconcernedly before her.
"What the frak did you just do?" Starbuck demanded, surging out of the chair and looking for a weapon.
"My most humble apologies, my dear," the old man said, stopping her in her tracks. She turned slowly to face him, caught by his twinkling blue eyes. "It was not our intention to harm you, merely to allow us to communicate."
"A simple language spell," the other man added, his voice soothing and pleasant to the ears. He smiled at her, that earnest little-boy smile that had so attracted her to Zak and then Lee and then Anders. "There shouldn't be any lasting damage, and the headache should go away soon."
"Where am I?" she growled, taking advantage of her newfound ability to communicate to ask the questions she had been wondering since her arrival.
The two men exchanged another glance.
"This is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, my dear," the old one said with a benevolent smile.
"Huh?"
"It's a school that teaches magic," the other put in.
"Magic?" she repeated incredulously. "Magic doesn't exist."
At that, the handsome man smiled, taking his stick out again and gesturing. Starbuck did not yelp—quite—when the table suddenly transformed into a pig. She stared at it, wide-eyed, until he changed it back.
"I assure you, magic does exist," the old one said. He smiled again. "As Harry just showed you. But now, my dear, if I may ask—who are you? It is not often that we receive visitors at Hogwarts unannounced."
Don't tell them your name. "Starbuck," she said evenly.
"Starbuck?" Harry repeated, looking amused once again as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"You got a problem with that?" she bristled.
"And I am Albus Dumbledore," the old man intervened. "Headmaster of this school. May I ask how you came to be here?"
Well, you see, I was flying along in my viper when I decided to commit suicide, abandoning the people who care about me and leaving the fleet short one viper and its best pilot. "I don't remember."
They looked unconvinced, but didn't push the issue.
"Well, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish," Dumbledore said. "We are happy to accommodate you in a guest suite until you 'remember' what happened, or desire to go elsewhere."
She blinked. Well, that was quick. "Thanks."
Dumbledore nodded, still watching her with those annoying twinkling eyes. "Harry will see to it that you're settled in."
Harry looked unsurprised to have this responsibility thrust upon him, and merely nodded at the older man's words.
"Right. Well, good night?" If there was one thing Starbuck hated, it was feeling out of her depth, or uncomfortable. Usually she just got out of such situations by proving that she had more balls than anyone else in the room--but that didn't seem like the best tactic to take here.
"Good night," Dumbledore replied.
"Professor." Harry nodded perfunctorily at the old man, then led the way out of the room to the moving staircase, which had somehow begun to move in the opposite direction now. Oh, right, I almost forgot. It's magic.
"So, this is a school," she remarked for lack of something better to say as they moved through the halls.
He shot her a sidelong glance. "Yes," he affirmed. "The students are all asleep right now—or at least, they should be, since it's past curfew. They'll be bustling about tomorrow morning, though."
"And you're—a teacher?"
"Yes."
"Of magic."
"I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said. At her curious expression, he explained, "Magic can be used to help people and to hurt them. I teach the students to defend themselves against the magic intended to hurt."
That was…pretty attractive, actually. It reminded her a bit of her own work with her nuggets, and she wondered if he taught his classes in a similar way. She couldn't picture Harry demanding that his students call him God.
"What about you?" he asked. "What do you do?"
"I fly," she said simply. He stopped, a spark suddenly forming in those stunning green eyes of his. "Fighter planes."
"You fly?" he repeated. "I've never flown a plane. I would love to try."
She swept her eyes slowly over his slender body, assessing. "You'd be good at it," she told him honestly. "You've got a good build." She watched in amusement as a faint blush worked its way up his cheeks.
"Er…thanks," he said. "I think." He cleared his throat, then started walking again. "Anyway, we teach a number of different subjects here: Defense, Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, and loads others. You met Dumbledore, he's the Headmaster. Then there's my friend Hermione Granger, who teaches Transfiguration and Neville Longbottom, who teaches Herbology. Just steer clear of the Potions teacher, Professor—" he cut off when they turned a corner and abruptly found themselves face-to-face with a thin, sallow-faced man with a hooked nose and an unpleasant expression. "—Snape," Harry finished lamely. "Hello, Severus."
"Potter," Snape sneered, crossing his arms over his chest and looking like a giant bat in his black robes. He transferred his sneer to Starbuck, who sneered back, unimpressed. "And what's this?"
"A new guest," Harry said, his voice carefully neutral. "Starbuck, this is Severus Snape. Severus, Starbuck."
"Another member of your endless fan club, Potter?" Okay, she didn't like this Snape guy.
"A visitor," Harry said again, and Starbuck realized that the evenness in his voice was not because he was unemotional—it was because he was trying very hard not to attack Snape.
Snape eyed her critically. "Is that—a muggle?"
Starbuck bristled. She didn't know what a muggle was, but the way he said it was an insult.
"That's none of your business, Severus," Harry replied. "Now, if you'll excuse us."
"You didn't answer my question, Potter," Snape spat in a low voice, fingering his stick-thing, which he had been holding the whole time. He stepped in front of them, refusing to allow them to pass.
"Move," Harry said quietly. "I won't tell you again."
Starbuck watched the interchange with interest. Harry was protecting her, it was clear, which was both irritating and a little bit cute. Despite the younger man's warning, Snape looked like he was about to say something scathing, so Starbuck did what she often did when people irritated her.
As they stared down at the unconscious man and his broken nose, Starbuck felt that this was the real moment in which she could test Harry's character. Either he would insist that they help the man and censor her for punching him, or he would…
"I think we should go," Harry said, his voice carefully flat although his eyes were alight with mischief.
"Can I hit him again?" Starbuck asked hopefully, equally mischievous.
Harry hesitated for a moment, then shook his head regretfully. "Best not to," he said. "Don't want him to poison our pumpkin juice come morning."
She didn't know what pumpkin juice was, and shot one last longing glance at the prone man as they hurried away. They made it through several long corridors and up a couple of flights of stairs before neither could quite contain themselves any more. She wasn't sure who started it, but suddenly they were both laughing, sinking to the floor in shared amusement at what had just happened. Starbuck was shocked to feel this free and easy, after everything that had happened to her in the past few weeks—the past few years, really. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this at peace.
She watched Harry as she laughed, and thought what a change of pace he was, as well. He reminded her of Zak, and of Lee before Zak died, and of Anders before New Caprica happened. He reminded her of what it was like to be happy, and it was because of that strange feeling that she didn't give herself time to second-guess, but leaned forward and kissed him solidly on the lips.
The first time she kissed Zak, he started it, and she had been the one to pull away, shocked by her own feelings. The first time she kissed Lee, they had both been drunk and she had punched him as if he were to blame for what she did. The first time she kissed Anders, he responded passionately and they fell into his bed almost immediately.
She knew in the first instant of kissing Harry for the first time that it had been a mistake. Harry stiffened, his laughter suddenly chased away, and didn't reciprocate. She pulled away quickly. Always have to frak things up, don't you, Thrace?
"Sorry," she muttered.
"Don't apologize," he said roughly. "I was just surprised." Perhaps, but she could feel how he'd withdrawn, emotionally if not physically.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds before Harry pushed himself to his feet. "Let me show you to your room," he said, offering her a hand up. She ignored it and stood on her own. Never let it be said that Starbuck needed help of any kind.
"That'd be nice," she said.
They walked in silence until they reached a door with a portrait of a frog on it. The frog watched them with interest.
"The portraits here are enchanted," Harry explained. "They can talk and move as if they were alive. It's nice for protecting your rooms, because you speak your password to the portrait and it lets you in."
She nodded, but made no move to tell the frog her password with Harry standing there. He ran his hand through his hair, clearly a nervous gesture. "Well, I'll leave you to getting settled in," he said. "If you need anything, tell the frog, and it'll have someone fetch me. Otherwise, I'll come get you in the morning and you can have breakfast in the Great Hall, if you'd like."
She had no idea what he was talking about. "Okay."
"Goodnight," he said, scuffing his feet on the floor like a little boy before turning to walk away.
"Goodnight," she called after him. He paused but did not stop or turn around. She waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to the frog portrait. "Just tell it the password," she muttered to herself. She considered. "Well, why not?" It wasn't like anyone here would know anything about her, after all. "My password is Adama," she told the frog, which ribbuted at her and then allowed the door to swing open. Adama. One word, three men she cared about. It made for a certain efficiency in her life, at least.
The rooms she found herself in were fairly luxurious, especially after living in cramped quarters on the Galactica. She had a living room, a bedroom, and a large bathroom. She thought of treating herself to a bath, but then realized that she was bone tired. It wouldn't do for her to fall asleep in the bathtub and drown—a rather ignominious death for a viper pilot. She pulled off her clothes, then collapsed on the featherbed, sighing as she sank into the thick comforter on top of the bed.
She just had time to breathe a quick prayer—"Lords of Kobol, please protect Lee and William Adama, and Sam Anders--and if you get a chance, don't forget about me, either"—before she fell into a deep, blissful sleep.