Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The doorbell rang insistently.

Jack, who'd just flopped on his couch with an oversized t-shirt and the TV remote control, went to open none too happily.
He found the tall, dark form of his most stoic team-mate on the doorstep and tried to ignore the dread rising in the pit of his stomach.

Some damn alien better not have attacked on his one day off…

"Teal'c!" he exclaimed with faked over-cheerfulness. "Not that your company isn't great and all, but this is supposed to be my first real break since… those… Goa'uld…" he slowly trailed off, his train of thoughts derailed as his entire concentration focused on the bundle in Teal'c's muscled arms.

Which… looked… like a child.

Surely not?

The bundle sniffed a little and blinked huge, frightened green eyes at him, clutching at Teal'c's garish Hawaiian shirt with a sort of quiet desperation.

Jack raised a finger in question and pointed sharply at the strange apparition in his friend's embrace, all the while opening his mouth to ask the million questions racing through his mind only to close it again because his brain was apparently incapable of formulating even the simplest one.

Teal'c's deep and gravely voice rang out, in the measured tone of perplexity that Jack had come to associate with his 'Tau'ri-are-weirder-than-I-thought' moments: "O'Neill," he said, "are children not treasured among the Tau'ri? I was under the impression that they were to be protected at all costs. Was I mistaken?"

Jack frowned with sudden unease and let his hand drop: "No, Teal'c, you're right," he murmured quietly.

"Then how do you explain this?" asked the former Jaffa almost angrily and dropped the coat he'd bundled the child in (and it most definitely was a child) dramatically.

Jack flinched.

The little body sported a flourishing pattern of nasty bruises and even a few cuts.

The child squeezed his green, green eyes shut, whimpering in pain and fear.

Jack felt the sudden urge to break something. The necks of whoever abused the child would do perfectly…

---

 

Several hours later, SG-1 was gathered in the debriefing room in the Cheyenne Mountain Complex.

Jack had figured that the quickest way to get the child – who turned out to be a boy – to a trustworthy doctor without getting immediately detained as suspects of child abuse was to ring up Dr. Fraiser, even if she, too, was supposed to be on holiday.

Janet had dropped everything for this and brought her daughter Cassandra along too. The sweet girl had done wonders to distract and relax the child; but even then, it had been a task getting him to say anything at all, let alone something that would be of use.

The confused tale they'd slowly put together with patient questions spoke of indifferent cruelty and deliberate abandonment and had Jack growing more and more murderous with every evidence of malnutrition, neglect and abuse Janet's scans kept adding to the boy's file.

Eventually they'd got a name – Harry Potter – and General Hammond, looking grimmer than when Earth was under threat, had promised to look into it.

Now they were waiting for him.

Carter looked close to tears. Daniel had retreated to his depressed-anger mask and appeared almost as stoic as Teal'c. Jack had been utterly unable to sit still and was pacing. And viciously tormenting the piece of elastic cloth he'd been given after he'd cracked the third ruler.

He stiffened when the door opened. Everybody else straightened, tense.

The General entered briskly, mouth set in a firm line. To their surprise, he was followed by Dr. Fraiser.

"Harry is fine," she reassured them quickly. "I've left him playing with Cassandra under Dr. McKenzie's supervision."

Jack started pacing again. The General took his place at the head of the table.

"We've managed to trace a Harry Potter, age four, supposedly living with his maternal aunt at Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."

"In England?" asked Jack, surprised.

"Supposedly?" asked Carter frowning.

"What about his parents?" asked Daniel at the exact same time.

The General acknowledged Daniel's question with a nod, but turned to Carter first: "They've had guardianship of the child for the last three years. However, when interrogated about his whereabouts, they claimed he 'ran away'. No report to the police or anyone else for that matter, no attempts at finding him, nothing."

The looks they exchanged were increasingly darker.

"I called in a few favors from the UK branch of the SG program and they sent an agent over. He got the distinct impression they didn't give a damn. They certainly couldn't explain how he came to be in the USA, nor seemed interested in finding out."

There were a few growls at this.

"However their son, who is the same age as little Harry, let it slip that, and I quote from the report I was sent, 'Aunt Marge is taking care of the freak, so of course he isn't here to bother us no more'. A Marge Dursley has been apprehended as she arrived at the London Heathrow airport. Her travel documents show that she left with a minor of whom there is no trace and that she claims not to know. She and the Dursleys are currently under arrest, until the situation is clarified."

Everybody smiled darkly.

"They forwarded what few records they have on him – no medicals, of course, no schooling…"

More angry frowns.

"The birth certificate indicates 07/31/1994 as the day of his birth."There was a moment of silence as they digested what they'd heard.

"These are his mother's records," went on the General, shuffling some official-looking papers: "Lily Potter née Evans, born 01/30/1974 in Cokeworth, died 10/31/1995."

The General paused.

"She was young," murmured Daniel sadly, "and Harry would have been what? Fifteen months old?"

Jack took his seat, feeling unease again: "What about his father?"

The General looked at them all seriously: "Officially, he doesn't exist."

"What?"

The General nodded. "His name – James Charlus Potter – appears on the marriage certificate as well as Harry's birth certificate. And nowhere else."

"How is this possible?" asked Carter incredulously.

"The guys over the pond claim to have double-checked. The paper trail for him is next to non-existent… and most likely forged on top of that."

They gaped at him.

"It's like he appeared out of nowhere just to marry Lily Evans."

SG-1 traded meaningful glances.

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?" asked Jack in his typical hip attitude.

Carter turned to the General: "Sir…" she started, then seemed to think better of it and rephrased: "What exactly are you trying to say, sir?"

The General looked at Doctor Frasier, silently inviting her to continue.

She took a deep breath: "The situation will probably make more sense in light of some of my findings. Specifically, that Harry's brainwaves have a range of frequencies wider than those of an average human."

It was Daniel who voiced their incredulity: "Are you saying that he's an alien?"

"No, no," said Janet quickly. "He is mostly human."

"Mostly?" asked Carter.

"The physiology is overall ours. Just… not only human."

"So the kid's father was an alien," summed up Jack.

"In light of everything, that seems to be the most likely explanation," nodded the General sharply. He collected his papers smartly: "Until further notice, SGC has taken over temporary guardianship of the minor Harry James Potter." He smiled: "UK hasn't even objected. I get the feeling they're too ashamed that something like this happened on their watch."

He stood up: "Since he's already familiar with you, SG-1 will be in charge of watching over him until we get to the bottom of this and figure out what to do."

"Yessir!" they chorused.

And for once, even Jack didn't make any smart-ass comments.

---

 

Daniel ran a hand through his hair wearily, then quickly adjusted the glasses he'd inadvertently upset.

How had he gotten chosen for baby-sit duty? He didn't have a clue how to handle a child and felt quite helpless at the mere sight of little Harry in his study.

Cassandra and Janet had gotten the boy brightly colored clothes that had delighted him and he looked a little more like a normal child – if you ignored his pallor, skin-and-bones frame and the fading bruises that peeked out of his red Scooby-do t-shirt.

The child looked lost, standing in the middle of the room, too still and too tense for a boy his age and watching him rather warily.

Daniel was at a loss. How, oh, how had he gotten roped in baby-sitting the kid?

Not that he minded! Certainly not: but he'd been in the middle of deciphering a most fascinating set of texts, copied from an abandoned planet whose civilization appeared to have been destroyed but had to have been quite advanced judging by the art and architecture left. The language utterly eluded him – a rare challenge.

Thankfully Harry was a quiet child and seemed well able to entertain himself.

He looked amazed at being allowed in such a big room and a little scared too. For a while, he just stood hesitant and still in the middle, as if he didn't know how to move in such a space, or didn't dare. It saddened Daniel, who remembered the mentions of a 'cubbor:'.

Almost desperate to give Harry a better time then he was used to, Daniel cast about for something, anything, that could interest a child. But of course, his study had nothing of the sort...

Unless... his eyes fell on one of the most recent relics he'd collected, a spherical metallic orb from the planet whose language still eluded him, which was light, shining and covered in beautiful etchings of serpent-like creatures and spiral symbols.

The iconography was typical of the culture. Daniel theorized that snakes had to have been worshiped as deities, or at least, as symbols of divinity. Or else unbelievably common. But that was beside the point.

He grabbed the globe and turned it over and over. It was sturdy – Jack had accidentally dropped it back on the planet and it wasn't even scratched – it was pleasantly cool to the touch, it didn't have any dangerous points or small breakable and
potentially swallow-able parts...

"Hey, Harry," he called out cheerfully, turning to the boy with the brightest smile he could summon and trying to ignore how he jumped and flinched at being addressed. "Would you like to play with this?"

The 'toy' was clearly a stroke of genius. Once Harry got over his amazed shock, Daniel was free to loose himself in his research while the little one happily played on the carpet, over the moon at his 'p:esent'.

He was so happy at such a small thing, and so quiet, that Daniel could have almost forgot he was there... until he heard the hissing.

---

A disheveled and excited Daniel burst into Carter's lab, where Jack and Teal'c were patiently waiting for the blonde Captain to realize that in order to face the latest alien-related crisis, her technobabble needed to be translated into English so that they could understand it.Startled, the three stared at their bespectacled friend talking so fast that he didn't manage to finish
some words before the next tumbled out, at the weird alien 'toy' he was waving madly at them, and at the petrified, silently crying child perched on his hip.

"Alright," Jack took charge, snatching the boy and the alien thingie from Daniel and throwing the latter to Teal'c. "I don't know what's going on and there's no chance I'll ever understand what you're babbling if you don't slow down, but one thing is clear, you're scaring the kid, so... STOP."

Daniel fell silent, abashed.

A small, desolate voice whimpered from Jack's arms: "...'m so::y."

"Oh, sweetheart, don't worry," cooed Carter, earning some really weird look from her team-mates, "I'm sure it's not your fault."

The child sniffed a little and looked at her imploringly: "I just wan:ed to hear the 'tory. I didn' know it's not 'llowed. I p:omise!"

SG-1 turned to Daniel expectantly.

The archaeologist gestured to the sphere Teal'c was holding: "That thing," he cried triumphantly, "is a recording device!"

All gazes turned to the object, except for Jack, who had felt the boy in his arm stiffen at the loud voice and had a sudden insight in the problem.

"Give it to Harry," pressed Daniel eagerly. "Go on, give it to him!"

The child whimpered again when Teal'c held it out for him.

Jack swung him up so that they were eye-level. "Harry," he said very seriously, "Daniel is not mad. He's not shouting because he's angry at all." He ignored the dismayed gasps from around him. "He's shouting because he's excited. He gets like this some times. It's not a bad thing. In fact, it's a good thing. A good kind of shouting. Ok?"

The child stared at him wild-eyed, but Jack could feel him relaxing under his hands. He smiled to further reassure him.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't think," added Daniel, abashed. "I didn't mean to scare you! I was just... what you did is incredible!" His eyes lit up and he didn't even notice that his voice was raising again.

"See?" said Jack quickly. "A good kind of shouting."

Daniel startled, but little Harry looked warily intrigued by the idea.

He turned huge green eyes on Jack, all seriousness: "I no bad?" he clarified.

Jack stifled his grin and answered with just as much seriousness: "You good."

The boy relaxed completely and then scrunched his nose in confusion: "But why?"

Everybody turned to Daniel again, but the bespectacled man could only gesticulate wildly toward the orb and between it and Harry, evidently excited beyond words.

Teal'c observed the sphere more closely: "There doesn't seem to be an activation button, DanielJackson."

"It's voice-activated!" was the enthusiastic retort.

"A vocal command?" asked Carter, puzzled. "How could Harry have guessed it?"

"What, like, you have to tell it 'Open Sesame'?" asked Jack flippantly, shifting Harry to one arm so that he could snatch the orb from Teal'c. "Open sissy!" he cried dramatically at the thing. "Open sayso! Open, says me!"

Harry giggled.

"Oh, well, you do it then, if you're so good!" pouted Jack.

The child eagerly grabbed the orb and turned it around until the biggest snake-etching faced up.

And then he hissed at it.

It was all Jack could do not to drop the kid in his shock. He was hissing, like a snake, no two opinions about it. He was so stunned he didn't even register that the sphere was hissing back, or hear Daniel's smug yelling about the 'acoustic and articulatory properties of a language based on sibilant semivowels'.

"Well," he commented faintly. "I guess the 'alien father' theory has just been verified."

---

Once again, SG-1 was gathered in the debriefing room, this time so that Daniel could try and convince General Hammond to authorize an unprecedented off-world stint for a four-years-old.

"...and in short, General, I believe that to take Harry on P6X-2442 would be an unparallelled opportunity to study it as well as to find out more about his origins and how to best care for him and all in all, well worth the few risks involved..."

"Agreed."

"I know, I know, it's irregular, but the potential benefits..." Daniel trailed off as his brain caught up with his ears. "What did you say?"

"I said yes," was the almost amused answer. "The off-world mission is approved with the parameters you have requested. Including little Harry Potter's presence."

There was a moment of shocked silence.

Jack frowned and opened and closed his mouth around the question a few times before actually formulating his incredulity: "You're letting us take a civilian child through the Stargate? Seriously?"

The General grimaced and then looked almost embarrassed: "Normally I wouldn't even consider it, of course, but..." he sighed. "NID is after Harry," he confessed.

SG-1 was suddenly galvanized to attention, scowls and snarls and very definite mutters flourishing: "Sir! You can't...!" - "Those utter bastards..." - "My patience with them has expired." - "Over my dead..."

The General raised a hand sharply: "They have persuaded the President to allow a search of SGC for an 'alien menace'. If they find it, they are authorized to take it away, no questions asked."

"But...!" - "Sir!..." - "What the..."

"That is why," continued the General, raising his voice over the vehement protests, "I want Harry off-world while they're here. If they don't find him..."

"They cannot take him," concluded Jack, looking pleased. "I like this plan. When are we leaving?"

"As soon as possible."

"Sir... what if they come back later?" pointed out Carter reluctantly. "We won't be able to keep Harry off-world indefinitely."

To their surprise, the General smirked: "Didn't I tell you? I'm having Harry's papers... adjusted, to show him born on USA soil. As an American citizen, and underage at that..."

"They cannot touch him!" concluded Daniel triumphantly. "That's great!"

"I love this mission. Tweaking the NID bastards' noses and getting paid for it," summed it up Jack. "Sweet."

---

There was a hitch in the plan.

Apparently, the horrid woman that had taken Harry to the States to abandon him had told him that they were 'going on vacation' and when Jack unwittingly used the same line to tell him about their little 'trip', little Harry panicked.

It broke their heart to hear him plead so desperately: "I be good! I be good, I p:omise! Please! Please, no vacation! Please, don' go 'way!"

It took them a while to calm him down and reassure him that they weren't about to abandon him.

At least, the Stargate cheered him up. His chocked sobs dried up completely in front of the wonder that was the huge ring.

Jack, who was carrying him, held the child close and wondered how to answer the unvoiced curiosity that was clear in those green eyes, too big for the thin face. Even Carter wouldn't try the whole 'we're going to be demolecularized, transmitted over two thousand light years through subspace, and then rematerialized on the other side' explanation with a four year old.

However the best he could come up with was: "See that kind of ring thing? The techs up there," he gestured to the control room window but Harry didn't take his eyes off the huge Gate, "are going to put some symbols in their computers, then the ring will spin around and lights will come on, and then it will kind of flush sideways..." he motioned haphazardly with his free hand, trailing off under the combined force of Daniel's 'I'm-cracking-a-rib-in-the-attempt-not-to-laugh' gaze and Teal'c's deadpan stare.

Fortunately right at that moment the activation sequence was started and Harry gasped quietly, watching in amazement as the ring started to spin and vibrate.

SG-1 smiled. They were so used to it all by now, that they had almost forgotten how astounding it was for someone new to it. It was refreshing to see Harry's big eyes become huge and round in wonder.

When the last symbol was locked, a violent burst of energy shot out of the ring, like a contained explosion of silvery-blue water blasting their world with piercing power.

Harry cried out softly in shock, reflexively clutching Jack's shoulders.

The vortex settled into the familiar event horizon, a shimmering light blue veil of vertical liquid light, and Harry whispered, amazed: "What was that?"

"That was an unstable vortex, Harry. Huh, it's..." Carter hesitated, clearly not knowing how to explain it without any technobabble involved.

"We call it 'kawoosh'," interjected Jack cheerfully.

Carter glared at him, but Harry nodded seriously: "Kawoosh," he repeated solemnly, clearly agreeing that the name was perfect.

"And now that it's over, but the Gate is working," went on Jack, "we have what we call the puddle."

"It's like water with light in," whispered Harry in wonder.

"Now we're going to go in, ok?" asked Jack.

Harry finally tore his eyes off the Stargate to stare at him. "Is it goin' to hurt?"

Jack blinked, surprised by the question.

Teal'c's deep voice said shortly: "No."

"Oh, ok, then," said Harry relaxing immediately.

They moved instinctively slower than they had grown used to, letting Harry savor the mix of excitement and fear that walking up to the Gate's odd, permeating energy evoked.

The shimmering surface was mesmerizing and the child held out a little hand before they even reached the event horizon, seemingly incapable of stopping himself.

They all shared smiles and Jack stopped a moment before stepping in, letting Harry stroke the surface of energy lightly, sending concentric light ripples off towards the edges of the ring. He knew the weird sensation well – the coolness of the indescribable substance and the buzz of energy that was more felt than heard and the inexplicable pull that the vortex invariably exerted on living matter. Harry drew in a sharp breath, completely fascinated.

"You ready?" Jack asked.

Harry's head snapped to the right to look at him. After a long moment, he nodded.

And Jack, the child securely held in his clasped arms, stepped through.

As usual, his mind conjured up the lengthy instantaneous journey through the tunnel of marble-neon cerulean energy that he couldn't possibly be actually experiencing.

As usual, Jack refused to even try and comprehend how the ancient device worked and what effect it was having on his psyche. Not to mention his body particles.

As usual, his first instinct upon being spat out of the arrival gate into a ghostly town of honey-colored ruins, was to check his surroundings for Goa'ulds, potential threats, Goa'uld ambushes, potentially hostile aliens, Goa'uld traps, traces of Goa'uld passage...

Unlike the usual routine, however, he was soon distracted by the unexpectedly elated bundle in his arms, who was clutching his shoulders so tight it almost hurt, but at the same time, was bouncing on his hip with utter glee.

"Again!" screeched Harry joyously, right before bursting out in mirthful laughter. He twisted a little in Jack's grip and shouted once more: "Less do it again!"

Jack smiled, amused: "That was fun, huh?"

"Yes!" cheered Harry, throwing his arms up in the air.

Jack intercepted Teal'c's gaze and nearly laughed out loud as well.

"You are a strange child, HarryPotter," was the former Jaffa's only comment, but Harry was too excited to pay him any mind.

"Hey, you there!" called Daniel from somewhere among all the rocks. "Come have a look. This place is a treasure chest of artifacts!"

Harry frowned perplexed and Jack chuckled: "He means his toys, Harry."

"Oh!" the child brightened up. "Can we go see then?"

And they did.

---

 

By sheer coincidence, the total time that took one Albus Dumbledore to be informed that something was wrong at the Dursley residence, find the time to check it out, just about have a heart attack at realizing Harry Potter was no longer there and the Dursleys had been arrested, quietly panic, call for a search of the missing boy-hero, run into walls not even magic could get through, get mightily frustrated, finally accept that he wasn't going to be told where the child was and resort to a Locating Ritual to find him, amounted exactly to the time needed for SG-1's uncharacteristic mission to be approved, prepared, and launched.

Thus, when the Ritual was performed, with half the Hogwarts staff assisting the Headmaster and pompously stern Ministry officials monitoring every step, little Harry Potter was on the other side of the Galaxy, happily rummaging among alien artifacts that responded to his enthusiastic hissing.

It was really too bad that magic had been developed exclusively on Earth and by Earth-bound people, and thus did not take into account the possibility of off-worlds trips.

Because while Harry played under the double glare of two distant, twin suns, the wizarding world panicked and despaired at the news that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was dead.

Chapter Text

Twenty-year-old Harry Potter, youngest member of the U.S. Air Force to be assigned to the newly revealed Stargate program, stood at attention under the glare of thousands of flashes and offered the rabid reporters his most glossy smile, as bright and as empty as a light bulb.

He hated press conferences. They were the bane of every sane man. How politicians could be so keen on having them all the time escaped him utterly. Of course, Jack – General O'Neill, he should remember to call him – insisted that it was the ultimate proof that politicians were anything but sane.

Unfortunately, Harry had built up an ever-growing experience with the press as of late.

The unrest in England, culminated in the very public and very unexplainable shot-fire – if you could call beams of red and green energy 'shots' – in the middle of London, had forced the SG program out of hiding.

To think that a Goa'uld could have made his way to the heart of their very planet! There was quite a lot of finger-pointing and buck-passing between the people responsible for the American Stargate and those responsible for the one in Antarctica, but in the end, it was irrelevant who had managed to miss his arrival. The point was that the Goa'uld was here – and doing damage.

In typical Goa'uld fashion, he had declared himself 'Dark Lord of the British Isles': a pattern of ridiculous grandiosity and self-aggrandizement that left little doubt as to his species.

Portraying himself as a God-like power, the obsession with gloomy grandiose architecture, a personal guard of invariably masked and cloaked 'Death Eaters'... plus there was the use of alien technology – a lot of it, the techs were going spare attempting to figure out the previously unknown stick-like devices – and the reports of his having 'glowing red eyes' – which, as Jack would say, is always a good indication of a little reptilian activity in the head the eyes belong to.

Yep, it gave everybody in the SG program the kind of happy, tingly feeling only the thrice-damned parasites hell bent on galactic conquest and domination could inspire.

The experts at SGC had managed to identify him with a reasonable degree of certainty as Nehebkau, former servant of Ra; in myths, he was the snake-god who guarded the underworld (hence, most in SGC believed, the ridiculous name 'Death Eaters' for his guards).

Of course, Daniel had pointed out that it didn't really take a genius to guess his identity, people's reluctance to say his name notwithstanding: not when he kept surrounding himself with snakes and snake-related items.

This obsession of his was something that irritated Harry to no end, because of his own, special connection with the wondrous hissing creatures. A connection that he had been instructed to keep secret at all costs. And with good reason...

He determinedly stopped his train of thoughts. This was not the time to take a stroll down Memory Lane, especially when there was a lot of grief to be found along its edges.

He couldn't afford to appear angry: too much hung on this press conference. The SG program was public knowledge now and they needed rather desperately to both reassure the people that it could deal with any alien threat – including that mess over the pond – and convince them that the risk of more such threats wasn't a reason to shut down the Gate and bury their heads in the sand.

As one of the very few part-alien on Earth, Harry had been seized by the publicists with glee: his very human, good-ol'-boy appearance coupled with his rather striking green eyes were, he'd been told, the perfect combination of reassuring and exotic to represent in a good light the alliance and avoid a surge of alien-hatred in the face of the menace.

Whatever.

His quick promotion and even quicker reassignment to Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Station was part of this – as good a pilot as he was (amazingly good, in fact) he wouldn't have made it to an SG team so young if he hadn't been chosen as poster-boy for the whole program.

It was bittersweet, the whole thing.

On the one hand, this was like the crowning achievement of all his childhood dreams; what he'd wanted from the moment he'd realized with a modicum of clarity what 'his' SG team did (and privately decided he'd grow up to be exactly like Jack, only maybe cool like Teal'c too).

On the other hand... a hurried promotion and a team even more hurriedly assembled as response to an ongoing invasion wasn't what he'd envisioned. He wasn't as thrilled with his lot as he should be - he wanted to fly; he'd have gone into the Marines if he'd been inerested in being a 'ground pounder'! And unlike practically everybody else, he wasn't giddy with excitement at the mere idea of going off-world (mostly because he was still authorized to do just that on a fairly regular basis... and actually, with the way things were on Earth, the chances of his team being deployed anywhere but in Englad were almost non-existent, anyway).

And most of all, it was hard to swallow, that he owed his position almost entirely to the fact that his father wasn't human... But then, his feelings towards this little fact had always been ambivalent.

---

SG-1 had just returned from an unexpectedly quiet mission on a small lush world when a very determined-looking kid cut their path, arms crossed over a black t-shirt, which read 'Duct Tape is like the Force: it has a dark side and a light side and holds the universe together'.

"Spit it out," he glowered.

"Is that a present from Cassie?" smirked Jack gesturing at the t-shirt. "Definitely her style..."

"Come on, Jack. I'm not stupid. You've been acting odd for a while now. Trying to say something and then chickening out at the last minute. I've had enough. Whatever this hot potato of yours is, stop trying to dump it on someone else and just tell me!"

An exchange of meaningful look that both irritated and unnerved Harry sobered the four friends.

"It's just that we were planning on waiting until you were a little older to breach this topic," admitted Samantha, ever diplomatic. "But the Command insists that we tell you before you choose whether to enroll at the military school or that school for gifted that contacted you instead..."

Harry watched her reproachfully: "Military school, of course. And I'm ten, you know. And a half! I'm no longer a kid!"

"Alright, Harry," Jack suddenly pierced him with his 'serious-moment-here' gaze.

In less than no time, the child was steered into an empty workroom and the five sat at or around the desk.

"You know how you've been allowed to come and go from P6X-2442? Even if technically, you're too young to even be anywhere near the Stargate? The reason is, well..." Jack trailed off, uncertain, looking at Daniel for help.

The archaeologist shot back a panicked gaze: "Ah, hum, well, yeah, that is..."

"We believe that your father was an alien to this planet," Teal'c interjected with his usual, unflappable calm.

Harry stared: "What?"

Well, he wasn't entirely surprised. I mean, he had wondered, of course. Talked it over with Cassie, even. But nobody had said a thing and he'd sorta kinda hoped nobody would...

"It's just that, well, to start with, your father doesn't seem to have existed until he married your mother." Samantha was laying out her arguments with her usual thoroughness. "Maybe he had been forced to change his identity for some relatively normal reason, but..."

Harry flinched. However carefully worded, the meaning of her point was clear. His father wasn't normal. And neither was he.

He'd known it, deep down, from the very start – hazy memories of being yelled at for being a 'freak' still haunted him, from before SG-1, before his true life had begun... but they'd never made him feel abnormal here, not until now... he'd hoped...

Daniel's kind voice shattered his thoughts: "But there is your strange ability to talk to snakes to consider..."

Harry flinched again. Strange. Unnatural. Freak...

"A human throat just can't produce those sounds... and it's hard for our hearing to differentiate them too... the way the semivocalisms effect the tones is simply..." Daniel's linguistic ramblings were usually funny, but this time, Harry could only feel cold dread uncoiling inside him.

Not human. This was it, they were going to throw him out...

"Hey, it's alright, you know. You're still you."

Jack's contribution was so unexpected that Harry took some time to register the words.

"Doesn't change a thing, really. Except that you can do that cool hissing at rocks trick. But then we knew that already..."

Harry stared at one of his favorite people ever in wonder. Did Jack really mean...? Could Harry really hope...?

Jack fidgeted a little, uncomfortable under the weight of desperate hope in the green orbs pinned on him. "Besides, you were born on Earth, you know. That makes you a native," he elaborated. "Not that it means much to us. You could have been born in an other galaxy entirely and you'd still be our Harry."

Relief, Harry discovered, was one of the most powerful feelings one could experience.

"You... are you okay with that?" he asked, needing to be sure. He couldn't bring himself to voice his real worry – You don't think I'm a freak? I'm not unnatural? Wrong? - but this was close enough.

The babble of reassurances made him smile: "Course we are!" - "Yes! Certainly!" - "I think it's amazing! Just think of the opportunities for study..."

"I am alien too, HarryPotter," Teal'c's deep voice shocked him – and the others too. They kind of tended to forget this tiny detail. Teal'c was family, after all. Of sorts.

"Alien. Right. So was my wife," nodded Daniel in agreement. "Never been a problem."

"My father, too, in a manner of speaking," was Samantha's contribution.

"See? It's not even that special. Guess you'll have to 'search for your unique identity' the same way every other teenager on Earth does... sucks to be you." Jack's smirk made them all roll their eyes. "Course, you'll have a ton of weird designs to copy if you go the Goth way..."

"Jack, for the love of..."

Harry chuckled at Daniel's mock-exasperation. Now that his fear and despair were vanishing, leaving him light and happy and feeling as if a large balloon was swelling inside him, curiosity was raising its head: "So... my, my dad... he came from Shshhss? I mean, from P6X-2442?"

"Ssshsh... was that the name of the planet in the anguisermonia language?" asked Daniel, instantly excited.

Harry nodded hesitantly, forgoing correcting the mangled pronunciation, even as Jack gave Daniel a strange look: "Angu-what?"

"It means snake-language, Jack," was Daniel's patient explanation.

"Then why didn't you say so?"

"I did!"

Samantha rolled her eyes at them: "Yes, Harry, we believe he did. After all, there is no evidence of some manner of culture that has your abilities on Earth..."

"Well," said Harry hesitantly. "Cool."

"You bet!" they grinned.

---

 

Then again, Harry mused, thinking back on days long past, SG-1 was rather used to dealing with aliens. Telling his best friend had been harder.

---

 

Anthony was his room-mate through five fun-filled and gruesome years of Air Force Academy High School.

They lived together, learned together, marched in Full Parade Uniform the punishment tours for their most reckless stunts together, were awarded ribbons for the grading cycle together. They had been planning to enter the Air Force together.

Harry was amazingly gifted as a pilot – he could fly anything with minimum training (and although few people knew this, his definition of 'anything' was a lot broader than the average teen living on Earth, and extended to include a Tel'tak and even, to Teal'c's everlasting shock, a Goa'uld Needle threader).

Anthony was a borderline genius when it came to aircraft engineering and had already started helping out the technicians with minor maintenance long before graduation.

The decision to expose the SG program and Harry's premature induction – he'd always known he'd join eventually, but he'd expected to have to to go through the standard channels, logging hours in enemy airspace and gaining some college qualifications at the very least – had thrown a glitch in their smooth friendship.

So for the first time ever, Harry had decided to violate the confidentiality agreement and tell Anthony the truth.

His friend had stared at him incredulously from the bed he was sitting on, his tall, broad frame looking too big for the room, as usual.

Their mates always found it hilariously funny that Harry looked like a geek, complete with thin frame, pale skin and thick glasses, and Anthony, so dark and muscled, could pass for an NBA star, when in reality, it was the other way round – Anthony was the science-obsessed scholar and Harry couldn't be kept away from sports, especially dangerous ones, without employment of brute strength.

"You... are an alien," repeated Anthony at long last.

"Half-alien," precised Harry anxiously.

The silence stretched, and Harry could almost see the gears running in his best friend's head, munching and digesting the news. "Ok. Fine. Cool."

"What?" Whatever Harry had been expecting, this wasn't it.

"An alien father. That's cool," had said Anthony, suddenly looking perfectly relaxed and at ease. "So how do I go about getting into this 'protecting the planet from ETs' program of yours? 'Cause someone's gonna have to watch your neck during the stunts you're bound to play if they put you on a starship... patch the thing together after you destroy it in one of your crash landings, that kinda stuff..."

"You're okay with this?" asked Harry in disbelief.

"Sure."

"Just like that?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know. Just... I don't know. I kinda expected you to scream bloody murder. Request a change of room on the spot or something. Yell at me for not telling you sooner."

"Nah. Don't be an idiot. I've known you snore for years, nothing's changed."

"Hey!"

"Honestly, Harry. I'm cool with it. Really." A pause. "Of course, if you turn out to be a fan of the Chicago Bulls, I'll be forced to throw you out. A guy's gotta have some standards, after all."

"I know, I know," laughed Harry. "Blackhawks forever."

"Ya got it, babe!"

---

The memory was enough to cheer him and Harry forced another inane smile at the nearly solid wall of reporters as he took his designated seat.

The Air Force press agent, Madeline Anderson, pointed to the first reporter, and the questions began. "How do you feel about fighting for humans and against the likes of you?"

Great. Such a lovely opening salvo. He didn't recognize the middle-aged, platinum blonde woman who had asked the question. He'd been instructed to use names for reporters whenever he could, but to this one he could only smile and hope it didn't appear as fake as it was.

"I consider myself American, madam," was his easy answer. "Our Constitution says clearly that 'all persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States'. It doesn't make an exception for an alien father, that I know of..." he winked charmingly and most reporters laughed with him. Good.

The cameras flashed to life again, blinding him. Just how many pictures did they need, anyway? He managed to smile again, all the while fighting to keep his thoughts from showing on his face.

Another reporter was called upon, a gray-haired man with sharp, shrewd eyes, and he was so courteous, Harry thought he should have known he was leading up to something that wouldn't be pleasant. "Yes, the government has released a declaration about you being part human and part alien... They speak highly of you and of your presence in the Air Force. But isn't it true that some of your comrades and superiors are concerned that you are not human enough to be trustworthy? That they worry about your possible reaction during engagements with other non- humans?"

Harry smiled as pleasantly as he could into the flash of lights and thought furiously.

Of course there were people who thought that... it was inevitable. He hadn't expected such a blatant attack however. Besides, part of the taunting and rudeness wasn't really about his father's species. Anthony got insults for being Afro-American. Their comrade Martin Rodriguez had been dubbed a 'border bandit' too many times to count. Sheila Trown and Cathy Weiman had to defend themselves against slurs towards their gender so often they were bored with it. Jonathan Kirby, who was as w.a.s.p. as it was possible to be without descending directly from the Pilgrim Fathers, got dubbed a 'pansy daddy's boy' and couldn't live it down.

It was normal. It was part and parcel of being in the Air Force. And it wasn't all about prejudice, either.

It was... it was about being able to withstand the tension, to keep your cool. If you broke down under a barrage of insults, you'd get yourself and your comrades killed in an actual battle.

And it was an indicator of how much respect you'd managed to earn, and how far you still had to go. Something that worked between different branches of the Army, too. You knew you'd done a good job of a mission when the damn Marines stopped calling you 'Pretty Flyboy'.

Unfortunately, trying to explain all that in this particular setting was likely to backfire. So Harry fell smoothly back onto the pre-arranged list of answers to the expected FAQs Madeline had provided him with beforehand: "There are some among the airmen that see my non-human blood as inferior, I expect. But there are always racists, Mr...?"

"O'Connel," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Do you believe that it is racism then?"

"If not racism then what, Mr. O'Connel? They don't want some half-breed guarding their back."

By the indignant murmurs from most of the crowd present, Harry knew he'd played this right. No paper wanted their reporters to look like racists. The line of questioning would most likely be abandoned, and appear on the articles only as some virtuous cock-and-bull pontificating line about the horrors of discrimination. Joy.

Madeline Anderson stepped in, just a hint of nervousness in her tone. "We need to move on. Next question." She pointed to someone else, a little too eagerly, but Harry understood her. They needed to change topics.

Of course, there were other topics that were almost as bad. "Is the terrorist who's taking over England your same species?" Harry's jaw firmed against his will. This was a hard theme for him, ever since he'd been old enough to understand the truth about the fate of P6X-2442 – his father's homeworld.

---

It was one of Harry and Daniel's regular, bi-monthly visits to Shshhss. Ever since his father's origin had been openly acknowledged, Harry's interest in the planet had grown exponentially and he'd come to love these excursions through the past of his alien half with the kind archaeologist.

As a child, he'd found the big abandoned city a cross between a great playground, his to explore, and a toy store where everything with a snake on it might turn out to be a veritable treasure.

Later, his perspective had changed, and he'd started to approach the well-preserved ruins like he would an excavated site on Earth, full of curiosity and the hope of piecing the culture it represented together from the artifacts and architecture left behind.

But lately he'd come to wonder... Before he knew it, the question that had been plaguing him for a while spilled out.

"So where are my father's people now?"

Daniel stopped short, paling under the purplish glow of the twin suns. Harry turned to watch his familiar frame standing, like a hundred times before, amidst the honey-colored ruins: the bulky uniform, the geeky glasses, the rucksack slung over one shoulder, the fine hair ruffled by the subtly scented wind of the abandoned planet.

The stiff tension of his posture spoke volumes to the boy, and what it said was anything but good.

"Janet recommended us to wait until you asked yourself," Daniel forced out with an unconvincing, crooked smile. "I was so hoping it wouldn't happen on my watch, though."

That opening instantly killed any hopes Harry had had of ever meeting a relative of his, however distant. If his father had just been on Earth out of love for his mum, if his people were living in some faraway colony hard to reach like Harry had fantasized, Daniel wouldn't look so uncomfortable and sad.

"They're dead, aren't they?" he asked in a dull tone. "I don't suppose it was an accident, either?" Just like Cassie's people... "They were killed," he concluded darkly, closing his eyes on his dashed dreams. "Murdered," he whispered.

Daniel sighed deeply. "The correct term is genocide, Harry. The deliberate and systematic destruction of a race."

The pre-teen flinched. "But... why?" he said throatily.

"We cannot be sure..." skirted Daniel but Harry cut him off with sudden desperation: "Please!"

He took a deep breath and asked again, more quietly, but no less intensely: "Please, I- I need to know. To understand. Why...?"

"I'm not sure a thing like genocide can be understood, Harry. It is a kind of horror that goes beyond what I'm able to rationalize." Daniel had climbed to sit on a half-wrecked pillar of stone. "Our best guess is that the Goa'uld acted upon the threat your ancestors posed to them, through their ability."

"Their... you mean the snake-language," breathed Harry in a dead tone.

The scholar nodded sympathetically. "You don't just communicate, Teal'c's... huh... guest... has inadvertently confirmed for us that snakes feel compelled to follow your directions."

"You mean I can order them about?" asked Harry, confused.

Daniel winced, but nodded. "It is a unique skill in the Galaxy. And one that is, as you can imagine, very dangerous to a race of, essentially, snake-like creatures..."

"So they just... they... they..." Harry had difficulty breathing.

Jack's voice resounded clearly from behind them, making Harry spun around: "So they exterminated every member of the race that threatened their supposed superiority. Down to the last child."

He joined them, his rifle casually slanted to the side and a serious, bitter expression in his small, dark eyes. "It's better to call things by their name," he shrugged to Daniel's reproachful gaze. "No use in platitudes, not in front of something of this magnitude."

"Down to the last..." whispered Harry, nearly overcome. "But I... that is, my father..."

"Remember the story you heard from that sphere-recorder we found in the central building?" asked Daniel gently.

"The one about the Chosen Couples sent to the Realm of the Stars to save them from... oh."

"We cannot know for sure, of course, but we can guess. If your father's partner had died during the perilous journey... and he'd found himself stranded on Earth... and met your mother..."

Harry had nodded, silent, overcome. He could see it... like a movie, unrolling under his mind's eyes... or something out of a comic book...

"Gives a whole new meaning to the 'star crossed lovers' cliché, huh?" he tried to joke, though his trembling tone rather gave his distress away.

Daniel gave him a long look. "You've been spending too much time with Jack, kid."

---

He wrenched himself away from the past and back to the press conference, but his mind was still filled with images of Shshhss.

Of Daniel taking him through the crumbling, lifeless streets for the first time after telling him the truth. How everything had seemed so different. So terrible.

"No," he answered the reporter with forced calm. "He is a Goa'uld," that much the SGC had agreed to share openly. "They are the race who destroyed my father's homeworld and exterminated his people."

There was a moment of dumbfounded silence, before a clamor of questions were thrown at him.

As the press agent had predicted, they were pouncing on the 'victim of persecution from monstrous totalitarian aliens' angle like starved dogs on a bone. Before long, he'd likely be hailed a tragic hero and wouldn't the public just love that? Especially with the whole 'two worlds one love' theme in his parents' story.

Somehow, it wasn't comforting.

---

Harry arrived at the transport with barely a minute to spare. The press conference had run longer than he'd expected, the reporters wouldn't stop pelting him with questions. Confound them all. It was a small blessing that he'd been all packed beforehand, or he wouldn't have been able to afford the much needed relief of a hot shower.

His team-mates were already there and greeted him with friendly nods. Harry felt tense, determined, excited. And oh-so-ready.

His team was being sent to England – predictably: none of them had expected any different. The threat needed to be contained before the Goa'uld's reach spilled onto the continent, or further still. All manpower, old and new, was steadily redirected to the British Isles; SGC expected the current guerrilla to bloom into open warfare any day now.

The squad leader, Lieutenant Colonel Evan Lorne, an old friend of Jack's who had practically watched Harry grow, shot him a challenging look while unconsciously rubbing the familiar scars that ran down his right cheek, testimony of a rough encounter with some less than charming Jaffas: "Scared, kid?"

Harry offered the older airman a lopsided grin: "Yes." This was a war he was being sent too, after all. "Not gonna stop me or anything, if that's what you're worried about, though."

Lorne nodded sharply in acknowledgment, even as Eric Philipson, the youngest on the team after Harry, pretended to be put out at the answer: "Oh, come on. That ain't the spirit, kiddo! We're so gonna totally kick ass. Snakey-creepies ass, to be precise!" he crowed.

"Pride comes before a fall, brat," grumbled Lorne. "Kid's got the right of it. You go in without fear, you're dead before you have the time to get scared."

Major Carl Jades butted in with his usual snotty attitude: "Bitch, please. We aren't even going to be at the heart of anything. Assigned to the most remote corner of Scotland a satellite could dig out... probably because of him," he sniffed with a jerky nod at Harry. "We'll be lucky if we run into a wildcat, let alone an enemy!"

"Can it, Jades," rolled his eyes Eric.

"Whatever." The Major spit to the ground. "But seriously. We'll be bored half to death in the middle of nowhere. What could possibly happen?"

Harry answered dryly: "We could get captured and tortured by Jaffas, be taken as hosts by a bat-shit crazy parasite worm and lose our minds to his manipulations, be forced to kill our friends and comrades if they are blended with the megalomaniac murderous parasite, attract enough attention to bring Earth under attack by the bat-shit crazy parasites' psychotic little worm-friends and indirectly provoke the death of over a billion people, lose control of the nuclear bombs we're supposed to guard that are really only there as a last resort and directly provoke the death of several billions people..."

"That's enough, thank you!" cried Eric laughing nervously. "Blast it, kiddo. How is it that you always manage to come up with the worst case scenarios?"

A quick-flash smile: "I practice," quipped Harry.

"Definitely too much time with O'Neill," muttered Lorne, dropping his cigarette as the EO responsible for organizing the deployment waved them over.

Harry chuckled.

---

It was too bad that no self-respecting wizard ever paid any attention to the muggle news. Otherwise the wizarding world wouldn't have been so completely unprepared to receive its unexpectedly returning lost savior...

Because Senior Airman Harry Potter was marching towards his first war mission. In an area of Scotland where the satellites could pick up nothing – but not, as the Air Force thought, because there was nothing there to pick up.

And though he did not know it, and might not have cared too much if he found out either, Harry Potter was marching towards his fate.