But wait, there's an anime character present, so it still qualifies for
this list.  

I just want to note that this fragment is just that -- a *fragment*.  I have
no plot really in place, and no real intention of inserting it into the
Walk at the moment.  (If it were to go into the Walk, though, it would have
to go after "Drunkard's Walk V:  Holy, Holy, Holy... Cow" because of the
anime element which appears herein.)  And be warned, that this passage 
includes significant spoiler information for DW5 -- and mild spoiler info 
for an as-yet unnumbered Step to take place in the Evangelion world 
(tentatively entitled "Angel Baby").  Also, not all of the scenes are in the 
proper order relative to the plot, such as it is.

What little plot is gelling in my mind for this material is fairly 
straightforward.  Doug is, by the necessity of his role as occasional 
narrator, near the center of the action, but I intend for most of the real
business to be in the hands of the usual threesome of Harry, Hermione and 
Ron.  This is tentatively set at the beginning of Harry's fifth year, but 
I'm not certain if I really want to do that after having read "Goblet of 
Fire"; in fact, I'm not certain if I want to really do a Potter fic at all 
after "Goblet of Fire" -- the tone change in the series is just too dramatic 
for me to generate a sense of where it's going and how I'd slip Doug in, and
indeed, how to come up with a "little" story in the face of the potentially
world-shaking changes in "GoF".  (Tiger's fic is obviously trying to do this;
good luck...)  

In any case, the plot would probably work out to something like:  Doug arrives, 
makes some enemies and friends among the wizarding community.  Gets a job as 
the latest DADA instructor (a position which, to quote Buffy Summers, has the 
life expectancy of a Spinal Tap drummer).  Upon hearing Harry's history, he
realizes the boy is critical to the current crisis, and decides to teach him 
everything Doug himself has learned about magic over the years -- in essence, 
unshackling him from the wand-and-potion magics of his world's paradigm.  
Various enemies don't want this, attempt assassinations of Doug and/or Harry, 
which result in Doug and Harry working harder and calling forth better defenses, 
until there comes a point where they have to take an active offensive role -- 
why and how, I'm not sure, but a classic "we've got your friends -- give up or 
they die" kidnap ploy might be appropriate.  (For humor, an initial attempt with 
a kidnap of the Dursleys might be made...)  Then, of course, the final showdown, 
in which Harry pretty much takes center stage while Doug runs interference.  As 
you can see, it's a pretty skeletal excuse for a plot at the moment.

Anyway, the existing material is after the sig; enjoy.

-- Bob

===============================================================================
Robert M. Schroeck          rms@eclipse.net         http://www.eclipse.net/~rms
===============================================================================
Please to remember
Eleven September --
Hijack, destruction and plot.
Our outraged reaction
To terrorist action
Should never be forgot.
===============================================================================

(EXCERPT BEGINS)

Drunkard's Walk ??:  Harry Potter and the Man From Otherearth


coming out of the gate in Diagon Alley.

----------

"You see, in most worlds where magic exists, it's well known and
mages spring from mundane stock all the time.  In fact the most
powerful wizards are usually mundane-born -- hybrid vigor, you
know."

Hermione nodded sagely while Ron just looked puzzled.  Harry
thought suddenly of Lord Voldemort's Muggle father, while
Colonel Sangnoir went on.

"The thing is, in most worlds, the mage gift is a very tricky
thing.  Yes, it can run in families, but it's a recessive trait --
which means it can appear in and disappear from bloodlines all
the time.  The only way to guarantee its continual presence is to
risk a fair amount of inbreeding, which has its own dangers."  He
looked thoughtful.  "You said that the dark wizards and their
sympathizers are big 'pure-blood' fanatics?"

Hermione scowled furiously.  "Yes," she spat.

The Colonel nodded.  "Then they're probably inbreeding as closely
as the European royal families did in the 19th century.  Damn
shame."  He shook his head.  "I wonder if it's even worse than
that.  Hermione, you mentioned that Draco's mother is named
'Narcissa'?"

"Yes, sir," she replied.

"Did she look much like Draco's father?"

"You know," Ron mused, "she did...  enough to be his... sister?"
He thought of himself and Ginny, then stuck his tongue out.
"Eew.  That's sick."

The Colonel chuckled.  "Some cultures didn't think so -- the
Egyptian Pharaohs married brothers and sisters all the time,
supposedly to keep the 'power of the gods' they embodied
contained within their bloodline.  That's part of the reason
there are no Pharaohs any more," he added almost as an aside.
"But I was thinking something even worse, since even in wizarding
society I don't think they'd allow incestuous marriages.  I
wonder if she's Lucius's anima..."

"His what?" Harry asked.

"His female nature, given separate form and life," Hermione
recited, then made a face.  "That's even more sick."

Colonel Sangnoir nodded seriously.  "Yeah, it is.  But for a
fanatical racial purist, it'd be the perfect solution to keeping
the bloodline pure -- after all, no racist thinks his genes are
anything but the purest, and an anima would have identical genes,
except for the double-X chromosome, guaranteeing a child of
unparalleled 'purity'.  Bleah," he growled.  "Fanatics, you know
I hate'em."

"The double-X what?" Ron asked.

Hermione looked about to launch into an explanation, but the
Colonel cut her off.  "Later, Hermione, later.  It's not
important."  He frowned.  "You'd think he'd've given her a better
name, though.  'Narcissa' is just *so* obvious.  Overconfidence,
I suppose."

----------

Challenging Lucius Malfoy to a Duel Arcane.

----------

"Under the tradition of kanly, I will have satisfaction, Malfoy."
He stopped, frowned.  "Kanly?  No, that's not right.  That's from
*Dune,*" he murmured to himself.  "Cane Spree, maybe?  No, that's
for Princeton students.  Cane, cane...  Ah!  Got it!"  He turned
his eyes back upon Malfoy and, raising his right hand to point at
the wizard, intoned, "In the name of Hermes Trimegistus, and by
the Traditions and Orders, I call thee out, Lucius Malfoy."  As
he spoke, all other sounds in the hall seemed to mute, even as
his voice grew in power, echoing along the walls and among the
rafters.  "In the name of Hermes Trimegistus, and by the
Traditions and Orders, I challenge thee to the Duel Arcane.
Engage me in combat of will and works before the next full moon,
or by the power of the four Archangels, Guardians of the
Quarters, suffer the forfeit of thy gift of Craft forever!"

There came a crash as if of thunder from the darkened sky
outside, and for a moment, the entire hall was silent.  For a
long moment, Sangnoir seemed to have grown a foot in height even
as Lucius Malfoy shrank an equal amount.

----------

Handicaps himself ("I'll tie my magegift behind my back")

----------

"Begin!" Dumbledore shouted.

Malfoy brandished his wand.  "Igni..." he began, but it was
already over.  Sangnoir blurred and moved.  Before the observers
could track where he had gone, there was a sound like an arrow
sinking into wood.  The quick-eyed among the spectators
immediately spotted Malfoy's wand quivering and rattling where it
sat, driven into the trunk of a tree a dozen yards away from the
combatants.

At the other end of the clearing, Sangnoir was growling into
Malfoy's astonished face; he had one arm drawn back, his fingers
stiffened into a knifelike blade.  "Crippling blow!" he bellowed,
and struck at Malfoy, who cried out in pain.  "Crippling blow!
Crippling blow!  Crippling blow!" he continued, blurring into
motion around the dark wizard; his arm flickered with each call,
and again, each time, Malfoy emitted a cry of pain.  "Crippling
blow!  Crippling blow!  Killing blow!  Killing blow!  Killing
blow!"

Then the scene froze into a tableau.  Lucius Malfoy lay upon his
back on the ground, sweat streaming from his forehead, eyes wide
with fear, his elbows flexed and his fingers digging into the
grassy surface as he poised to scrabble back and away from his
assailant.  Sangnoir stood over him, utterly relaxed, with the
tips of his stiffened fingers laying gently upon the wizard's
throat.

"You are alive right now," Sangnoir said softly but clearly,
"because I choose not to kill you."  His voice carried easily to
every spectator; it was casual, conversational, as if he were
discussing the weather or quidditch teams.  "I do not kill
without reason, Malfoy, and for all your childish pretensions to
racial superiority and dark magic, you have not given me reason.
Yet.  Every strike I made would have had the result I announced,
had I not pulled my punches.  You'll be bruised and in pain for a
few weeks -- I did dislocate a few joints, after all -- but
you'll recover.  Remember that, Malfoy.  If you ever give me
reason, you won't have that luxury."

Sangnoir slid his hand from Malfoy's throat and stood, the
strange graceless, smooth beauty of his movements turning it
almost into something from a ballet.  He turned toward Dumbledore
and the other members of the Board and formally bowed.  "In the
name of Hermes Trimegistus, and by the Traditions and Orders," he
said in a much louder voice after he rose, and in a cadence that
dripped with ancient ritual, "I count myself well satisfied, and
decline to take the life of this man, as is my right by the Laws
and the Precepts, and instead claim weregeld on him, to be paid
in the manner of my choosing, at the time of my choosing."  He
relaxed his posture.  "And is also my right, I *will* teach what
I choose, as I choose.  *He* was one of your most powerful?"
Sangnoir gestured at Malfoy, who still lay on the ground, a look
of profound shock splayed across his face, and spat.  "Feh.  I've
fought henchmen and cannon-fodder who were more of a challenge.
I will not let children in my care leave it so ill-equipped."

----------

"Pathetic!  You're all hedge wizards, nothing more!  There isn't
a true magus among you!"

----------

"Wands?  What kind of wimp mage needs a crutch like a wand?"

Teaching Harry mage sight.

"Now that you know how it's done, it's only a matter of
practice."

----------

Doug refuses to wear robes, instead wears jeans and t-shirts.
Harry and even Hermione find this somehow comforting.

----------

"Ow!"  Harry drew up short as he stumbled into Ron and Hermione,
who stood stock-still with surprise in the classroom doorway.

"C'mon in," a man's voice called from within, a familiar tenor
voice with a clearly American accent.  "I'm not going to bite."

Peering around his friends' heads, Harry realized that behind the
lectern at the far end of the room was the traveler.

"At last," came a snide voice from behind him.  "A teacher who
doesn't know about Harry 'I'm So Famous' Potter."

Harry didn't have to turn around to identify Draco Malfoy, so he
didn't.  Instead, he simply followed Ron and Hermione to their
usual seats.

...

"Good morning, class," the traveler said once everyone had
settled down.  "My name is Colonel Douglas Sangnoir, and I am
your new instructor in the Defense Against The Dark Arts.  As
some of you may already know, I am a native of another universe
entirely.  Those of you with so-called 'Muggle' backgrounds will
be familiar with the concept of the 'superhero.'  My world lacks
that word, but I have been assured that I am one.  As a result, I
possess perspectives and experiences that Headmaster Dumbledore
thinks you can make use of."  He paused to survey the class.  "I
agree.  For a magically-active Earth, your world is a relatively
calm and peaceful one, and as a result, you are..."  He smiled.
"Well, if I were instructing a band of new recruits, I'd bellow
in your faces, drill sergeant-style, that you were soft and weak."

A few members of the class laughed nervously.  Colonel Sangnoir
walked around to the front of the table next to the lectern and
seated himself upon it with a hop.  With another smile he
acknowledged the laughter.  "What you are, though, is remarkably
privileged.  Most worlds with as much magic as yours face
terrible threats -- active demonic infiltration, eldritch
creatures the sight of whom can drive men mad, hundred-meter
monsters strolling through cities.  My own home world, which is
relatively weak in magic, was the target of a massive, concerted
invasion of vampires that we only barely fought off."

Not a sound could be heard through the classroom now, and Harry
shivered at the thought of an army of vampires slowly taking over
the world.  He shuddered at the sudden image of the Dursleys
turned into vampires.  Lord Voldemort seemed almost comfortable
and friendly in comparison.

Sensing the mood of the class, Colonel Sangnoir nodded gravely.
"It was quite touch-and-go for a while, and my wife was almost
turned into a vampire in the process.  But we won, finally.  I
don't want to get into it right now, but later in the term I
promise I'll tell you something about that campaign."  He hopped
off the table again.  "Which probably has you all wondering,
what's this guy going to teach us, right?"

A murmur of assent swept through the class, and Harry found
himself contributing to it.  A quick glance to either side showed
not only Hermione but Ron as well watching the Colonel with wide,
interested eyes.

The Colonel stepped around the table, picked up a piece of chalk,
and stood at the board.  "What we're going to cover this term are
these points -- you might want to jot them down, as they're key
concepts," he noted, at which three dozen pencils hovered over 
three dozen notebooks.  "First, the nature of evil.  Second, evil 
and magic.  Thirdly, strategy and tactics."  He scrawled each 
topic on the board in an unrestrained hand, underlining each one, 
then turned back to face them.  "This is *not* going to be a 
'recipe class'.  You are not going to learn a list of 'if-thens' 
here -- 'if confronted by a blue-tailed eyebiter, then throw salt 
at it.'  You are going to learn about the nature of evil, how it 
works, how it thinks, why it does what it does.  You are going to 
learn how to identify it at work even when it's disguised, how to 
spot its tools and deflect or break them.  When it comes 
specifically to evil magic, you will not learn just simple 
countercharms.  You will learn how defend against any evil magic, 
without knowing what it is.  You will gain reflexes against it, 
become able to react and defend before you consciously know you've 
been attacked.  If I can, I will even teach you how to transmute 
evil magic -- which is a quick way of saying that you'll learn how 
to steal its magical energy to fuel your own spells while just
incidentally killing it in the process."  He leaned forward and
raked his eyes over each and every one of them in the class.  "I
will be teaching you techniques developed by mages in worlds
where every single day is a struggle simply to survive against
legions of sorcerous monsters.  I will teach you not only how to
defend against evil, but how to hunt it down and destroy it."

The room was absolutely silent.  Then a single voice in the back
ranks whispered loudly, "Cor!  All that in one term?"  A wave of
laughter crashed over the room, releasing the tension that had
grown during the Colonel's monologue.  Even the Colonel himself
laughed, Harry noted with some relief.

"I'll try, at least," he said, still chuckling.  "Which means we
need to get started right away."  He clapped his hands together,
raising a small cloud of chalk dust.  "Right!  Before you can
defend against evil, you must be able to identify it.  So.  What
is evil?  Define it please..."  He searched through the students,
ignoring Hermione's vigorously-waving hand.  "...Mister Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy smirked.  "The opposite of good, sir," he answered,
the barest hint of mockery in his voice.

Colonel Sangnoir -- Harry couldn't imagine calling him
"Professor" -- apparently heard the barely-there mocking tone,
and raised one eyebrow.  "I see we're a sophist, Mister Malfoy.
That was a classic no-answer answer.  While technically correct,
it is devoid of meaning and thus unacceptable."  His jovial tone
suddenly chilled.  "Smart aleck responses will gain you no favors
in this class, Mister Malfoy.  Minus five points to House
Slytherin."

The Slytherins in the class fumed, while the other students
giggled, murmured and chuckled among themselves.  Behind his
glasses, Harry blinked.  He glanced at the Slytherin boy.
Malfoy's usual reserve cracked and a look of pure fury blazed
across his face for a moment; then he noticed Harry watching him
and recomposed himself, and returned Harry's interest with a
baleful, reptilian stare.  Harry snorted and returned his
attention to the instructor.

The Colonel's voice had gone back to being friendly.  "You'll
find I'm easy to get along with, if you understand this:  I am
here to teach you things that will save your lives, the lives of
your loved ones, and possibly the lives of untold innocents.  But
I have a limited amount of time in which to do so.  I don't mind
wrong answers, if they're sincerely offered.  I *do* mind
disruptive behavior, sniping at myself or other students, and bad
attitudes.  For those of you who can't think of it any other way,
consider this:  I could easily tutor five or six promising
students instead of teaching an open class.  If an atmosphere
develops that makes this class impossible, then I *will* switch
to tutoring.  That will mean the students I select will have an
advantage -- one literally unavailable elsewhere in this universe
-- over those who are denied the tutoring."  His voice went cold
again, and Harry realized that his eyes rested solely on Draco
Malfoy.  "Do I make myself understood?"

"Yes, sir," the class replied in a chorus of desultory murmurs.

"Good.  Now, where were we?  Right.  The definition of evil.
Does anyone else have any *useful* ideas?"

Hermione's hand was waving so hard that Harry thought it could
drive a windmill.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione stood up.  "Evil is selfishness," she said primly.

Colonel Sangnoir nodded.  "Good.  Very good.  Anyone else?"

"Bullies!"

"Murderers!"

"People who hate!"

The whole class began shouting out all manner of despicable
behaviors, as Colonel Sangnoir nodded.  Harry kept silent,
thinking about the evil he come face to face with over the past
few years, and tried to figure out if there were a common element
to it all.  Next to him, Hermione hmphed in annoyance as the
answers offered began to dip into the trivial and silly.

"Objects," Harry suddenly blurted.

"What was that, Mister..."  Colonel Sangnoir consulted the
seating chart on the lectern.  "Mister Potter?"

Harry started; he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.  He tried to
ignore the flush of embarassment he felt climbing up his face.
"Um.  Objects, sir.  All the really evil people I've ever met
treated people like... like *things* you could use up and throw
out without a care."

A broad smile broke across the Colonel's face.  "Exactly.  One
key identifying characteristic of evil is that it sees all other
living creatures -- sentient beings or not -- as objects to use,
abuse, and discard in order to achieve its goals.  Empathy is
alien to it; it has no care for others' feelings, except when it
delights in their manipulation.  Most of the other attributes the
class was suggesting, especially Miss Granger's suggestion, are
*symptoms* of evil.   Very good, Mister Potter.  Five points
to..."  He scrabbled for the seating chart again.  "What's your
house, Mister Potter?"

"Gryffindor, sir."  Harry couldn't help but smile slightly; Ron
and Hermione were less restrained.

"Right.  Five points to Gryffindor."  He scratched a few lines on
the seating chart with a handy pencil, then looked back up.
"There is another key attribute of evil.  Any guesses?"

The room grew silent as thirty-five youthful faces scowled in
intense concentration.  Harry, without realizing it, was among
them.  He dug through his memories of his confrontations with
Lord Voldemort in his various guises, from the youthful Tom
Riddle to the murderer of his parents whom he could not really
remember, and tried to find something in common among all of
them.

"Anyone?" the Colonel asked of the quiet classroom.

Harry bit his lip as he thought of a possibility.  Hesitantly, he
raised his hand.

"Mr. Potter?"  The Colonel's tone seemed slightly amused, but not
mocking.

Harry swallowed.  His answer didn't seem to make sense, but it
fit the facts...  "Evil...  it seems to think it's *Good*, sir."

Another brilliant smile broke across the teacher's face and he
nodded approvingly.  "Very good, Mr. Potter."  He turned his
attention on the rest of the class.  "Evil -- *real* Evil -- is
convinced it is Good.  It is, in fact, *far* more certain that it
is Good than Good is -- and that's how you can often tell the
difference.  Good doubts itself -- it's a necessary mechanism
that *keeps* it Good.  Evil never doubts itself, its motives or
its methods.  It deludes itself, or lets itself be easily deluded
by others, that it is always in the right.  It is always
convinced that what it does is Good.  Of course, it usually
redefines 'Good' to mean 'what *it* wants'."

He sat back down on the edge of the table.  "If you ever have
doubts about the rightness of a course you have set yourself on,
you are at the very least redeemable.  Only the irredeemably evil
are ever *absolutely* sure of their actions."  He folded his
hands together except for the forefingers, which he held to his
lips in a gesture that seemed solemn and reverent.  "Take this
from someone who once held a dying demon in his arms as she
begged for forgiveness and tried to reconcile herself to Heaven."

----------

As the classroom emptied, Colonel Sangnoir called out, "Mr.
Potter, a moment before you go, please."  Ron and Hermione traded
grins as Harry halted at the door and turned back to stand by the
podium.

The Colonel carefully waited until the room had emptied, then
studied Harry intently.  "You've faced true Evil in some form,
Mr. Potter," he said without preamble.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied quietly.  "A few times, sir."

"And you've come out on top, I presume?"

"So far, sir.  With the help of my friends," he added truthfully.

Colonel Sangnoir snorted.  "And you're how old, Harry?  Fifteen?
Sixteen?"

"Fifteen as of July, sir."

The teacher frowned and shook his head.  "That young."  Once
again he studied Harry, but this time his eyes seemed to unfocus,
and Harry felt a strange shiver go through him, like someone had
run a cold finger down his back.  "Your aura doesn't show
anything strange, Harry," the Colonel continued, "but I'll lay
odds that you're a Hero."

"Sir?"

The Colonel slid behind the podium once more and slammed a book
shut.  "You remember what I said about tutoring at the beginning
of today's class?  I will be giving you some.  I'll arrange
matters with your other teachers and your Quidditch coach so I
don't step on anyone's toes, but you will be getting some private
lessons from me after regular class hours."

"In what, sir?"

He paused and studied Harry once again, and Harry felt as though
the gaze of those blue-grey eyes were sifting through his soul.
"Magecraft, boy.  Not the formulaic wand-waving they teach here,
but true wizardry.  You don't have the strongest magegift I've
ever seen, but it'll do."  He chuckled suddenly.  "Oh, yes, it'll
do."  He laid a hand on Harry's shoulder.  "Prepare yourself,
Harry.  What I'm going to teach you will rock your world."

----------

"There are a three kinds of magic, Harry:  personal energies,
environmental energies, and theurgy.  Personal energies means
using your own internal power to generate a magical result."


"Environmental energies splits into four categories:  ambient
mana, lines of power, nodes of power, and extradimensional
sources.  Not every world has every kind of environmental mana,
although almost all give you access to at least ambient and
extradimensional."


"Theurgy is the art of trading favors with spirits and gods for
the use of their power.  It is the easiest route to power, and
not surprisingly, the most dangerous.  Of all the magicks,
theurgy alone can cost you your soul if you are careless.  If you
show a talent for theurgy, I will (if I can in this world)
introduce you to a few trustworthy Beings with whom you may
bargain fairly."

----------

Doug comes to the sneaking conclusion that the Hogwarts system is
designed not so much to educate mages but to channel them away
from their full potential (viz reliance on wands, potions, etc.).
Something happened in the past that inspired the founders?  Some
disaster caused by a "traditional" mage?

----------

If life were a movie, it would be at this point that it'd jump-
cut into the rapid montage of shots intended to show Harry's
growing proficiency in magecraft over the course of weeks and
months.  They'd flick by with some upbeat pop/rock tune playing
under, emblematic of his increasing skill and comfort with magic;
either that, or something like "Bad To The Bone" to indicate that
he was becoming a mage to reckon with.  It would last maybe three
minutes, and when it was over, Harry would be proficient and
proud.

If life were a movie.

It's not, so instead of a three-minute montage, we had to live
through about five long months of intense work and study.

----------

"Have a seat," I said, and after a quick glance around the room
Harry dropped into the chair by my desk.  A few minutes' digging
through my still-packed backpack turned up the CD in its jewel
case.  With it in hand, I closed the wardrobe and walked to the
center of the room.

"I think you're ready for your first theurgic contact, Harry," I
said quietly.  "I'm going to introduce you to Someone whom I
think will be inclined to help you build up a network of
spiritual contacts to draw upon.  Depending on the cultural
spectacles through which you view her, she's either a goddess or
a high-ranking angel."

Behind his glasses, Harry's eyes grew very, very wide, and I
suppressed a chuckle.  Then I held up the CD.  "In case you're
wondering, this is a physical token of my arrangement with her.
I use it like this."  With a flourish, I popped the case open and
turned it over to drop the CD into my hand.  Whipping the case
shut, I then flipped the CD like a giant coin.  It landed on the
rug, label side up.  The word "GODS" in ornate black lettering
faced up at me.

"Hey, Marller, it's Doug," I called out.  "Got a couple minutes?"

"Sure, Doug," came her mellifluous tones from nowhere.  "Let me
just slip into a Vessel and I'll be right there."

Marller's entrance was as flashy as usual.  A cone of blue-white
light erupted from the CD, rising all the way to the ceiling.
Then it vanished, and there she was, floating over the disc, in
her usual skimpy white leather outfit and with her mass of blonde
hair floating in a cloud around her head.  This latter was tilted
back so that her eyes, had they been open, would have been
looking up into the heavens.

Then she lowered her chin, opened her eyes, and grinned at me.
"Heya, handsome!"  With a little skip she dropped to the ground
and bounded over to me, then swept me up in a vigorous hug.

"Hey, hey, hey, remember I'm a married man!" I mock-protested
when Marller planted a brief, chaste kiss on me.

"You're no fun, you know that?" she pouted.  Then she stepped
back and gave me a once-over, nodding at what she saw.  "Good,
good, no parts missing, and you look like you're eating regularly
and sleeping enough."

"Dear gods in heaven, Urd and Bell are *both* rubbing off on
you," I murmured.

She grinned rakishly.  "You kidding?  *I* rubbed off on *them* a
*long* time ago."

"Pull the other one, Marl', it's got bells on."

"You," she poked me in the chest, "have entirely too little sense
of humor for someone who models his life after a cartoon
character."  I stuck my tongue out at her, and her grin widened.
"*Much* better.  So," she crossed her arms and gave me another
once over, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

I took her by the hand and turned her around to face the boy.  "I
want you to meet..."

"Harry Potter!" she cried, and the poor kid looked like he was
about to faint.

"You *know* him already?" I asked incredulously.

"Only by reputation," Marller replied, kneeling in front of the
boy.  "He's got a Destiny with a great big bright red Old English
'D' on it."

"I do?" he squeaked.

She ruffled his hair.  "You better believe it, kid.  No wonder
Dougie-boy here showed up in your universe.  He's drawn to people
with Destinies the way mosquitos are drawn to bugzappers."

"Oh, *great* image, Marller," I murmured.

Marller tipped up Harry's face with a finger under his chin.
"He's one of Bell's favorites, you know," she said to me while
looking into his eyes.  "And Skuld's too, would you believe?"

"I hope she's not jealous of Ginny Weasley.  The poor girl won't
stand up well to Skuld's debugging hammer," I smirked, and
Marller whapped me one with her free hand.

"Not *that* kind of favorite, troublemaker," she said with a
smile.  "They're Norse, not Greek, after all.  And if Skuld hears
you saying things like that, it's not Ginny Weasley who'll have
to deal with Mjollnir Junior."

"Excuse me," a furiously blushing Harry rasped, "but *who* are
you?"


angel : goddess :: wave : particle

----------

Marller brings one of the Rei clones?

"Hi, I'm Ichi Ayanami."

"Ichi?"

She shrugged.  "We haven't all decided on names yet, so we're
using numbers.  I was first in line, so, 'Ichi'."

----------

Or maybe Skuld shows up to act as tutor/bodyguard in the event
of an attack by Dark forces?

Dumbledore races in, having detected the arrival of one of the 
goddesses, reacts?

Snape detects Skuld as a magical creature, attempts to bind or
dispel her.  She breaks the binding effortlessly and sniffs
disdainfully at him.

----------

Severus Snape entered the teachers' lounge while I was sifting
through the tea bags, looking via magesight for one that *didn't*
have some kind of enchantment on it.  "Snipe," I said in way of a
greeting without looking up.

"That's *Snape*," he snarled.

"Ive been looking through the point logs," I continued
conversationally, "just to get a better feel for the whole house
point system, and I noticed something."

"Oh?  And what might that be?"

I raised my head and caught his eyes with mine.  "That you have a
grudge against a student or three.  And you inordinately favor a
few others."

He smiled nastily.  "So?"

I smiled nastily back.  "So, I have a thing for fairness.  And
I'm not above a little tit-for-tat, Snipe.  I'm going to be
watching.  You hit any of your usual targets -- or anyone else,
for that matter -- with anything I judge to be outrageous or
unfair, and I'll smack a Slytherin or three with twice as many
penalty points.  Plus give bonuses to your victims to make up for
you."

A sneer creased his lips.  "You wouldn't dare!"

I grinned.  "You better believe I'd dare, you two-bit alchemist."
He snarled and threw himself at me.  I sidestepped, held out a
foot, and tripped him.  He rolled over and tried to draw his
wand, so I pinned his wrist with one foot.  "You don't want to do
that, Snipe," I continued casually.  "You saw what I did to
Malfoy.  You don't even have the advantage of a 30-yard
separation.  And I *will* kill you if you force me to."  Snape 
went limp, except for his face, which was contorted with rage and
hatred.

(EXCERPT ENDS)
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