Harry Potter: The Voyager Chronicles

TITLE: Harry Potter: The Voyager Chronicles

AUTHOR: Melody Triton

RATING: NC-17 (Not every chapter will be NC-17)

SUMMARY: Harry Potter / Star Trek Voyager crossover.

PAIRINGS: HP/HG, HP/DM, RW/HG

CATEGORIES: Het, Slash, Crossover, Sci-Fi, AU, Other

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, Paramount Pictures, Star Trek, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

***

CHAPTER 1: THE CRASH

It was the decade following the second war against Voldemort.

On a certain evening in November, 22 year old Harry Potter stood in the back Parlor of the Playhouse Theater when the opening strains of "I Dreamt That I Dwelt in Marble Halls" warned that someone was at the piano and about to burst into song. It was a Tuesday, one of the dark nights, which meant that the Muggles didn't perform, and those who weren't Muggles, could.

It was a rather awkward moment, actually; Hermione had said she wouldn't be long"¦powdering her nose or something, not that Harry ever gave much thought to what that all entailed. Girl stuff, most likely. That was good enough for him.

At sight of Hermione in jacket and toque and carrying her small velvet muff, the music stopped; his eyes widened with flattering interest. In a short while, the house lights would dim. Hermione held out her program.

"Got one, finally," she said to Harry as they walked the length of the isle to their row. "And there's one for you too, though I practically had to threaten for it. The old crow at the counter said she didn't like giving out more than-- Harry?"

The man at Harry's left was having trouble with his greatcoat. There was no place to put it that was not in someone's way. "Here, sir, let me," Harry offered, reaching for the fat man's coat. "I'll have it checked at the booth, if you like."

The fat man with long legs took up more than his share of room without a heavy cloak piled on his knees. "Bully," said the tall man agreeably. "And bring us back a slip, what? Good lad!"

Hermione's face suddenly felt very heavy. And there goes Harry, Hermione thought to herself. He's off to check this stranger's-- okay. He's looking back. Better I should smile, than ruin the evening with a look. There. Good thing Harry can't tell a fake smile from the real thing. Oh well. I'll just stand here in the middle of the isle, waiting. Harry's always been the helpful sort anyway, no sense in expecting him to be otherwise now.

She re-read the program to pass the moments:

PRESENTING
MR. STEVEN MATHEW &
MISS SAMANTHA LAKE
IN
MACBETH
A Play by William Shakespeare

There was no need to read the cast; supporting players were unfamiliar, many of them recruited from abroad. But who cared? What difference did it make who read the lines of ghosts and porters when Steven and Samantha, friends she had known from her days at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, read the immortal dialogues.

Only a minute or two had gone by when Harry returned from the coat closet, slip in hand, which he handed to the grateful fat man. They exchanged a few words, Harry shook hands with, presumably, the man's wife, then turned to Hermione as the house lights started to dim.

"Sorry," he said, extending a bowed-arm for his girl to grasp. The sincerity on his face granted partial absolution. He also looked so very well dressed in his brand new tuxedo, so slim and graceful. Two years of war had been hard on him, to say the least. He'd always had to grow up fast, but nothing could have prepared him for the trials he'd have to face: the death of Sirius Black, his encounter with the Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Professor Snape's betrayal, Malfoy"¦now there was a person she'd doubted she'd ever understand.

"Ah, here we are." said Harry, gently. "Isle seats behind the pit. Not bad, either, being this close." Polite as could be, he let her in first. "After you." Harry was developing into quite a young man, sparkling animation, a provocative manner, and a low, pleasing voice made him attractive, especially to the opposite sex which Hermione went to great lengths to appear unaware. Fortunately, she possessed one of those dispositions which enabled her to concentrate on her immediate purpose to the exclusion of all else. Or, at least, that's what she kept reminding herself. In any case, her immediate purpose was to enjoy her evening's excursion; no annoyance was sufficient to distract her--

"Harry! Gracious, Harry dear!"

Hermione's vision went crossed.

"Now I know you can hear me you naughty, naughty boy!"

Harry couldn't help but hear, and it would've been pointless to pretend he hadn't heard that shrilled, obnoxiously over-excited--

"I knew it was you the moment I laid eyes on you." It was Colin Creavy, all blond hair, manicured eyebrows and"¦everything. Toddling not far behind was his friend, Harry suspected, though he didn't know the chap's name. "Oh, Harry,"--Collin extended a limp-wristed hand--"How good it is to see you again."

Harry met Collin's handshake with a firm grip of his own; he noticed Colin seemed to have a bit more rouge on this evening than usual.

"And Her-mi-o-neee." Colin's singsong voice seemed to drop an octave as he said her name; he also held the 'e' just a little too long at the end. It wasn't any secret that he was jealous of her. "Darling, you look"¦so"¦" His eyes seemed to dance up and down, scrutinizing every inch of her. "Healthy" was what he said next. "She does cook for you Harry, doesn't she? Meaning, you always were so thin." Colin stood board still for a moment, as if enjoying the sound of his voice. Hermione made a disapproving noise. "Oh! Have I introduced you both to my new friend?" Colin winked; his arm slung itself around his male counterpart. "I'm sorry, my pet. Harry"¦ may I introduce Mr. Piers Polkiss. He's not"¦one-of-us, as you might say, but"¦whereas one lacks"--his voice went up again--"one gains in"¦shall we say"¦other ways, hmmm?" His laugh was disturbing, an unnaturally-sounding sort of shutter. Harry even heard his teeth clack.

By this time, someone in the audience yelled "Down in Front!" to which Collin responded with a sour-faced hiss.

Harry forced a polite smile. "Well, it was nice"¦seeing you again, Collin. And you, Mr."¦?" He hadn't paid attention to a word Collin had said.

"Polkiss," replied the portly Muggle at Colin's side. What a name, Harry thought. It almost made him giggle until he remembered something from his past.

"Hang on," Harry said. "I know you."

You could have knocked Collin over with a feather.

"You're the bloke who used to hang out with my cousin, Dudley; when you two were kids. You used to go to the zoo--"

Piers blushed...no, cringed. Clearly, he hadn't expected to see Harry Potter here tonight. Clearly, he didn't want Harry telling Collin that they'd know each other. Pierce was even more priggish than Collin was.

"You two"--Collin interrupted, voice exuding hopefulness--"know each other?" A trap door in the orchestra pit yawned and disgorged musicians and instruments. "Gracious kings to horseshoes!"

"DOWN IN FRONT!"

Collin was shamelessly ill-mannered; he turned head and screamed "Blow it out your arse, motherfucker!"

The audience broke into a chorus of catcalls and jeers. Some women called for security, while men thumped their fists on their laps.

"Harry!" Hermione was gripping the arms of her seat with two angry, shaking hands. Her eyes were flat, glittering with fury. It took a lot of effort for her to keep her voice low. "I think you'd better sit down now!"

The large, double doors opened at the back of the house, and two men in dark blue uniform's entered, carrying nightsticks. The gold badges gleaming on their chests suggested they weren't there to impress everyone with their twirling abilities.

"Erm"¦" Collin took Piers in hand. "Lovely talk, Harry, but we really must be--" He turned with a jerk"¦and made it halfway up the isle where they were stopped, gripped by their collars, and escorted by security from the theater.

And oh, the applause! The stage performers could only hope to receive such an ovation.

Quick as a cat, Harry sat. He felt thoroughly embarrassed, and he was more than ready to put that occurrence behind him. "Shew!" Harry sighed. "Well"--his fingers tapped the arm of his chair nervously--"what do you say to something like that?"

Several things happened after that in quick succession. Hermione's eyes went almost impossibly wide and her mouth dropped open; Harry had never seen her look like that, and in another situation he would probably have found it funny. He didn't now. He found it even less funny a moment later, when Hermione, going rigid all over, turned to face him and said, "Blow-it-out-your-arse-motherfucker comes to mind."

Harry's face was a white mask of astonishment. "Hermi--" He had to hush himself. "Hermione!" He shout whispered. "Don't say things like that." Harry hated it when Hermione swore.

"I think I've bloody well earned the right to say whatever I bloody well like."

All at once, Harry didn't want to see the show anymore. "Herm, please." Harry sounded as if he'd had the breath knocked out of him. "I'm sorry about all that. Collin's just a stupid--"

"It's not that," she hissed, glaring at Harry. And then the words fell from her mouth: "I'm pregnant!" Her voice cracked on the last word.

The house lights dimmed, and the theater became much more than a building with a stage, it was a cauldron where witches and wizards brewed entertainment.

This moment of expectancy, while music played and chattering voices gradually hushed and lamps dimmed slowly to dusk before the glowing of footlights on a stage"¦this moment before the rising of the curtain was more than anything Harry ever anticipated.

I'm pregnant. The words seemed to echo past the windmills of his mind.

Hermione turned with a sigh, wiggling to comfort in her seat. Harry could have sworn he heard her say "Enjoy the show" but he couldn't be sure of anything right now.

***

Meanwhile, on the other side of the galaxy, past the line of separation between temporal and spatial qualities"¦ past perceptions we, as humans, impose upon reality, two starships, engines pushed to their limits, raced through the boundless perpetuity of darkest outer space.

Captain Kathryn Janeway gripped the side of her command chair; that last torpedo hit had done something to the internal gravity, keeps going in and out, and at high warp, she didn't want to be caught floating above the conn.

Normal gravity returned, almost as instantly as it left, leaving her stomach queasy, knotted.

A jolt; engines whined like gears covered in sand; they were slowing down. "Report!"

"Direct hit, port side," said the dark skinned Vulcan manning the tactical station. "Inertial dampers are off line." Lieutenant Commander Tuvok expertly worked his control panel, doing his best to compensate for every breakdown in the system's efficiency. The ship nudged foreword; again they were in high warp. "Maintaining ships velocity in our present condition is inadvisable, Captain," he said coolly, without emotion. "View screen still inoperable."

"Maintain course and speed," ordered Janeway. She knew the risk, but was determied to capture the fleeing Borg vessel; determined to punish them for attacking her ship...for kidnapping Seven-of-Nine.

A fiery orange glow burst from an unmanned station behind the conn, the heat on the bridge increased markedly. Ensign Harry Kim yelled, "I got it!" and shut the power down from his station at Ops. The ships Life Support System automatically activated its emergency aeration system. Smoke and other noxious fumes were quickly sucked out through vents around the bridge, while fresh oxygen took its place.

"I can't seem to get a lock on Seven's bio-signature," said Ensign Kim. "The Borg shields are still up."

"Captain--" interrupted Lieutenant Tom Paris. "Something's happening." His hands flew across the control panel at the helm. Tom was an excellent pilot, but the gravitational pull from whatever was now opening in front of them was too much for Voyager in her weakened condition. "Sensors are picking up--"

Tom didn't have time to finish his sentence.

Like wild fire through a wheat field, Voyager was speeding toward a sudden flash of light, and in an instant, both the Borg vessel and Voyager were engulfed in an energy stream. There was extreme turbulence, of a kind impossible in the vacuum of space. It was like punching through sunlit, wispy clouds"¦ only clouds made of cement. Voyager was literally hammered as it entered the stream; shields buckled under the strain; Tuvok analyzed the intensity of the impacts immediately; the field output of the energy stream surrounding them...everything. "Sensors"--another hard jolt--"sensors indicate we are caught in a temporal flux"--expert hand moved with the speed of an android over the console--"emanating from the center of the vortex ahead."

"Vortex?" Janeway rounded on Tuvok--another fierce jolt--she struggled to sustain her upright seated position. "Could it be a trans-warp conduit?"

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "I believe that was what I said, Captain."

Janeway hadn't meant to embarrass Tuvok like that-- although Tuvok would say she hadn't anyway. Another flash of light pulled Voyager faster toward the center of the Vortex. Janeway got to her feet, stumbling slightly as she made her way to the station where Tuvok stood. Her body felt unnaturally heavy and clumsy, as if somebody had wrapped weights around her wrists and ankles. Internal gravity-- failing again. She tapped the com-badge on her chest, her fingers felt as if they were stuffed full of lead.

"Engine room"--her temples were beginning to pound--"B'Elanna....status!"

Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres voice was just another garble in communications. "Yes Cap"¦rrr"¦working"¦rrr"¦still offli"¦rrr"¦to compensate"¦"

"Computer, enhance signal. B'Elanna--"

"Captain," interrupted Tom again. "The Borg...ship"¦it's...entering the vortex!"

A quick study of Tuvok's control panel and Janeway agreed. She would have simply used the view screen if only the damn thing were working.

Tom fought to maintain control of Voyager's pitch. Just then, his sensor readings went blank. "What the hell?" No amount of adjustment seemed to help. "Captain..."--the pressure inside the ship was almost unbearable now. Any moment and people would start passing out. "Borg...ship... ... out... sensor range." He glanced up, as if by habit, at the blank view screen in front of him. "...Seven! ...Gone!"

"The hell she is!" A stream of blood traced a course from one side of Janeways nose, down over her top lip. She lunged for her command chair as the final jolt hit---the shock shifted her weight but she wouldn't let herself stumble this time. "I'm not... argh!... I'm not letting her slip through our fingers!" A noise--piercing like a needle being run down the length of metal--- so loud, getting louder. "Tom!" Janeway yelled at the top of her voice. "The Vortex! Punch us through if you have to"--she sat in her command chair--tall--still in command--"I want to be on the other side of that Vortex before it closes!"

Back straightening, Lieutenant Paris gulped at a breath. "Yes Ma'am!"

***

Harry Potter wasn't enjoying the performance. He doubted very much Hermione was either. Neither were smiling, yet still holding hands, doing that thumb-rubbing-thing they both liked"¦ they both just sat in their in awkward silence, staring at a play they had anxiously waited weeks to see, and now, now neither of them could possibly care less if they were even there or not.

DUNCAN:
What bloody man is that? He can report,
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
The newest state.

MALCOLM:
This is the sergeant
Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought
'gainst my captivity.--Hail, brave friend!
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil
As thou didst leave it.

SOLDIER:
Doubtful it stood;
As two spent swimmers that do cling together
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald,--
Worthy to be a rebel,--for to that
The multiplying villainies of nature
Do swarm upon him,--from the Western isles
Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied"¦

Blah Blah Blah ... ... ... Blah Blah Blah ... ... ...

The thing Harry wanted most right now was to just get out of there; go someplace where he could talk with Hermione. Any place! He kept hearing the words 'I'm pregnant', over and over again in his mind. When he did hear the actors, it was just mostly-

Blah Blah Blah...
So well thy words become thee as thy wounds
...Blah Blah Blah

He thought about just standing up and saying, "We're leaving," but then he decided it mightn't be the best thing to do. Besides, if Hermione wanted to leave, she'd have done so by now. And as she hadn't--- Harry sank into the cushion of his seat, tense, slumped slightly foreword, oblivious of his surroundings.

Blah Blah Blah...
who dares receive it other, Blah Blah Blah... make our grief's and clamor roar upon his death---

And then it happened.

Everyone thought it was some sort of special effect.

There was a spectacular noise, like thunder, or a race car speeding past them, sound changing in frequency until it became a high pitched whine, shrilled. Some people howled, clapping hands over their ears. Seconds later, a reverberating, tooth-jarring 'boom' shook the very foundation of the theater, stopping the play cold.

Acting quickly, Harry grabbed Hermione by the muscled-part of her arm, forcibly thrusting her to the floor, covering her with his body. The echo from the explosion resounded throughout the hall; shock caused bits of plaster to fall from the ceiling; stage lights burst like stars into an array of multicolored sparks. Before anyone could do anything, the interior of the theater went dark as ink; the sounds of panicked shouting broke out, while others cried for people to be silent.

"LUMOS!"

One by one, those who were able lit their wands.

"Lumos." -- "Lumos." -- "Lumos Maxima!"

Bright, little white dots, like fireflies, hovered in mid air. That seemed to help; or at least the shouting seemed to die down a little. Those who were still searching for their wands, or their loved ones, were assisted by those able to move freely.

Harry stood stiffly. "Are you hurt?" he asked Hermione, helping her to her feet. Bits of white ceiling-pieces had fallen into his hair; plaster, like a fine mist of snow, dusted the black of his jacket. "Nothing broken, I hope."

"I'm fine," Hermione said, sensing her balance. She, too, was worried about Harry. "And you?"

Harry nodded, brushing a palm over his sleeve. "The place is pretty shook up. What do you suppose that was?" As he looked around, he saw a muddled jumble of confused humanity, and though it was sure to bring an argument, he said exactly what he was thinking. "Maybe I'll check outside"¦take a look"¦see what that noise was." Big surprise. "Perhaps you"--Harry bit his bottom lip--"Erm, feel up to it?" Harry didn't want to Hermione to follow, nor did he wish to leave her behind. In her present condition--

Damnit, now he was thinking about THAT again.

Harry hoped his eyes didn't give his thoughts away.

"Let's go." Hermione said matter-of-factly. Of course she knew what Harry was thinking-- she aught to by now. So, not bothering to straighten here gown, she started toward the stage-exit door; bits of plaster and broken light bulb crackled underfoot.

Outside was a narrow, empty alleyway that ran between two tall brick buildings. The whitewash of the walls had a strange, orange hue to them. "Harry, look," Hermione had said, but she didn't have too. "I don't believe it." But how could she? Neither of them had ever seen anything like it"¦not since the war at least.

"I don't know if I believe it either," said Harry. "It looks like a hunk of""--it looked like a great metallic globe--"something." Harry quickly realized how stupid that sounded. "Do you think it fell out of the sky?" That sounded even more stupid. "I mean--"

Hermione wasn't up for silly questions. Fiery ruins were burning in the night air, one appearing after another. A dog ran from behind a charred car, barking frantically as it sped away. "I don't know what it is, Harry."

Harry put his arms around his girlfriend's shoulder's and drew her gently near. "Come on." Whatever it was, this was no place for either of them. He didn't feel like an adventuring kid anymore, and this--- whatever he was looking at, most definitely had adventure written all over it. "Let's get you inside," he said, almost pleadingly.

"What am I, a baby?" The looks on both their faces spoke volumes. "I mean, I'm not a child--" That's no good either. Hell with it. "Come on," she said with a shrug, drawing from Harry's half-embrace. "There may be people hurt."

Harry knew there was no sense arguing. Only thing to do now was catch up to her. "Okay," Harry said in a worried voice, expecting to see a stream of casualties flow towards them at any moment. "Just keep a sharp eye."

Their pace was hurried but careful. The stink of heat and burning was everywhere, filling their nostrils, clouding Harry's mind. Shadowy forms scurried from place to place among the ruins. "It smells like the war," Harry said aloud, not really meaning to, as they passed down the broken street.

The closer the got to the wreckage, the harder it was getting to breathe. Harry faked a deep, rasping cough. "We'd better get back." He didn't want Hermione going any further. "We're still a good distance--"

"I'll fix that!" Within seconds, Hermione was raising her wand high; blue streams of light flowed from the tip, falling down over the both of them, then began to swirl. The air around them began to cool; it was easier to breath again. The spell Hermione cast was protecting them. "The field'll only last for a short time," she said. "We've got to hurry"¦and stay close, whatever you do!"

Harry's breath caught in his throat, the surge of power emanating from within the field was extraordinary. He had no idea Hermione could cast a spell so powerful.

They pushed on, walking through flames and over burning debris. They should have seen a dozen or so dead bodies by now. There should've been people crying out for help. So why all this-- nothing? None of it made any sense.

Both Harry and Hermione could see clearly now what had crashed to the ground: dark, metallic, green lights from within. It was a giant Sphere, like nothing they had ever seen before.

Out of the smoke and fire, Harry saw two figures standing side by side.

"What are you doing here?" asked one of the darkened figures. It was the last thing he heard.

Hermione tried to speak. Nothing. Was the field around them dropping? All they could see was the crackling of silver light.

***

NOTES AND CREDITS DUE: Six lines of text were taken from C. Claire's D.T. (DS, ch14) and added here to enhance the feeling of this writing.

Three groups of text were taken from Macbeth | Act I, Scene 2