Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 belongs to Double Secret Productions and MGM. The Harry Potter books and movies belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Studios. Any copyright infringements were not intended. This story was written for entertainment and not for profit.

Timing and Spoilers: Takes place during and after the SG-1 ep. "Fragile Balance" with spoilers for that and during a fictional (you know what I mean) sixth year of Harry's. There are also spoilers for the Stargate SG-1 ep. "A Matter of Time."

According to Harry Potter folklore, Dumbledore is 150 and Minerva McGonogall is 90, leading to the conclusion that wizards live much longer than Muggles. This would, of course, include Jack in my story. This Jack O'Neill wasn't born in 1952 (sorry Terri :-) ) but 1928.

Author's Note: This story is being written in response to a challenge posted by Aussie Mel on the cross-gate yahoo group. The challenge goes as follows:

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It must have:

1) Jack as a wizard

2) Voldemort making some sort of move and SG-1 finds out about the wizarding

world and Jack being a wizard.

3) Explain why Jack left the wizarding world

4) Jack must be either Gryffindor or Slytherin

Can Have:

1) Jack as a death eater turned spy like Snape or him being a death eater was

the reason he left the wizarding world after Voldemort's first reign.

2) Someone in SG-1 reacts badly to the whole magic being real thing.

Everything else is up to you. I hope someone takes it up cause I'd love to see a

Harry Potter/Stargate crossover

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Summary: Jack O'Neill left the wizarding world in 1963 without any intention of ever returning, but Loki's experiments change everything. It all begins when Jack's clone receives a letter from Dumbledore asking for his help. The favor? Infiltrate Slytherin. The problem? Jack wasn't a Slytherin the first time he attended Hogwarts, and once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor. Throw in Death Eater attacks, kidnappings, imprisonment, prophecies, and Salamanders, and both Jack O'Neill and his clone will wish they'd stayed in Colorado…

Author's Note #2: From Part Six on, the original Jack will be called O'Neill while the clone will be called Jack. The only exceptions are in some of the dialogue.

Really special thanks go to Malaskor, nibbled, and Megan for helping me out with the what's-in-the-box question in Part Nine. More thanks go to Malaskor for helping me out with my Slytherin Quidditch team players. Even bigger thanks go to all the people who helped me get over my writer's block concerning the name of the American school that Jack was "transfering" from (if I forgot your name, let me know): Malaskor, Megan Etencott, Athene, Luke Mason, Cindy Combs, Sirius, bugeyedmonster2, Leela McMullen, John Bratton, and nibbled. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! I may not have used all of your suggestions, but I really, really appreciate y'all's help.

*****

Daniel opened the top drawer of the dresser and started leafing through the contents. "Hey!" Jack protested. He stepped forward quickly and slammed the drawer closed, forcing the archeologist to hurriedly remove his fingers.

Jack glared up at his friend. Daniel gave him an innocent look back.

Jack was so not in a good mood. Firstly, that morning he'd woken up one foot shorter and nearly sixty years younger. Secondly, it had taken him forever to get past base security just to talk to his team, and even they had needed convincing that he was who he said he was. Now, thirdly, his team was 'investigating' his house, digging into his things and refusing to let him have any beer.

"What is this, sir?" Sam asked, turning away from the bedside table. She held a wooden stick up for his inspection.

Jack's eyes widened. Oh, crap, he thought. Why oh why did she have to find *that*?

He moved across the room and snatched it from her hands. "It's nothing, Carter," he said, hoping she'd let it be.

She raised an eyebrow but didn't press, and instead moved on to other parts of the room looking for whatever clues there might be to why he'd become a teenager again. Jack let out a sigh of relief, grateful for small favors.

He placed the wand back in its box, then slid the box back into the top drawer of his bedside table. He'd have to find a better place to hide it later, when his team wasn't around to ask uncomfortable questions.

*****

Jack's clone gazed out of the open passenger side window at the teenagers milling about on the high school's front lawn. "Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like, going to a Muggle high school?"

The original Jack pretended to think about it for a moment. "No."

Jack 2's eyebrows went up. "Yeah, well, I guess that's the difference between you and me."

He gathered up his things and stepped out of the car.

"Hey, you never know…" the older Jack began. His younger double glanced inside the car at him. The older Jack was smirking. "Maybe you'll get a letter."

His clone smirked back, equally certain that would happen.

*****

The letter hadn't taken long to arrive. He'd only moved into his new residence in Colorado Springs the day before. How the old geezer tracked him down that quickly, he had no idea.

Jack, or rather Jack 2 the Clone as he called himself in his head, regarded the letter lying on the outside sill of his living room window. The owl that had delivered it had no doubt left it there when it couldn't get into his apartment. Habit had made sure that he had secured all entrances before crashing on his new mattress the night before. He must have really slept if he hadn't heard the owl's beak tapping against the windowpane.

He didn't know how long he stood there, staring out the still-closed window at the letter resting on the sill. Finally, he sighed and opened the window and grabbed the letter. He closed and locked the window before going back to his bedroom and sitting on the mattress. The only furniture he had in the place was the mattress; he had plans to go furniture shopping that day.

The envelope was made of yellow parchment. Written in green ink on the front was his name, 'Mr. J. O'Neill', followed by his address. Jack turned it over, expecting to see the Hogwarts seal. He started when he saw a completely different seal instead. It portrayed a phoenix bursting into flames. It was Albus Dumbledore's personal seal.

This was not the traditional acceptance letter Jack had been expecting; not even close. Now more confused and alert than ever, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter. It was written in the same green ink and in the same flowing script on the envelope that he recognized as Dumbledore's. He began to read.

Jack smiled at that. He knew that Albus very well knew that he was in the body of a sixteen-year-old boy. He had sixty years of catching up to do before he could be called 'old' again.

The letter went on for several pages. Jack sat gaping, horrified by what he read. How could so much have happened in the forty years he'd been away? How could he not have noticed? Then he shook his head. Of course he hadn't noticed Voldemort's rise to power and subsequent reign of terror. The Muggle World hadn't noticed it, either, so why would he?

When he read the section on Harry Potter's defeat of the Dark Lord and the prophecy made on the day Potter was born, Jack felt anger rise within him. Potter was just a kid! How could anyone expect so much from him?

The door to the bathroom stood ajar. Jack caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and snorted. He was 'just a kid', too.

Jack was gaping at the letter again. Who was Albus kidding? Him, Jack O'Neill #2, in Slytherin? Come on! He thought. Those Slytherins are going to take one look at me and just know that I'm a Gryffindor! Sure, it may've been fifty-seven years ago, but once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor!

Still, he had to admit that the idea appealed to him. Going to Hogwarts again, really and truly starting over like he'd wanted instead of attending an American High School like the one he hadn't been to the first time…

Sure enough, the acceptance letter arrived by owl half an hour later when Jack had gone out to the kitchen to cook some eggs for breakfast. He heard the owl tapping on the window this time and accepted the letter from it personally. The owl looked at him admonishingly before flying off, as if chastising him for not answering its knock the first time.

The acceptance letter was a slightly altered version from the standard one.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

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Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

Jack whistled when he read Albus' list of credentials. With that résumé, he was surprised Albus wasn't the Minister of Magic himself.

Jack considered his options as he ate his meal. He could stay in Colorado and learn how to be a Muggle teenager, or he could go back to England and re-join a world he left behind decades ago. Eventually, he planned to return to Stargate Command, but in the meantime, what better way to spend his time but to keep his black ops skills sharp through a little bit of espionage?

As he finished eating and started packing what little belongings he had, Jack knew he'd decided. He may not be ready to face the wizarding world again, but a friend had asked for his help. That was all that was required.

Besides, the drinking age was eighteen there. Like hell he would pass that up!

*****

Jack had a week to get to Kings Cross in time to catch the train. He used that time making more arrangements with the US government and saying his farewells to his team. No, not my team, he reminded himself, regret coming to the surface. It was *his* team now, the other Jack's team.

The first person he'd talked to had been Jack #1. He'd knocked on Jack's door and waited. A moment later, the door had opened, and his double plus sixty years growth peaked out at him.

"We need to talk," Jack 2 had said, holding up the letters.

The original Jack O'Neill glanced from his clone's face to his hand. He recognized the handwriting on the envelopes immediately. "Funny, you don't look like an owl," the older Jack deadpanned.

"Hardy har har," was his clone's sarcastic reply. "Are you going to let me in or what?"

Jack had given his double the letters to read. Afterwards, he had been just as livid about the situation in the wizarding world as his clone had been. Jack knew he could count on SG-1 if the shit hit the fan and the Order needed further assistance. For now, though, Jack 1 and his team would be staying in Colorado, fighting the much more important war against the Goa'uld and the various other nasties elsewhere in the cosmos.

"Say hi to Albus for me," Jack 1 said before Jack 2 left the house.

And so, here he was five days later. He'd caught a ten-hour flight to Heathrow and then taken a cab to the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't realize until he'd left the London airport just how much he missed London. He'd never thought that he'd see the city again and was glad that he did.

When they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Jack paid the driver and stepped out. He got his things out of the trunk and watched as the cab drove away. Then he turned and glanced up at the rusty metal sign marking the entrance. It was the same sign and it was covered in the same amount of rust that he remembered.

Jack took a deep breath, strapped on his book sack and duffel bag, opened the door, and stepped inside.

The place was packed. Jack could easily tell that he was the youngest person there physically by decades. It made sense, of course, seeing as how all the kids were either being home schooled right then or attending Hogwarts. Jack got more than a few curious looks as he dodged around people on his way over to the bar.

"May I help you?" The bartender asked.

Jack blinked. It was Tom. He'd been three years ahead of him at Hogwarts. Jack mentally shook himself and replied, "I've got a room reserved. Jack O'Neill?"

Tom smiled. "Ah, yes! You know, I knew a Jack O'Neill when I went to Hogwarts. Would you happen to be related to him?"

Obviously Tom's memory wasn't good enough that he remembered what the original Jack had looked like as a fifteen-year-old. Good.

"Yeah. He's my great-uncle, actually."

"Well, bless my soul!" Tom exclaimed, grinning.

He grabbed Jack's room key and led the way up the stairs to room 752. "Sorry it's so high up," apologized Tom, "but we've gotten quite a lot of business this week."

"How come?" Jack asked, confused. What was going on in October that he didn't know about?

"Why, the Death Eaters attacked Hogsmeade a few days ago. Refugees have been pouring in, renting rooms and such. It's a wonder we still have rooms left." Tom glanced at him, surprised. "Surely you've heard about it?"

An attack on Hogsmeade? By Death Eaters? Jack remembered the magical town that was situated only a few miles away from Hogwarts castle. What was Voldemort doing in Hogsmeade?

As a favor to his great-uncle, Tom fetched him a copy of the Daily Prophet that featured a two-page article about the attack. Jack settled down to read.

Jack's jaw clenched in anger. He wondered if any of those students had been Slytherins. Somehow he doubted it.

Jack read on, memorizing whatever information the article provided, then sat back and thought about the possible reasons for the attack and options available to the good guys.

He'd known from Albus' letter that this Voldemort guy had the whole wizarding world afraid of him. If anything, this attack was a show of force, to not only show everyone that he was really and truly back but also to prove that no one was safe from him. It had worked.

Jack continued to mull over everything he'd learned as he walked down the seven flights of stairs to the back of the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't have a wand to open the entrance into Diagon Alley, but he didn't need one. The good thing about having a crowded inn was that there were always people going in and out of it; the entranceway was still open from the last time someone had passed through it.

Diagon Alley was the fullest he'd ever seen it. He could hear everyone he passed talking about the attack. Even the goblins at Gringotts were on edge; Jack wondered how long it would be before Goblin Rebellion #whatever started.

The original Jack had given his clone a copy of his Gringotts key. Jack 2 was to place half of the money in the Gringotts account in his own separate vault then destroy the copy. Jack 2 was more than happy to comply. It didn't take long before he'd left Gringotts with enough money to do his shopping. He asked the goblin at the desk to tell him how many sickles were in a galleon and everything; it had been too long since he'd needed to know the difference.

He spent the next hour or so shopping. The first thing he got was a wand, then he went through his school supplies list.

The Flourish and Blotts cashier had given him a long look when Jack had walked up to the counter with the Sixth Year texts. "I haven't seen you in here before. You must be an exchange student," the cashier said.

Jack nodded. "Yep. Just came from the States."

"Hogwarts isn't the safest place right now. Sure, none of us are safe from You-Know-Who, but with both Dumbledore and Potter there, Hogwarts has to be number one on You-Know-Who's list. It's why he attacked Hogsmeade; Potter was one of the students that had gone to Hogsmeade."

"Sounds like Harry Potter has caused a lot of damage," Jack said, a hint of a question in his voice.

The cashier nodded. "Don't get me wrong, now. I like the lad well enough, but him being the Boy Who Lived doesn't help anyone, least of all those around him."

Or Harry, Jack mused. He thanked the man and left the bookshop with his purchases.

*****

It took an hour for Hogwarts Express to travel from Kings Cross to Hogsmeade Station. Jack was relieved, knowing full well that students were normally taken on the scenic route at the beginning and end of every term. The scenic route lasted eight hours and ended after the sun had set.

A large, burly man was there to greet him at the station. Jack concealed a smile when he realized who it was. It wasn't hard to place the sixty-something man before him with the memory of the over-large expelled Hogwarts attendee he'd known back in the fifties.

"Good afternoon," he said as he walked up to Jack. "I'm Professor Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts and the Care of Magical Creatures Professor. You must be Jack O'Neill." Hagrid studied him. "You remind me of a Jack O'Neill I knew way back when."

"That would be my great-uncle," Jack said. "He mentioned you. He didn't say anything about you being a professor, though."

Hagrid's chest puffed up in pride. "Yeah, well, that's a recent addition to my résumé. I’m really enjoyin' it, though Professor Umbridge didn't help my career much las' year."

"Umbridge?" Jack questioned. He hadn't heard this part of the story.

Hagrid told him about the Ministry official's takeover of the school during last year's term while they walked up the path from the station to where a horseless carriage waited them. Only it wasn't a horseless carriage. This carriage was being pulled by two skeletal creatures. "Thestrals," Jack whispered as his memory pulled up a long-ago lecture from school.

"Oh, you can see 'em?" Hagrid asked, surprised. "Beautiful, aren't they?"

"Uh…right." Beautiful was not the word he would have used, but then, Hagrid was Hagrid.

Hagrid told him tales about his great-uncle, Jack taking mock offense as he pretended to remember hearing what really happened from his great-uncle. It wasn't until they'd stepped out of the carriage and Hagrid was pointing out landmarks that their gaze fell on the distant Hogsmeade. Jack winced when he saw the partially ruined town for the first time.

"Dumbledore reckons that a good number of the Death Eaters were involved in the attack, so that's less of them that we have to worry about."

Jack nodded while inwardly thinking of the score of prison cells SG-1 had managed to break out of. He made a face. Azkaban wasn't impenetrable, no matter how many people wished to believe it so.

Hagrid led him to the entrance to Dumbledore's office and spoke the password then left, saying he had to get to his next class. Jack walked up the revolving staircase, not bothering to wait for it to take him up in escalator fashion, and opened the door.

Dumbledore paced from one side to the other of the office, deep in thought. He glanced up when Jack entered and his face broke out in a tired smile. "Jack! It is good to see you, old friend. Although you are looking much better for your age."

Jack grinned. "Likewise, Albus. Can't really call me old anymore, though," he said sarcastically. However, the term could be applied to the older wizard. Albus Dumbledore had aged considerably in forty years. Jack figured he was around a century and half by now, making him one of the oldest wizards still alive. While he looked old, Jack could still see the spark in his eyes, though dimmed, that had always been there.

Dumbledore chuckled and then coughed. "Forgive me, Jack," he said, now sounded more tired and old than ever before. "I’m afraid that recent events have not been very kind to my health."

"Sit down, Albus," Jack said in his best colonel voice. Despite the fact that he no longer looked like a colonel, Dumbledore complied, plopping down in the closest chair. Jack sat in the seat across from him. "What happened?" he asked. The Daily Prophet had told him about it, but he still wanted to hear about the attack in Dumbledore's words.

Dumbledore explained what had happened, his tiredness changing to anger with every word he spoke. He recounted the events Jack had learned about in the article. "Five of my students are dead," Albus said. "I just finished writing letters to their families. I fear that it is not enough."

"It never is," Jack said, his voice laced with regret for the number of friends he'd lost over the years.

After a moment, Jack said, "So, about me being in Slytherin."

"Yes, about you being in Slytherin." Albus sighed. "I do wish we had been able to place you in Slytherin sooner. Then the attack on Hogsmeade would not have been as destructive."

"I can't be your first operative," Jack said, disbelieving.

"No, you are not. Unfortunately, our other operative was discovered to be a spy, so he can no longer do any undercover work for us among the Death Eaters." Albus sighed again and stood before crossing over to his desk. He returned a moment later with a plate of food and a cup of pumpkin juice. "I had this sent up for you. I'm afraid we both missed lunch."

"Thanks." Jack dug in with pleasure. After a moment, he resumed his questioning. "So, how many people know about this?"

"At the moment, five. They are Alastor Moody-"

"Scrawny-boy?"

Albus smiled. A brighter twinkle returned to his eye that Jack had sourly missed and was glad to see again. It relieved him as well, reassuring him that his friend hadn't given up.

"Yes, I remember when he was a young man as well. Your nicknames for him were oftentimes not enjoyable for Alastor."

Jack shrugged innocently.

"As I was saying, those who are privy to your true identity are Alastor Moody, Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, Severus Snape, and the two of us. Severus is our former Potions Professor and our ex-spy."

Albus told him more about Shacklebolt and Snape, then the two discussed what had happened in their lives in the past four decades. As usual, Jack couldn't say much considering that pretty much all of his military career was classified, but from the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye, Jack figured the old goat knew more about that than he was supposed to.

Jack finished his meal and stood. "Well, guess we'd better get started on this whole Slytherin thing. Lead the way, Professor Dumbledore."

*****

Dumbledore took him to meet the head of Slytherin House, Potions Professor Gabrielle Cinders. Cinders had nearly black skin and black hair pulled back in an elaborate arrangement on her head. Cinders led him down the hall further into the dungeon to the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. The Slytherin entrance turned out to be a blank stone wall. Unsurprisingly and unimaginatively, the pass phrase was 'Mudbloods suck.'

Cinders left him at the door and Jack ventured in alone. He glanced all around, taking everything in, making note of exits and other notes of interest. He suppressed a roll of his eyes. Cold, stone walls in an equally chilly room decorated sparsely and imperialistically with green, silver, and black furniture. This is the Slytherin Common Room, all right, he thought. He missed the warm, welcoming Gryffindor Common Room.

The room was empty except for four students scattered about the room working on assignments or whatnot. Jack nodded to them all and proceeded across the room to the stairs that led up to the dormitories, ignoring the eyes he felt watching him.

He found the sixth year boys' dormitory and opened the door. He nearly ran into the person on the other side.

"Watch where you're going!" the other boy said, scowling at him as they both hastily stepped back.

"I could say the same about you!" Jack retorted.

The teenager's eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. His eyes flickered from Jack's head to his feet, taking in the Slytherin robes he wore. Jack did likewise. Gray eyes, light-blonde hair that was either bleached or an indication that the kid was part-Veela. Anything was possible in the wizarding world. He regarded Jack with the haughty attitude of one who considered himself superior to those around him. There was a Prefect badge pinned to his Slytherin robes, which were the finest robes money could buy. Jack's conclusion: snotty little rich kid bully. Just the kind of person he'd need to be best buds with if this whole plan was going to work, and he may have screwed that up already.

"Jack O'Neill," Jack introduced himself. "I’m new."

Snotty boy's face scrunched up in disgust. "You're the American transfer student from Jinxed Wands? What are you doing in Slytherin?"

"What, isn't this the house for Mudblood haters?" Jack asked. "Or are all of you softies that only pretend to really hate Muggle-borns? God I hope not, 'cause if I am, I'd rather be back at Jinxed Wands, where everyone is just head-over-heels in love with Muggles!" Jack practically spat the world out and added a disgusted look for good measure, hoping he wasn't laying it on too thick.

"You hate Muggles?" Veela boy questioned, surprised. Jack smirked and nodded. From his expression, he could tell the blonde was expecting something like a tree-hugging, drugged-up hippie. Jack banished memories of the sixties that odd thought had brought up.

"You got a name?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.

Veela boy straightened his shoulders and did his best to glare down at Jack even though they were the same height. "Draco Malfoy," he said.

He couldn't be Julius Malfoy's son, seeing as how that asshole had only one son, so that made him…"Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"That's right."

Jack grinned and stuck out a hand. "Pleased to meet you." He promised himself that he'd wash his hand thoroughly with soap later.

*****

Jack knew that he was the subject of conversation that Friday night at dinner. It had taken everything in him to ignore the being-watched feeling in the Great Hall and concentrate on the conversations of the Slytherins around him. It didn't take him long to learn that publicly, the Slytherins were just as remorseful about the Hogsmeade attack as everyone else, while privately, they were all gloating over the number of Muggle lovers who'd been killed. Draco Malfoy could always be found at the center of the gloating. Jack made a point to be there with him, but not as just another lackey like Crabbe and Goyle.

No Slytherin named names, but it was clear to Jack that they all knew their parents were Death Eaters or Voldemort supporters. Being accepted by them was easy enough; all he had to do was profess his dislike of Muggles and Muggle-borns and join in with the name-calling and Gryffindor-teasing and they considered him an equal. The Slytherin students didn't seem too concerned that some of their parents were now in Azkaban, which confirmed Jack's suspicions that the Death Eaters wouldn't stay there for very long. Unfortunately, so far he'd been unable to find out what plans might be brewing to spring them out of jail.

During a lapse in conversation, Jack glanced about the Great Hall, taking it all in. It had been ages since his last meal in this very hall. He'd completely forgotten about the enchanted ceiling or the fact that the food was magically transported up from the basement kitchen. He recalled other things, though. He remembered the feud between the houses and wasn't surprised - disappointed, maybe - that those feuds were still going strong.

He glanced up at the faculty table and tried to see how many of them he could recognize. He drew a blank on most of them. He looked away and skimmed the house tables.

His eyes met another pair of chocolate brown ones. The kid was seated at the Gryffindor table and had messy brown hair and glasses. Jack's best guess was that this was Harry Potter. Seated on either side of him would of course by Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. At least now I know who to insult the most, he thought sarcastically. All three were decorated in bandages and Band-Aids, Harry more than his two friends. A number of students scattered about the hall wore souvenirs from the hospital wing as well. None of them were Slytherins.

"Aren't you even listening to me?" Draco asked him.

"What?" Jack said, returning his full attention to the Slytherin Prefect. "Oh, I was just checking out Dumbledore's favorite."

This answer satisfied Draco. He, too, glanced across the room at the Gryffindor trio. He snarled at them and they glared back. "Everyone thinks that Potter is the savior of the wizarding world," Draco said, disgusted. "Saint Potter can never do anything wrong! At least the reporters at the Daily Prophet agree. They're good for something, it would seem."

Jack half-listened as Draco listed everything he disliked about Potter and Gryffindors in general. Jack let his mind wander and found himself wondering what SG-1 was doing. He wondered if Daniel had managed to remember another important piece of his life, or if Carter had discovered how to operate those gadgets SG-12 had brought back from P4R-whatever. He wondered if Teal'c was having trouble with that whole lack-of-a-symbiote thing, and he even wondered what the real Jack O'Neill was doing right at that moment. As much as he had missed being here at Hogwarts, he found himself missing his former life at the SGC even more.

The next day was Saturday. A memorial service was held on the Quidditch Pitch to remember the witches and wizards who were killed in the Hogsmeade attack. The whole student body plus the survivors of the deceased were present for the service. From a distance, the Slytherins may have appeared mournful, but up close, Jack knew better. When the priest read out the names of the Hogwarts students, Jack heard one of his housemates remark under her breath, "I'm so glad that those Muggle lovers are gone, Bell especially. Now the Quidditch Cup is as good as ours."

It took all of Jack's effort not to strangle the girl for her blatant disrespect.

Across the pitch from them, Harry Potter sat silently through the entire service. Hermione and Ron frequently sent furtive glances his way. Both of them were worried for their friend. Harry had barely said a word since he'd woken up in the hospital wing and Hermione and Ron had told him what had happened in Hogsmeade. Hermione was convinced that Harry blamed himself, and Ron agreed with her. There was just nothing they could do about it for as long as Harry didn't let them.

Near the end of the ceremony, Harry suddenly stood up and stepped around his friends. He headed for the entrance to the stairwell. Ron and Hermione looked at each other before getting up and following him.

Harry was already walking off across the field when they reached the base of the stairs. "Harry! Wait!" Hermione called as she and Ron hurried to catch up.

Both of them froze. So did Harry, for stalking towards them was a very angry looking woman. Trailing behind her was a man who looked uneasy.

"You!" the woman cried angrily. She jabbed a finger right in Harry's face. "The Death Attacks were there because of you! You should have been the one to die! Not any of those poor people that priest is talking about in there! You!"

Harry stood there with a look of horror on his face. Hermione and Ron ran to his side and glared at the woman. "Lay off him!" Ron said. "If those Death Eaters had wanted only Harry, they wouldn't have killed all those people! No, those arseholes were after pure destruction, that's what!"

The woman whirled on him. "They wouldn't have been in Hogsmeade on a Hogwarts visit day if it weren't for Harry Potter!"

Her friend lay a hand on her arm. "Beatrice, calm down."

Beatrice shrugged off his hand. "Don't tell me to calm down, Tom! My son and your daughter are dead!"

"Yes, they are," he said in a small voice, "but it's no one's fault but the Death Eaters."

Beatrice's shoulders slumped. Tom pulled her into a hug and she started to cry. Tom glanced over at the Hogwarts Trio, tears in his eyes. "I’m sorry," he said, his eyes meeting Harry's. "I'm Thomas Fillistern and this is Beatrice Balustrade. We're both just missing our children. Look-it wasn't your fault. You don't have any say in what you-know-who does with his cohorts. I'm sorry for saying otherwise."

Harry turned and walked away, heading for the castle. Hermione and Ron hurried after him.

*****

"Oh, crap," Jack muttered as he scanned the Gryffindor section for the third time, coming up empty again. No Harry, Hermione, or Ron in sight.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Jack turned to Draco and whispered, "Potter's missing."

Draco glanced over at the Gryffindor section and smirked, looking smug. "Looks like he couldn't handle being faced with his crimes."

"You know, wandering about away from everyone, he could be open to attack."

Draco pretended to consider it, nodding. A large grin spread across his features. "Yes, he could very well be."

Great. Something was up and Draco knew about it. Now what was he supposed to do?

There was no way to get Dumbledore's attention and then convey a message to him. All Jack could do was wait…for a few minutes until he got up, saying that he needed to use the bathroom.

He hurried down the stairs before Draco could say anything, then turned left in the direction of the bathrooms. It was also the direction of the castle.

He took his wand out and lay it against his palm. "Point me to Harry Potter," he said.

The wand spun in his hand, coming to rest with its tip pointing to the castle. He took off in a run.

He reached one of the side entrances. The wand pointed right, so right he went down the corridor and into the castle. He really wished he had a zat right then, but he did have his wand. It had been decades since the last time he'd had to perform any sort of defensive magic. Hopefully, what he remembered was enough.

*****

God, I wish I had my wand right now, Jack thought with wistful fondness. I'd really like to wipe the smirk off that Tollan's face. Superior technology my ass.

He glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time, then glanced up to watch the continued discussion between Carter and the alien scientist. He sighed. They weren't going to get out of this one soon with the way those two were going at it.

SG-1 had gated to P92-VX3 in the hopes of discovering the source of the naquada readings they'd gotten from the MALP telemetry. They'd found the source, all right, when an Ancient device had sent them to here. Here happened to be a room made of naquada. There was no way out except for one, which happened to be a small control panel in one corner of the room. Unfortunately, Orman, the Tollan scientist who was also trapped with them, had been trying to escape for two months with no success. He'd managed to stay alive with help from the food and water that was transported into the room three times daily. Oxygen was also plentiful.

Orman reluctantly agreed to work with Jack's supposedly less educated second-in-command to find a way out. SG-1 had been there for less than a day. Jack could only hope they got out of this place before he either throttled Orman or died of boredom. Currently, Orman and Carter were near the control panel, arguing their hearts out over how to get it the transporter to work, while Daniel, Jack, and Teal'c were stuck without anything to do. There wasn't even a single window near the ceiling that they could try to escape by climbing the annoyingly smooth walls.

Jack paced the room for the umpteenth time, sighed, then sat down next to Daniel on the floor. If only he was anywhere but there, even Hogwarts. Jack wondered what his clone was doing. He wondered if he'd successfully joined the ranks of Slytherin scum, if the Quidditch teams were any good, anything. Anything would be better that what he was doing now.

*****

"Harry! Wait up!"

Harry ignored his best friends and kept running. He just wanted to be alone.

He turned a corridor and ran down the next one. After the next turn, he'd be at the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room. He froze. He hadn't even realized he'd been heading that way. He stopped and looked for an alternative rout, but the only other way led back to Hermione and Ron. He didn't want them to catch up to him. He didn't want to hear them tell him it wasn't his fault, or that he should ignore what Ms. Balustrade told him.

Pain throbbed in his arm, back, and front, reminding him of his injuries. Madam Pomfrey hadn't been able to heal them all; she'd been conserving all of her potions and using as little as possible on each patient because there were so many.

Hate for the Death Eaters overwhelmed him. He hated them more than ever, and he completely despised Voldemort. He wished that he and Voldemort could confront each other and just get the Prophecy over with. Then, after he'd called Voldemort, no one else would suffer.

Something latched onto his arms, making him cry out in pain when whatever it was jerked on his broken arm. A hand covered his mouth before his cry could become a scream.

"Hello, Harry," a woman's voice whispered in his ear.

Harry's eyes widened. He twisted, trying to break free from her hold.

"Keep still, Potter!" she whispered urgently as she began to pull him backwards and around the bend in the corridor, bringing them closer to the Gryffindor Common Room while putting more distance between them and Harry's friends. Harry struggled even more frantically, now wanting to be closer to his friends. Her grip tightened on his arms, making him see spots as the pain worsened.

Her grip loosened slightly. Her next whisper was more urgent and more panicked-sounding. "Now listen, Harry, or you're all dead!"

*****

Jack knew something Harry didn't: a shortcut to the Gryffindor dormitory. He burst through the wall from behind a tapestry, startling the Fat Lady enough that she paused in her conversation with a woman visiting from another portrait.

"My goodness!" she exclaimed, staring at him. "What on Earth are you doing here? Slytherins aren't allowed on this floor!"

Jack ignored her. He heard footsteps at the other end of the corridor and whirled toward the sound, bringing his wand up in preparation of an attack as he ducked back behind the tapestry. A woman backed up around the bend, dragging Harry along with her.

"Stupefy!" Jack shouted.

The spell hit the woman in the center of her back. She immediately fell to the ground, taking Harry with her.

Jack got a good look at her face and his jaw dropped. It can't be! he thought, shocked to his core.

Running footsteps rang on the marble tiles just beyond the bend in the corridor. "Harry!" Ron shouted.

The woman glanced in the direction of Ron's voice then looked the other way, trying to spot her attacker. Harry was already on his feet with his wand out. He was backing away from the woman, but strangely, his wand wasn't pointed at her. A confused yet thoughtful look was on his face.

Jack blended into the shadows behind the tapestry as best as he could. It worked; the woman didn't even glance at his hiding place.

As Hermione and Ron's footsteps grew closer, the woman transformed, changing from a seventy-five-year-old witch to a small lizard-like animal - a salamander, as Jack recalled.

The red and orange-colored salamander skittered across the floor. A small fire suddenly appeared above the floor and the animal ran into it, then it and the fire disappeared.

Ron and Hermione entered the hall just in time to see the fire disappear. "What was that?" Hermione asked Harry.

"I-I don't know," Harry replied.

Jack did. He opened the hidden panel again and ducked inside it before making the shortened trip back to the Quidditch Pitch, his mind lost in memories.

*****

Jack encountered no problems from Draco or the other Slytherins. They all believed that he had gone to the bathroom since, as far as they knew, he hadn't been gone long enough to get to wherever Harry Potter and his friends had gone. It wasn't until Jack, Draco and his goons were walking to the dungeon making up stories about what Voldemort was doing to Harry in gleeful whispers that Jack hit a snag in the form of Professor Cinders.

"Mr. O'Neill, please come with me," she said, regarding him emotionlessly from her full height.

Jack glanced at Draco, Crabbe and Goyle, wondering if they had anything to do with this. They were glaring subtly yet fiercely at Cinders, so Jack guessed that was a 'no'.

Cinders led him down the hall toward the stairs that led up to the Entrance Hall. After several long minutes of silence, Jack couldn't take it anymore. "Look, Professor Cinders, if this is about those dung bombs, it wasn't me," Jack assured her.

She raised an eyebrow. "What dung bombs?"

Oops. "Uh…no dung bombs, none whatsoever. So…where are we going?"

"We're going to Professor Dumbledore's office. He wants to speak to you."

Belatedly, Jack remembered the Fat Lady. She'd seen him. Crap. If only he'd cast an obliviation charm on her…but then those types of spells never worked on portraits.

They stopped at the base of the stairs. "Headmaster Dumbledore said you would know the password," Cinders said. "I don't know it."

Jack thought back to the phrase Hagrid had said. It had been a candy product, produced by a new company - Weasleys' Wizard Weezes.

He said it and the gargoyle jumped aside and the wall slid back. Cinders accompanied him up the stairs and into the office. Dumbledore stood behind his desk. The Gryffindor Trio were seated before him. Double crap, Jack thought.

Dumbledore stood. "Ah, Gabrielle, Mr. O'Neill. Please, come in. Thank you for bringing Mr. O'Neill here, Gabrielle. If you don't mind, I would like to talk to him, Harry, Ms. Granger, and Mr. Weasley alone, please."

Cinders wasn't ready to leave just yet. "Headmaster, if this concerns one of the students in Slytherin, then as Head of Slytherin House, I feel that I am obligated to be here during this meeting. And may I suggest bringing Professor McGonogall here if this also concerns students from Gryffindor house?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "You make a good point, Professor Cinders. However, that is only necessary in disciplinary matters. This matter is private and concerns only the five of us."

Cinders didn't look happy but couldn't find anything to refute that. She nodded reluctantly. "Very well." She turned and left.

"What did you want to see me about, Professor?" Jack asked, going for the ignorant routine.

"It's all right, Jack. We have to tell them."

He'd thought as much. "All right."

Jack walked to the desk, turned, and waved. "Hi. I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF, retired. Sort of."

He looked around for another chair. Spying none, he shrugged and jumped onto the table, letting his legs swing merrily.

Dumbledore quickly conjured another chair. "Please," he said, indicating the chair. Jack smirked but sat down in the chair.

"Excuse me, but by USAF, do you mean the United States Air Force?" Hermione questioned, just as confused as her two friends.

"Yep," replied Jack.

"How could that be?" Ron asked. "I mean…you're sixteen. Aren't you?"

Jack sighed. "Actually, I'm less than a month old, though I've got the memories of a seventy-five year old."

Flashes flew through his mind of a dark, closed room. Carter and a guy dressed in Tollan-style clothes were bent in front of an alien control panel, arguing about something.

Jack frowned, wondering what memory that image had sprung from. He couldn't remember that mission ever happening. He banished the images and concentrated on the present. Harry, Hermione and Ron were staring at him, still looking bewildered.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I do believe they need a little more detail than that, Jack," he said. "First, however, I wish to know who attacked Harry."

Jack bit his lip before taking a deep breath. "It was Silvia Stone."

Dumbledore's mouth dropped slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, sure, you betcha," Jack said sarcastically. He bit his lip, thinking about the last time he'd seen her. How could she be working for Voldemort? It just didn't make any sense.

He slammed his fist against the arm of his chair before jumping to his feet, making Harry, Ron and Hermione start. Jack started to pace. "I can't believe Silvia would ever work for Voldemort. I just can't believe it! She would never do that!"

"Jack," Dumbledore said, sternly.

Jack stopped and took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down.

"Harry, please tell Jack what Ms. Stone told you."

Jack whirled on Harry, giving him and Dumbledore a puzzled look. Harry took a deep breath and began. "She said there were things brewing, and that the Prophecy would guide our way." Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Could she have meant the Prophecy about me and Voldemort?"

The headmaster shook his head. "I do not believe so, Harry. Please, go on."

Harry looked a little disappointed but continued, "She also said that the Image and the Curse would be the key. I think she was afraid that the wrong people would overhear or she would have been clearer. At least, that's the impression I got. She acted like she was scared of something, or at least sounded like she was."

Jack pondered over this. What on Earth could it mean? Was Silvia only pretending to be a Death Eater? Was she really trying to offer a helpful clue to Harry, or was she charged by Voldemort to distract them with this piece of cryptic information?

"Now, do you mind telling us who this Stone woman is and how you know her if you're really only a month old?" Ron asked, near to bursting.

Jack sighed and sank back into his chair. "I'm a clone, Weasley. The original me is still alive and living in Colorado. I've got the body of a fifteen-year-old but I've got the memories of a seventy-five-year-old. I-the other I, I mean-er-he attended Hogwarts back in the forties and late thirties."

"What the bleeding hell is a clone?" Ron asked.

Hermione replied, "A clone is the identical copy of a person in every way - physically and mentally. It's been done successfully with sheep, but not with humans. Basically, you clone a person by taking a sample of their DNA-"

Ron opened his mouth to ask his next question, but Hermione beat him to it. "DNA is a sample of a person, like a lock of hair, or a piece of skin. Then, using that sample of DNA, scientists can create a duplicate of you. He would look just like you, like an identical twin brother. The only differences would be that he would start off as a baby and grow at the normal rate of a human being, even if you were already an adult."

While Ron tried to process the explanation Hermione had given him, Harry asked his own question. "If clones are supposed to grow at a normal rate, how could you be less than a month old?" he asked Jack.

Jack stared at him for a moment. When his mind drew a blank at an adequate explanation that didn't involve anything classified, he said, "That's not important. The important thing is that I'm a spy for Albus here and now you three know about it…" He turned to Dumbledore. "…along with the Fat Lady. How'd you get her to stay quiet? I figured she'd be howling it to every portrait in the castle by now."

Dumbledore smiled. "I managed to persuade her to keep this whole business a secret. What we must focus on now is why Silvia Stone is working for Voldemort and what her message to Harry meant."

"Yeah, and why she didn't take Harry to You-Know-Who?" Ron wondered. "You saw what she did. She went in that fire and Apparated out of there!"

"She didn't Apparate," Hermione corrected him with a roll of her eyes. "You can't Apparate from Hogwarts."

"You are correct, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore said. "It is not possible for any witch or wizard to Apparate within Hogwarts grounds. However, some magical creatures have the ability to transport themselves regardless of whatever magical barriers are in place, but they can only transport themselves."

"But, Stone's not an animal," Hermione said, confused.

"She's half-Salamander. The magical kind," Jack said, quietly, his mind lost in memories.

"Salamander?" Ron asked, eyes widened. "But-no one's seen one in England for years!"

Jack gave him a humorless smile. "They're very secretive."

Dumbledore frowned. "Voldemort likely sent Ms. Stone to deliver the message, not to kidnap Harry."

Jack took a deep breath. "I don't think so. Draco was acting pretty sure that Harry would be in Voldemort's hands by now."

"That lying piece of shit," Harry said, enraged. His knuckles had turned white where they gripped the arms of his chair.

"Harry!" Hermione admonished, out of habit more than anything else. She wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment.

"That does create a paradox," Dumbledore said. "It certainly deserves looking into."

Harry's green eyes met Jack's brown ones. "Who is Silvia Stone?" he asked.

Jack stared at him for a moment as he thought of what to say. "We went to school together - my original self did. Sixty years ago." He shook his head. "She wouldn't have become a Death Eater. She hated the Nazis. She would never have stood for being a Death Eater."

"Maybe she didn't have a choice," Hermione offered.

"Maybe," Jack said. He just wished he knew for certain.

*****

Silvia Stone's name suited her perfectly. The Veela blood that ran through her veins was too thin to cause a magical attraction to her by males, but her beauty more than made up for that. Her mother may have had the Veela white-blonde hair, but Silvia's hair was the deep red of her father's. The only physical manifestation of her heritage from her mother was her eyes, which were also influenced by her father. While the irises were icy gray, the black portion of her eyes danced with wild fire.

She was a Hufflepuff, but that didn't matter. She was the most intelligent, smart, independent woman Jack O'Neill had ever met…and she was his best friend's girlfriend.

Frank Cromwell and Jack had a lot in common. Both had been born in the United States. Both of their families had moved to the United Kingdom just in time for both of them to receive their acceptance letters into Hogwarts, and both had the hots for Silvia. The biggest difference between them was that Frank was going out with Silvia. Also, Jack's two friends were both in Hufflepuff while Jack was not. It made little difference, of course, but still. Frank was smarter than Jack and Silvia deserved someone like that. Jack just got a little jealous sometimes, that was all.

World War II had begun a year before they started school, but Hogwarts was considered the safest place in wizarding England, therefore parents continued to send their children there. It did not help matters much; each student constantly wondered whether they'd ever see their parents again, and whether the rest of the UK would survive to greet them at the end of term.

The wizarding population had an added threat to the Muggle Nazis to worry about. His name was Grindelwald, a powerful dark wizard and strong supporter of Adolph Hitler. For the most part, Jack and his friends did their best to go on with their lives even with constant danger over their heads, but all of them knew they would be enlisting as soon as they were old enough.

It was summertime, four weeks before their sixth year at Hogwarts would begin, and it was the weekend. Frank, Silvia, Jack, and some of their other friends from school had gone to Minnesota to spend a week at the O'Neill family cabin. It was a fun week and would be a good memory…for the most part.

She finally cornered him on the porch on Saturday night. He'd managed to avoid her questions for two days and one night and had hoped to avoid them for even longer than that. He should have known his luck wouldn't hold.

"You're not going to Hogwarts for sixth year," Silvia said. "Are you?"

Jack wouldn't meet her eyes. "Silvia…"

"Answer me," she demanded.

He bit his lip and glanced at her, then glanced away, and she knew she had her answer.

With a lump in her throat, she continued and hoped to Merlin that it wasn't true, "You're going to join the Aurors fighting against Grindelwald. Aren't you?"

"How could I not?" Jack challenged, coming alive with righteous anger. "Haven't you seen what the Nazis have done? They've killed thousands of people, Silvia! I'm not talking about the soldiers we've lost, I'm talking about women and children who had nothing to do with this war! Grindelwald has got to be the most powerful Dark Wizard since Salazar Slytherin, and he's a Nazi! He won't stop at anything until all witches and wizards who aren't pure-blooded are dead! That includes you, and me, and Frank, and half of our friends! I won't let them happen. I have to help stop Hitler and Grindelwald both from taking over the world and destroying it in the process. I will not sit by and watch while more people are being slaughtered!"

Silvia turned away as tears filled her eyes. She'd seen so many of her friends and family go off to fight in the war. So few of them had come back, and those that had had been irrevocably changed by what they'd seen. She didn't want that to happen to Jack, but she could understand why he wanted to go. She, too, hated Grindelwald and Hitler and their Nazi followers. Sometimes, she was so overcome with hatred that she wouldn't have hesitated to kill them with her bare hands if she were able.

She took a calming breath, willing herself not to give in to the rage. "How?" she asked. "You're sixteen, and you hardly look your age. The Aurors would never let you join."

"Wrong," he said solemnly. "I've got an aging potion that works for days at a time. All I have to say is I'm an American wizard recently moved to London and I'll get in with none of them the wiser."

Silvia closed her eyes. "I don’t want you to get hurt, Jack, but I also know I can't stop you." She took a deep breath. "Which is why I'm coming with you."

Jack stared at her, shocked. "No. You can't. Frank will-"

"Frank's coming, too," she said. "We discussed it this morning. We won't let you go alone, Jack. You're stuck with us whether you like it or not."

*****

"So what do we do now?" Hermione asked.

"We pretend that I'm the cold-hearted little Slytherin that I've always been," Jack said with a straight face. "We also keep an eye out for more kidnapping attempts or whatever. I'd suggest you not going anywhere without having someone with you, Harry."

Harry didn't look up from his lap, but it was hard to miss his scowl. Jack winced in sympathy. Poor kid, he thought. No sixteen-year-old should have the life Harry had.

*****

When asked why Professor Cinders had wanted to see him, Jack told Malfoy it was because of the dungbombs Crabbe and Goyle had planted in Filch's office. Draco spent the next hour chewing out his two minions for doing something so childish. "A stupid prank like that is something a Gryffindor would do, not a Slytherin, you idiots!"

Over the next few weeks, Jack settled into life as a Slytherin, doing his homework and picking on Gryffindors in-between picking his brain for clues of why Silvia would join Voldemort. He had a feeling that there was something he was forgetting, something so important that it felt like an obliviation charm had been cast on him.

Three weeks went by without any problems on a Death Eater scale. Jack was considerably out of practice magic-wise and ended up re-learning as much as he remembered. Even so, he soon noticed that his grades were better than most of his classmates and consciously started making worse grades to draw less attention to himself.

One thing about school he'd forgotten was that he hated Potions with a passion. It was too much like chemistry to sit well with him. He re-discovered this in Cinders' class. Everyone said that Cinders was nicer than Professor Snape had been, but Jack hardly noticed. She regarded everyone, even members of her own house, down the length of her nose, and was a worse stickler for order and following the rules than even McGonogall. How Snape could have been any worse was Jack's guess. The Slytherins were the only ones who hated her and wanted Snape back in spite of the number of conversations held in the Slytherin Common Room about how he'd betrayed Voldemort.

This particular day was the worst so far, if only because it was the second to last class of the day and Jack was impatient to get out to the pitch to practice flying his broom. The next day, Saturday, would be the day of the Slytherin Quidditch tryouts. A week ago during the first Quidditch game of the season, Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff, one of the Slytherin Chasers had been critically injured. He wouldn't be able to play Quidditch for the rest of the year, if ever. He would completely recover from his injury, but his mother was a force to be reckoned with, and she refused to let him play anymore.

Jack glanced down at the piece of parchment again. "Two eyes of newt...or possibly newts..."

He dropped the two eyes into the cauldron, half expecting it to go up in smoke. When it didn't, he let out a sigh of relief. This isn't the SGC, he reminded himself. Everything isn't going to go completely wrong with the simplest mistake.

He poured the bile in next and flames rose on the surface of the potion. Thought too soon, he thought, wincing.

The rest of the class was a bust. He'd have to buy a new cauldron. Whoopee.

His last class for that week was Defense Against the Dark Arts. The first time around, he'd sucked at this subject, too. Then he'd graduated and had become determined to be the best in his class at the Auror Academy. Now, Jack found himself doing better in this class as memories of missions and battles from his Auror days resurfaced in his mind. DADA was actually his favorite subject normally, but not on that day; he was too impatient to get out on the pitch.

That year's DADA professor was Remus Lupin. Jack had learned from other students that Professor Lupin was a werewolf and had taught DADA three years ago before his condition had become known. Now, he was back, and no one seemed to mind that he was a werewolf; at least, not for now. It was the least of everyone's concerns with Voldemort back in power, lying in wait to make his next move.

Jack had talked to Dumbledore about Lupin and the rest of the faculty. Jack had wanted to know who to pay close attention to and who Dumbledore was sure wouldn't cause them any trouble. Unless Lupin was another spy like Barty Crouch, Jack didn't need to worry about him. After talking to the man a few times, Jack was willing to trust his gut when it told him Lupin was an okay guy.

Jack and Malfoy took a seat near the rear of the classroom on the Slytherin side of the room. NEWT classes tended to be more packed because they were longer than previous years' classes, ergo there were less of them. Sixth year Slytherins and Gryffindors had DADA at the same time.

"Good afternoon, class," Professor Lupin said as he entered the room. Everyone quieted and watched as he walked to the front of the classroom. He waved a chalkboard down from the ceiling, then wrote in the air with his wand. Letters appeared on the board.

Ooh, boy, Jack thought. Lupin had written, 'Myths and Mysteries'. They'd been going over dark creatures all week; they'd even covered werewolves. If this day's lesson was true to form, they'd be talking about mythological beasts and creatures.

Memories of times where Daniel had subjected him - er, the other him - to unending torture sections known collectively as 'lectures' came to mind. Please don't let this be about theological myths about magical beasts. Please, just please let it be anything else but that.

"Myths and mysteries," Lupin said, facing his class. "What do I mean by that? There are certain dark creatures that have not been seen in anywhere in the world for so long that they are considered to be myths by many people in the wizarding community. Others think that they did exist once, but are now extinct."

Lupin turned back to the board and swished his wand through the air. A list of magical beasts and creatures that had been unobserved for forty years or more appeared on the board. At #3 was, 'Salamanders - last seen in 1963 in Stratford, England.'

Jack snorted. He remembered 1963, when the magical Salamanders of Britain, as few in number as they were, packed up and headed to parts unknown. Silvia had gone with them. They had left to escape the increasingly prejudice wizarding world; she had left because her husband, Frank Cromwell, had been reported to be KIA.

That had been the last time Jack had seen her until three weeks ago. If only Jack knew where to find them, he could find out what had happened to Silvia to make her switch to the dark side. For all he knew, they were holed up in a volcano somewhere.

While he was lost in his thoughts, the lecture had gone on. He snapped out of it when he heard Lupin ask, "Can anyone tell me the properties of a magical-type of Salamander?"

Hermione, Ron, and Harry weren't the only ones to raise their hands, but they were the first. Looks like they've been doing their homework, he thought.

"Mr. Weasley?" Lupin said. Apparently, he'd noticed it, too.

"A Magical Salamander has the ability to withstand fire. They do this by secreting this liquid that keeps their bodies cool. There are different types of these Salamanders. Some stay lizard-like all the time, while others can turn into humans."

"Very good, Mr. Weasley. Ten points to Gryffindor. Yes, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione lowered her hand. "Professor Lupin, why are Salamanders considered to be dark creatures?"

"Do you mean to say you've never heard of the Diagon Alley Fire, Granger?" Malfoy asked, feigning surprise. "Perhaps you're not as smart as you'd like us to believe."

Granger looked confused and angry, making it clear that she hadn't heard of the fire.

"Yeah, who hasn't heard of the fire in the sixties that wiped out half of the shops in Diagon Alley?" Jack asked, exchanging a look and a snigger with Malfoy. "I'm not from here, and even I know that!"

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. O'Neill, that is enough," Lupin said sharply. "I am taking ten points from Slytherin for such childish and insulting behavior."

A cry of outrage rose up among the Slytherins while comprehension dawned on Hermione's face. Jack could tell that she'd just recalled something about a fire in the London wizarding shopping center.

Once everyone had calmed down, she raised her hand again. "Professor, I had heard of a fire in Diagon Alley, but I hadn't been aware that it had anything to do with the Salamanders."

"That's because there was no proof that they started the fire," Lupin replied. "Prejudice between wizards and misunderstood magical creatures had been very strong back in the nineteen fifties and early sixties. One of the human-types of Salamanders was seen lighting the buildings on fire, but the source wasn't very reliable. Unfortunately, the matter put a permanent wedge between wizarding society and Salamander society, and to this day no one knows who lit the fire in the first place."

Jack knew who lit that fire. The bad news was that it had been a Salamander. The worst news was that he had been one of Voldemort's first Death Eaters. That had been long before Voldemort had come out in the open, and the whole matter had been classified as much as possible. God forbid if the public learned that Voldemort's Reign of Terror had begun over ten years before they'd thought.

*****

"We're leaving," Silvia told him, interrupting Jack's ramblings about the merits of hockey and Quidditch. He'd been trying to cheer her up, but his usual methods wouldn't work this time.

She was twirling a strand of red hair around her right index finger. She always did that when she was nervous, and it was clear that she was very nervous now.

"Silvia, no," Jack said. "Please, don't."

"I'm sorry, Jack. My people can't stay here. The Salamanders are leaving, and I'm going with them."

"What about the Veela?"

Silvia laughed. "The Veela left months ago, Jack. They knew better than to try to reason with the Ministry. Mom would have left with them if she didn't want to stay with Dad." She smiled humorlessly. "The Veela and the Yellow-Eyed Salamanders may be allies, but neither group sees the point in continuing to fight anymore."

Jack felt something inside him break. After Frank had been presumed dead on a case, Silvia had been the only one of his closest friends left. He didn't want to lose her, too, and he would if she left. "Silvia, don't you see?" he pleaded. "That terrorist that lighted that fire probably wanted this to happen!"

"And it worked!" she cried, bottled-up fury erupting from inside her. "If we don't do something, more of our people will be killed, and it won't be in a fire lit by a terrorist, Jack. Damnit, I've lost too many people already, I'm not losing anyone else!"

Over the past decade, tensions between wizards and Salamanders had mounted. One day, they had been living peacefully alongside each other. The next, they had been at each other's throats. It didn't help that on the same day a group of Salamanders had visited Diagon Alley, a massive fire had started, taking out half of shops in the alley and killing hundreds before it was stopped. No ordinary fire could have caused so much damage, and while there were spells that could override the protection spells cast over the alley, everyone almost immediately blamed the Salamanders, who could control fire. The fact that the Salamanders had lost two people to the fire didn't matter, nor did the fact that Salamanders had fought for the wizarding world in both world wars. The wizards and witches of England wanted the Salamanders out, one way or another.

Silvia swallowed. "We're leaving in two days." She tried to smile. "Will you come to see us off?"

Jack smiled as his eyes filled with tears. "You bet, Vee. You bet."

"I'm sorry, Jack. This is just the way it has to be."

They hugged, both squeezing with all their might. "I'll find the bastard who framed your people, Vee," Jack vowed to her.

Silvia smiled. For a moment, the flames in her eyes danced the way they did back when Frank was alive. Jack felt hope that everything would turn out all right; that Frank would walk in any minute and deny ever disappearing, and the wizarding world would realize their mistakes and apologize to the Salamanders, and then Silvia wouldn’t have to leave.

Jack sighed. He knew how likely any of that would happen. Wizards were too suspicious of anything unusual or mysterious, and once they started distrusting someone it was next to impossible to rebuild that trust.

He felt his anger rise. He realized, right then and there, that he despised what the wizarding world had become. He would find the person responsible, but after that, he decided he would leave. He didn't want to be a wizard anymore.

*****

And now, years later, that prejudice was still there, stronger than ever. Jack sighed as the class ended and he put up his books. He wished he could do something to change it. He remembered so many happy times with Silvia; if only he could find a way to tell everyone about them without giving himself away.

He shook himself. He couldn't dwell on any of that right now. In fact, he decided not to think about it at all until Sunday at the earliest. He had Quidditch try-outs to practice for.

*****

As Jack sauntered over to the Quidditch Pitch with broom in hand, whistling a merry tune, he couldn't help but think that life was good. At least, as good as life got when he was an undercover spy and he was about to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team, the latter being the basis for his good mood. Sure, it may have been Slytherin, but it was Quidditch. If he'd been asked to play on a professional hockey team, he would have felt just as happy even if the team sucked.

He'd spent a pretty penny on the fastest broom in Diagon Alley and he intended to make the most of it. Slytherin had only two more games left in the season, and one of those games was against Gryffindor. Jack had heard that Potter was the best Seeker out of all the houses. Harry had a Firebolt just like Jack.

As he neared the pitch, he could see that the tryouts had drawn a small crowd consisting mostly of other team members. Harry, Ron, and their friend Hermione were also there. Jack regarded them for a moment behind his sunglasses, then continued across the field to where the other applicants waited.

Among them was Blaise Zabinni. She smiled warmly at him. Jack raised an eyebrow back, wondering if the look she was giving him was a lustful one or if he was just dreaming.

One by one, each person in line was given a chance to show their stuff. It wasn't long before Jack's chance came. As he mounted his broom, he heard someone exclaim, "He's got a Firebolt!" Fierce whispering started up among the onlookers. Jack grinned and took off on his broom.

He'd practiced flying on the Firebolt beforehand, but even now he let out a yell of pleasure. He couldn't believe how fast they made brooms nowadays.

Hooch released the Quaffle. Jack caught it easily and started to zoom toward the goal.

Pansy Parkinson and __ Bellatrix, the other two Slytherin Chasers, flew in to intercept him. Jack flew below them at the last minute, only to almost get blindsided by a Bludger sent his way by Crabbe. Jack flipped sideways in the air, skirting around the Bludger and continuing on toward the goal. He'd almost gotten knocked off his broom that time; he'd need to be careful.

He dodged the Bludger again when Goyle shot it back in his direction. Malfoy came up alongside him and forcefully bumped against him with his broom. Jack bumped back before putting on a burst of speed, going faster than Malfoy's Nimbus 2001 could catch up.

He threw the Quaffle at the goal and scored, even as Keeper ___ tried to intercept the ball and just barely missed.

Jack returned to the ground. A group of Slytherin bystanders were clapping and cheering. Jack grinned. Even if he didn't get on the team, he'd still had a whole lot of fun.

*****

"Yes!" Carter exclaimed.

She and the Tollan scientist, Orman, smiled at each other as if they'd just become best buds. It was certainly an improvement from what had been the reality over the past few weeks. O'Neill, Daniel, and Teal'c glanced at each other, wondering if Carter's exclamation meant what they thought it meant. Three and a half weeks had gone by since they'd become trapped in this boring little room. That was three weeks where Daniel, Teal'c, and O'Neill had nothing to do but play cards, and three weeks where Carter and Orman had nothing to do besides yell and argue with each other. O'Neill was rather sick of it and was looking forward to a nice, long vacation away from everyone, not to mention being able to take a shower again.

"Yes, you've found a way to get out here?" Daniel questioned, "Or yes, you've found a way that'll help you find the solution soon?"

It sounded like Daniel wanted to get out of there, too.

Carter grinned at her teammates. "We think we've found a way to get out of here."

O'Neill jumped up. "Well, what are we waiting for?" He waved a hand at the device. "Get that doohickey started up and get us out of here."

"Yes, sir!" Carter said with enthusiasm.

Carter and Orman did something, and the next thing the group knew, they were standing in the clearing before the Stargate they'd gated to before this whole mess began.

"Yes!" O'Neill said, closing his eyes for a moment in sweet relief as a very welcome breeze blew across his cheeks.

Orman went through the gate first, heading to a planet where he hoped a group of Tollan survivors of their planet's destruction would be waiting for him. Instead of ordering Carter or Daniel to dial up the gate, O'Neill took immense pleasure in doing it himself. He told Teal'c to dial their GDO code once the wormhole had been established.

Jack pressed the correct sequence of symbols, then pressed the central button. As he did so, he suddenly felt dizzy, almost as if he'd been holding his breath for too long.

"Whoa," he said as stars swam in his eyes. Something fiery and half-seen flashed in his vision…or was it just a memory? He saw a hint of something moving within the fire's depths. A word came to his ears, half-memory, half-reality. "Memoria!"

O'Neill blinked and popped his ringing ears. "Youch. Anyone else feel that?"

None of his team even glanced in his direction, much less acted like they'd just seen strange images and lost 40% of their hearing. "I guess it's just me, then," O'Neill muttered.

SG-1 headed through the event horizon of the Stargate, one puzzled Colonel Jack O'Neill among them.

On the other side of the wormhole, O'Neill ran straight into the backpack of one of his teammates.

"Daniel!" O'Neill said, annoyed. All SG teams knew better than to stand in front of a wormhole, especially when team members were still coming through it from the other side.

"Sorry, Jack," Daniel apologized, stepping aside. "It's just that, well, we're not on Earth."

O'Neill glanced around. "Ah, crap." He looked up and then up some more until he could see the skyline peaking through the really tall trees that were also really close by. In fact, they were too close by to have remained intact when this planet's Stargate opened a wormhole.

He whirled around and let out another curse. All he saw were more trees; there was no Stargate in sight.

O'Neill remembered his dizzy spell. He had a weird feeling about this. The whole thing just screamed magic when he thought about it. He started in surprise when he realized he recognized this forest. This was the Forbidden Forest separating Hogwarts from Hogsmeade. He just knew it was. But how had they gotten there? Who had sent them here, and for what purpose?

He thought about the word he'd heard during his dizzy spell. "Daniel, what does Memoria mean?"

Daniel blinked at him before his mind caught up to O'Neill's question. "Um, it's Latin. It means 'Remember'. Why?"

Triple crap. Now O'Neill really, really did not like where this was going.

"Where are we?" Carter asked, confused.

"I would also like to know our location," said Teal'c.

"Jack, do you know what's going on?" Daniel asked, narrowing his eyes at the colonel.

O'Neill searched his memories, trying to recall any instances in his past that may help clarify the situation. That Memory Charm, if that's what that was, seemed to be making his memories seem more distinct than they would be normally, and he easily recalled every trip he'd made to the Forbidden Forest.

He remembered one time during his fifth year at Hogwarts when he'd made a pensieve and hidden it in the forest. He'd been hiding it from his friends as much as from himself; the memories he'd placed in the pensieve were troubling images he'd wanted out of his head for the remainder of that term. When the end of the school year arrived, however, he'd forgotten about the pensieve completely. Then he'd gone off to fight in the war without a second thought concerning the pensieve.

"This way, kids," he said, before turning and heading off among the trees. Bemused, his team followed him. O'Neill ignored the questions they shouted at him as he led the way to the hiding place.

It took them fifteen minutes to get to it. By that time, O'Neill's friends had become very frustrated with him. "O'Neill, explain your behavior," Teal'c said, but again O'Neill ignored him.

It took O'Neill a few minutes to identify the correct tree. Once he had, he reached into a hole in the side of the tree, hoping that a bat wasn't going to bite off his hand. Luckily, nothing tried to make him their latest meal, and O'Neill's arm re-emerged with a wooden box. Jack smiled, feeling intensely satisfied with himself.

"What is that, sir?" Carter asked.

"This, Carter, is the reason why we're here," O'Neill. "Or, rather, the reason I'm here."

"What do you mean, O'Neill?" asked Teal'c.

O'Neill sighed as he fingered the lid of the box. Should he open it know, before his teammates? He decided not to. He'd wait until he was alone. He had a feeling he'd need privacy for this.

He stood up, ignoring the aches in his knees. "Come on, campers," he said. "Time to go to the SGC."

"Uh, Jack, there's no Stargate," Daniel reminded him.

O'Neill just grinned and glanced over Daniel's head, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah?"

His team turned and gaped at what they saw. They now stood on the edge of a clearing that hadn't existed five seconds ago. In the middle of that clearing was a Stargate with an outgoing wormhole established at its center. O'Neill grinned even wider. He hadn't made the clearing or the Stargate appear, but he wasn't worried. Whatever magic was responsible for this little trip was likely responsible for this, too, and his gut told him he could trust it.

"Come on, campers!" he called behind him to his frozen teammates. "Let's not keep the General waiting."

*****

As Jack left the Astrology classroom, he fumbled with the zipper of his book sack. For some insane reason, the little piece of metal was refusing to cooperate today and wouldn't let him close his pack. Jack jerked on it for another minute before he got a brilliant idea.

Smiling in intense satisfaction, Jack whipped out his wand and pointed it at the zipper. "Repar-"

"Jack!"

"-Huh?" Jack asked, glancing up the corridor to see Blaise Zabinni walking toward him. He felt a small burst of energy leave his wand and glanced back down. "Ah, crap." The sudden change in his spell had reduced his zipper to a molten mess of cheap metal. So much for zipping his book sack, now or ever again.

Blaise glanced down at the damaged zipper and smiled sweetly. "Here, let me help," she offered. She lifted her wand, aimed it, and said, "Reparo!"

The zipper restored itself. Jack zipped up his book sack and flashed a smile at her. "Thanks, Zabinni," he said, all the while wondering what she wanted. Blaise wasn't known for acts of kindness.

She frowned. Jack admitted internally that it was a rather cute frown. "Please, Jack, call me Blaise," she insisted, all the wall sidling up to him. "I wanted to congratulate you on making the Slytherin Quidditch team. You did really well at the audition."

Jack suddenly found her face only an inch from his nose, and all pondering over her intentions slipped away. He thought about the last time he, or rather the original Jack, had had sex. It had been far too long, even though technically clone Jack was a virgin…

Oh, boy, teenage hormones, he thought. Mine as much as hers.

Well, two could play at this game. She had to want something from him besides sex. He just had to find out what, and he knew exactly how he was going to do it - by teasing her right back.

He smirked at her. Damn hormones, he thought again, wondering if he'd be able to pull this off.

"All right, Blaise," he said. "And thanks."

She smiled.

*****

SG-1 didn't say a word about O'Neill's strange behavior during the meeting. They did report their unusual detour in the forest, and General Hammond was just as stumped about it as they were. O'Neill was as distant and daydreaming as much as he always was during a de-briefing; it was his way of showing his complete and total boredom. Jack's thoughts were a thousand miles away this time, too, but for a completely different reason. He couldn't help but wonder what he'd find in that pensieve from his school days, and he wondered if he was ready to know.

He'd been away from the wizarding world for forty years. Sure, he'd thought about it often, and his own clone's involvement in it had caused his long-ago memories to be in his thoughts more than was usual. He had a feeling, though, that whatever he found in the pensieve would irrevocably change his life, and while he didn't want to know its contents ever, he knew that he couldn't ignore it.

As soon as the meeting was over, O'Neill was out of his chair and down the corridor before the others had left the briefing room. It took only moments for him to change into civvies and only moments passed after that before he was in his truck and driving down the mountain with the pensieve box on the passenger seat.

When he got home, he went to his bedside table and pulled out his wand. He fingered it, too, for a moment as he re-familiarized himself with its feel. Eleven inches, Elm, hippogriff hair core. He'd forgotten what it felt like just to hold it.

O'Neill took a deep breath before curling his fist around the wand's handle and tapping the tip on the box's lid. "Dissendium."

The box snapped open. The murky, translucent liquid within was still there. Taking another deep breath, O'Neill leaned over the bowl and stared into it, letting its contents capture his complete attention as the memories came flooding back.

*****

There was a time when the original Jack O'Neill had been just a carefree kid. It had been back before Silvia and Frank had hooked up, and back before the three of them had gone off to war without a clue of what they were getting themselves into. It was the summer before their third year, and Silvia had invited Jack to spend the two weeks before the start of the term at her house in Stratford, England.

Stratford was and would long after be known as Shakespeare Central. It was a tourist town. It had blocks upon blocks of stores with tourists scoring the streets at all times of the year. Stratford also had the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, which was located on the waterfront on the opposite end of the shopping district from the houses-come-museum of Shakespeare's Birthplace.

A very small wizarding community existed in Stratford, but it was there. It was made up of about five families, including the Stones.

Jack hadn't felt more nervous before in his life as he dragged his trunk up to the Stones' front door and rang the doorbell. It was a quiet neighborhood on a street that, if it weren't for modern day conveniences like concrete and electric doorbells, would have looked like a street straight from the dark ages. The fact that wizarding fashions were several centuries out of date didn't help to dispel this feeling. For the most part, Jack thought that living in a country full of castles and really old architecture was cool. Other times, he felt very intimidated and insignificant when he considered how old everything was.

The door opened. A six-year-old boy with strawberry blonde hair stared out.

Jack smiled his most charming smile. "Hi. You must be Josh. I'm Jack."

Josh turned and shouted into the house, "Silvia! Your boyfriend's here!"

Jack felt his cheeks redden. He heard footsteps resound down the stairs, and then Silvia appeared. She grinned. "Hi, Jack. Come on in. Josh, help him with his trunk."

Josh scowled. "Do I have to?"

Silvia glared at him. Josh huffed but walked out onto the sidewalk, reaching for the handle of Jack's school trunk.

The trunk had to be as big as the kid. Jack protested, "Uh, that's really not necessary-"

Josh lifted the trunk effortlessly and awkwardly carried it inside. Jack gaped at him.

Silvia giggled as she took his shoulder bag. "Josh has more Veela blood in him than me because he's a guy. Veela are known to have a little muscle."

"Right," Jack replied, still stunned.

Silvia giggled again and he glared at her. She grinned. "Come on, everyone wants to meet you."

She led him inside and introduced him to the family. First, there was Mrs. May Goodwind Stone, who was half-Veela, half-human. The Veela attraction was strong enough in her to leave Jack staring as his mind blanked. Fortunately, Silvia snapping her fingers in front of his face snapped him out of it.

Second, was Mr. Jules Stone, who was a full-blooded human type of Salamander. Jack couldn't help but be intimidated by him. While he looked very human, his hair was so red it appeared to be composed of fire, and his light red colored skin, whenever the light caught it, seemed to be made up of scales. The most intimidating aspect about him were his eyes. While Silvia's eyes were a light gray bordering dancing flames, the flames in Mr. Stones' eyes looked like they'd been fed the largest pile of timber ever; those flames didn't dance, they towered. They promised warmth but offered only pain.

Of course, that impression may have been caused by the suspicious, sizing-up expression on the man's face.

Next was Silvia's younger sister, Daphne. Daphne was ten and looked a lot like Silvia. Then there was Josh, who had returned from Michael's upstairs bedroom, which would be Jack's guestroom. Silvia had two older twin siblings, a sister and a brother, both 19. Both were off fighting in the war - the brother, Michael, as an Auror and the sister, Courtney, as a volunteer nurse.

The Stones were friendly although somewhat guarded. Jack would realize much later, when he would succumb to answering inquiring questions with, 'That's classified,' that they were being careful around him. Even Silvia had always been that way with him, though to a much less extent because she knew him better.

Mrs. Stone extended a hand and smiled charmingly at him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Jack. Silvia's told us so much about you."

Jack took her hand and shook it before he glanced up at her face. He froze and his jaw dropped. He was pretty sure that there was a little drool, too. Even though she was at least thirty years older than him, he couldn't help but think she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Silvia snapped her fingers in front of his face again, snapping him out of his trance for a second time.

Silvia was glaring at her mother. "Mom! Go easy on him."

Mrs. Stone smiled again, this time in apology. "I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't even realize I had turned up the charm."

Jack felt his cheeks burn. "It's all right, ma'am," he said, glancing at anything but her and Silvia.

His eyes landed on Josh. The younger boy had a hand over his mouth, but Jack had a strong suspicion that Josh was snickering at him.

What would really stand out in Jack's memory of that first day at the Stones' happened at dinner. They'd been chatting about random things as everyone ate. When Jack reached for another bread roll, Mr. Stone grabbed his arm tightly. His hand was freezing.

All conversation stopped around the table. Jack looked up and found himself feeling scared out of his wits. He wanted to jerk his arm away but couldn't; Mr. Stones' grip was too hard.

Mr. Stone stared at him. The flames in his eyes had become a solid red-and-yellow wall. Jack felt chilled to the bone at the flat tone of voice the Salamander used when he spoke.

Mr. Stone's eyes seemed dull and distant as he intoned, "Appearance is greater that reality; image is more than age. Secrets abound among society; history will record it on a page. The Image of the Colonel will alter propriety. The world will be freed from its cage."

Mr. Stone's eyes locked onto Jack's. "This is the Curse that I, to you, implore. This is the Curse which you must endure."

*****

O'Neill sat back, stunned. "Oh, shit."

*****

When Carter, Daniel, and Teal'c arrived at O'Neill's house and rang the doorbell, no one answered. After some discussion, Carter picked the lock and they walked inside.

"Colonel?" Carter called. Again, no one answered.

They searched the house. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary except for the fact that O'Neill was nowhere to be seen. "Any ideas where he could be?" Daniel asked his companions.

Carter's cell phone rang. She pulled it out. "Hello?" she said into the receiver. "Yes, sir. We're on our way."

Daniel and Teal'c frowned at her. Carter told them, "General Hammond wants us to report back to Stargate Command ASAP."

"What happened?" Daniel asked.

"He didn't say."

Bemused, SG-1 minus one drove back to the base. When they arrived at Hammond's office, he waved them in. "I'm afraid I have some bad news, SG-1."

"What is it, sir?" inquired Carter.

He grimly replied, "Colonel O'Neill just handed in his resignation."

"What?" Daniel and Carter exclaimed together. Teal'c's jaw dropped.

"Why would he do that?" Daniel asked.

"I don't know," Hammond said unhappily. "I want the three of you to find out and try to get him to come back."

"We will do so, General Hammond," Teal'c said before turning and heading out the door with Daniel and Carter on his heels. If O'Neill had just turned in his resignation, then that meant he could still be on the base.

Daniel and Carter headed for the parking lot, determined to stop O'Neill from leaving in his truck. Teal'c headed for the locker room. He met up with the others in the lot a few minutes later.

"His truck's gone," Daniel said. "The guard on duty said Jack signed out six minutes ago."

"We must go back to O'Neill's house."

They got back into Carter's van, each hoping that they weren't too late and that O'Neill would be at his house...assuming he went there at all.

*****

O'Neill wasn't at his house. He'd taken nothing with him but his wand and some cash before he'd returned to the SGC and handed in his resignation. Afterward leaving the base, he'd driven to the Colorado Springs airport and gotten a plane ticket to New York.

The plane ticket was a false trail meant to distract anyone who tried to track him down, namely SG-1. O'Neill hoped they fell for it. He wouldn't let them get involved in this, not this time. He needed to do this on his own.

After getting the plane ticket, O'Neill went to one of the airport's restrooms and entered a stall. He waited until he heard the other men using the restroom leave. Once silence descended, O'Neill took a deep breath. He really hoped he remembered how to do this or he'd be in quite a fix.

He closed his eyes.

If anyone had been in the room, they would have heard a curious popping sound as Jack O'Neill disappeared.

*****

It wasn't long before October became November, and December quickly relieved November. Snow covered the ground on the weekend of the first Hogsmeade visit since the Death Eater attack in October. Jack knew that if he was the original Jack O'Neill that he would have hated the weather, but clone Jack had the whole youthful physique going for him and he found himself enjoying it, especially considering that he didn't have to worry about driving.

At least one good thing would come out of this trip: Zonko's. The shop was one of many that had been trashed during the attack, but with the help of magic, new shipments of supplies, and lots of time, Zonko's and every other destroyed building in Hogsmeade had been reconstructed. Doubtless, there were a few changes, but Jack didn't think he'd notice them. Not if he was going to accompany Malfoy everywhere in the town.

Goyle and Crabbe weren't with them, and neither was any other Slytherin. For once, Jack was alone with Malfoy, and he felt very uneasy. Something was going to happen, he just knew it.

The two Slytherins prowled about the town, making appearances at Zonko's and the Three Broomsticks. Jack happily ordered a butterbeer. It wasn't nearly as good as real beer, but it was good enough for now.

He was glancing over the pub's lunch menu with just as much glee. No more health problems for him, no siree; he could eat anything on the menu without a care. He just didn't know what to order.

"For Merlin's sake, wipe that smile off your face, O'Neill," Malfoy said, slightly disgusted. "You look like you just won the House Cup. What on Earth is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," Jack said, sighing as he tried to calm himself down. He could act happy later, when Malfoy wasn't around to look at him strangely and Jack happily wasn't in the hospital wing for eating all the wrong foods.

"We aren't ordering anything here, anyway," Malfoy said.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "We aren't?"

Malfoy gave him another disgusted look. "You think I'd eat trash cooked by a Muggle-lover like Rosmerta? We're eating lunch at a place with actual taste."

"Why are we here, then?" Jack asked, glancing around. There were plenty of Gryffindors there. However, Malfoy and Jack hadn't even tried to annoy them; Malfoy had even ignored most of them.

"You'll see," Malfoy said, smirking.

Someone wrapped their arms around Jack from behind. Jack tensed.

"Hello, Jack," Blaise whispered in his ear, and Jack relaxed a little.

"Hello, gorgeous," Jack said, and this, at least, wasn't a lie. Blaise Zabinni was one of the most attractive girls at Hogwarts, and she was his girlfriend. True, they weren't together for love. Both wanted information from the other, although Blaise only knew about her part of the gathering process.

He twisted around and they kissed. "Staying for lunch?" Jack asked her.

"'Fraid not," she said, regrettably. Jack had to admit that she was a great actress. She grinned. "I just stopped by to give you a present."

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "It's a little early for Christmas."

She smirked. Her hand slid down into the inner pocket of his cloak; when it withdrew, Jack felt a weight inside his pocket.

"You can open it later," she told him. She straightened and sauntered out of the pub. Jack wasn't the only one to watch her go. He glared at the others and they hastily pulled their eyes away.

Malfoy finished his butterbeer and stood. "Let's go, O'Neill."

Jack got off the stool. They headed for the door. Two tables down, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were also getting up. Malfoy and Jack stopped. Oh, boy, Jack thought, sighing.

"Why, if it isn't Saint Potter and his two sidekicks," Draco sneered. "What on Earth are you doing here? I'm surprised they even let you cross the town limits, Potter, after all the trouble you caused the last time you were in Hogsmeade."

Harry's lips formed a grim line and his eyes narrowed to slits. The feeling in Jack's stomach got worse. He had a feeling he knew exactly what was going to happen. He covertly stepped farther off to the side and, hopefully, out of the way. Malfoy, meanwhile, didn't seem to notice that he'd crossed the line.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron said, glaring.

"Why should I, Weasley? Potter knows it's the truth. The wizarding world would be far better off if Potter let You-Know-Who take him. All those people would still be alive if he-"

A cry of rage passed through Harry's lips as the sixteen-year-old moved. Jack heard a cracking noise, followed by a scream and a thud. Jack flinched and turned to see Malfoy sprawled out on the ground with Harry standing over him, fury in every feature of the Gryffindor's physique. The knuckles of Harry's right fist were red, and from the unnatural angle of his wrist, Jack could tell he'd broken a bone if not several. Harry didn't seem to notice. Malfoy, meanwhile, was yelling at the top of his lungs while clutching his jaw, which also looked broken.

Silence had fallen on the pub for a second, then chairs scraped against the floor and what sounded like everyone began to talk at once.

Hermione and Ron were staring, both of them looking mortified and immensely satisfied at once. Jack glanced from them, to Harry, to Malfoy, then to the people rushing over to them, and said the only thing he could think of.

"Oh, crap."

*****

Professor Cinders glared down the length of her nose at Jack. "What is the meaning of all of this?" she demanded.

Jack glanced from her to what he could see of the drama unfolding behind her. Potter and Malfoy sat on beds opposite each other with Madam Pomfrey and her staff doting over them both. Both wizards were glaring at each other and weren't even acknowledging the pain both of them must be feeling.

Jack turned back to Cinders. "I don't know, ma'am." Nothing like a good, healthy dose of denial. He really wished they could have avoided this until January. He'd been so looking forward to a nice, relaxing Christmas vacation somewhere secluded that it would be a shame to miss it because Potter and Malfoy decided to break out the weapons and spill each other's blood.

"Do you know why Mr. Potter struck one of the members of my house?" she asked him.

Jack shrugged. Cinders wasn't the kind of person who would congratulate a house member for baiting a different house member. Neither was Jack, for that matter, even if one of those house members was a snake wanna-be like Malfoy whom, if Jack hadn't been undercover, Jack would have punched months ago.

"Well, I hope Mr. Potter has a better explanation than you, and I hope that Professor McGonogall will take action against him. Since he is not in my house, I can't punish him, but hopefully our Deputy Headmistress will see the need for discipline."

"Yes, ma'am."

Cinders stopped her spiel when she looked at the door. Jack heard someone's footsteps behind him and turned. A man wearing an expensive-looking black robe and black leather boots and gloves walked into the room and passed by Jack. His hair was honey blonde, and he surveyed the room with a haughty, superior look that would rival a Goa'uld's any day.

The man walked straight to Draco's bed. Jack had no doubt then that this was Lucius Malfoy. "Draco," he said. "What happened here?"

Draco glared one final time at Potter before turning to address his father. "He punched me! He's insane!"

"He had a good reason to do it after what you said!" Ron Weasley said, glaring back at him.

"Oh, don't try to make Saint Potter an innocent in this, Weasley!" Jack told him, glaring. Ron glared back at him. Jack hoped that Hermione would be able to calm down the redhead later with reminders that Jack was just pretending to be nasty. Otherwise, Jack wouldn't be getting any sleep that night.

"That's enough, O'Neill, Weasley," Cinders barked.

Lucius turned and looked at Jack. Jack shifted his weight, preparing himself as the elder Malfoy stalked across the floor to where Jack stood. "O'Neill," he repeated, sounding out the name. "Ah, yes, the transfer student from Jinxed Wands."

Jack so wanted to make a sarcastically witty comment right then. The eldest Malfoy was bringing back so many memories of past missions with SG-1 that it was a real struggle not to fall back on the habit. A mental image formed of Lucius Malfoy dressed up in a System Lord's gold battle armor. Jack barely resisted the urge to shudder.

"Yes, sir," Jack said.

"How do you explain Mr. Potter's behavior, Mr. O'Neill?"

"Potter's never been known to use his brain, sir," Jack offered.

"Why, you little-" Ron said, starting forward in rage.

Hermione grabbed his arm, crying, "Wait, Ron!" at the same time Professor Cinders and Madam Pomfrey both yelled, "Mr. Weasley!"

It was at this point that Dumbledore and McGonogall chose to stroll in.

Lucius turned his attention to the Headmaster and strode across the room to greet them. "Headmaster Dumbledore, I hope that you will see the sensibility in punishing Mr. Potter for such an extreme act against my son…"

Draco motioned Jack over to his bed. Jack scooted over and Draco motioned for Jack to turn around so that Jack's back blocked the view of the other people in the room. Draco whispered, "Where's the box that Blaise gave you, O'Neill?"

Jack patted down his pockets. He pulled a small box out of an inner coat pocket and handed it to Draco. The blonde Slytherin snatched the box and slid it under the bed sheet.

Jack scooted away and turned around. He looked across the room. Weasley and Potter were both watching the adults discuss things, but Granger was looking from him to Draco with narrowed eyes.

Dumbledore, McGonogall, and Cinders approached. "Now, perhaps you can explain to me exactly what happened?" Dumbledore asked, looking over the rim of his glasses at the five students. "Mr. Potter?"

The Headmaster listened to all of their sides of the story, then he turned to McGonogall. The Deputy Headmistress pursed her lips. "Mr. Potter, I do believe that what you have done is very grave indeed. I am forced to deduct twenty points from Gryffindor-"

"Twenty!" Ron protested, only for Hermione to shush him.

McGonogall shot Ron a warning look, then continued, "You will also have a month's worth of detention."

"I will also have to deduct twenty points from Slytherin for saying something so vile and thoughtless to another student," Cinders said, equally as reluctant.

Draco scowled and opened his mouth to protest, only to stop. Jack saw him looking at Lucius. Jack looked at the elder Malfoy and saw Lucius shooting Draco a warning glare. It was Jack's turn to narrow his eyes. He wondered what that was about. Why would Lucius stop Draco from protesting losing twenty house points? Did it have something to do with Cinders? He glanced at Cinders, but she didn't seem to notice the silent exchange between the Malfoys; she was talking to Dumbledore. Still, Lucius was shooting Cinders' back a distrustful look.

Weird, Jack thought.

He glanced across the room at Potter and his friends. It looked like Granger had picked up on it, too. Their eyes met and they exchanged puzzled looks. Neither of them knew what was going on, but if anyone could find out, it was Granger.

*****

It was two days before Jack was able to meet with Dumbledore. He sneaked away from the Slytherin table during dinner, saying he planned to go to the library and hit the books. Malfoy was still sulking over the deducted points and didn't even look up from his meal when Jack stood up from the table. Jack did go to the library, but only for a half an hour. Once he'd determined he'd been seen by the librarian and several other students, he left the library discretely and headed straight for the Headmaster's office. Jack knew he'd find the old goat there.

"Before Potter punched Malfoy, Blaise Zabinni gave me this." Jack pulled the box out of his coat pocket and placed it on Dumbledore's desk. "In the hospital, Draco asked for the box. I gave him a replica I'd conjured when no one was looking. I figured you'd want to have a look at it."

Dumbledore frowned down at the box and up at Jack. "That was quite a risk to take, Jack."

"Yes, Albus, it was," Jack agreed, staring determinedly back.

The Headmaster whipped out his wand and tapped it against the box. "Dissendium," he intoned. Nothing happened. Dumbledore tried a number of other spells without any success. "It appears to be enchanted so that only one person can open it," he concluded. He smirked. "Fortunately, that is easy to get around."

He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a flat strip of metal. He placed the edge against the box and pressed down, then pulled up on the handle. The lid of the box, now magically stuck to the end of the metal strip, lifted off the box and exposed its contents.

"Shit!" Jack exclaimed, anger and disbelief rising within him.

Inside the box was a device that resembled a Goa'uld hand device but was nothing of the sort. Dumbledore removed the device and studied it, frowning. Two plates of metal, one that went over the palm and the other that went over the back of a person's hand, were connected by chains. Five rings, connected to the back plate by five short chains, were meant to fit over the fingers of whoever wore it. The rings were magically enchanted to increase and decrease in size to comfortably fit the wearer's fingers.

"I do not believe I am familiar with a device such as this. Do you recognize this, Jack?" Dumbledore asked.

Jack nodded. "You bet I do. It's not surprising that you don't - it was an experimental model that wasn't in use for very long before the Ministry brought it under wraps. I saw it in use during my Auror days. It's called an Eximofabrica, Eximo for short. It can suck out the magical essence of any living creature or thing. It can turn wizards into Muggles and unicorns into horses with horns."

He didn't want to think of the consequences of Voldemort coming back into possession of such a device. Jack wondered how Blaise got a hold of it in the first place. The last time he'd checked, the only Eximo in existence had been locked in Gringotts vault filled with concrete. The alchemist behind its invention was dead and his research destroyed.

Jack shivered as he remembered seeing the Eximo in action. It was the reason why Silvia had lost three relatives in the Great Diagon Alley Fire of 1963. When her relatives had tried to stop the Salamander working for Voldemort who had started the fire, the Death Eater had used the Eximo on them. The magic had been drained right out of them, turning all three of them into non-magic humans. It had made it impossible for them to escape the flames.

Dumbledore's mouth was agape as he realized exactly what Jack was telling him. "It is a good thing that you were able to keep this from the hands of the Malfoys." His face went cold and he stared down at the object lying in the box. "The only option is to destroy this."

"We can't," Jack said, anger returning to his voice. "The thing's indestructible. Nothing can damage it or destroy it."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Dumbledore asked him.

"Bury it," Jack said immediately. "Bury it six feet under where hopefully no one's going to look - in a cemetery. And if they do look, we'll put so many traps on it, magical and technological if possible, that they'll be dead before they can get anywhere near it. There can't be any backdoors or loopholes, Albus. It has to be completely unapproachable by anyone."

Jack held Dumbledore's gaze for a very long moment before the headmaster nodded. "Agreed."

Jack nodded back, although he knew deep down that not even those precautions would prove to be enough. He knew how the universe worked - if there was a way to build it, there was a way to destroy it, too. Someone would find out how to get a hold of the Eximo no matter how many traps they set. He could only hope that it stayed buried until they found a way to neutralize its effects.

*****

*****

Daniel looked up from the various artifacts and papers strewn about his desk when Sam and Teal'c walked into his office. He lowered the mug he'd brought to his lips and raised a hopeful eyebrow. "Any luck?"

"No, but something just occurred to me," said Carter, "and I feel really stupid for not thinking of it sooner."

Daniel set his mug on the desk and swung his chair around to face them. "What is it?"

Teal'c explained, "Major Carter believes that our best course of action is to contact O'Neill's clone."

Carter shrugged. "Who better to ask about how the Colonel thinks and where he might have gone?"

Daniel stared at them open-mouthed. Who better, indeed? Sam was right. They really should have thought of that sooner. "Do we even know where he is?" he asked. "The, um, clone, I mean."

Sam hesitated. "…Not exactly, but we do know how to get in touch with him. He left instructions."

"We must go to the post office on Burkle Drive," said Teal'c. "Once there, we must contact a woman named Winifred, who prefers the name of 'Win.' We must give her a letter to be mailed to O'Neill's clone's school in England. The name of the school is Hogwarts."

Strange name for a school, even a British one, Daniel thought but didn't voice. He stood. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

The three members of SG-1 walked into the Burkle Drive Post Office a half an hour later. It was the normal, Muggle sort of post office, and it came complete with a few shelves of stamps available for purchase and a service counter. They walked over to the counter. Standing behind it was a middle-aged woman with chestnut brown hair. Daniel's gaze was drawn to the ring on her right middle finger. It was in the shape of a lizard, and while he was pretty sure that it was made of silver, it still seemed to glow red when the light hit it a certain way.

He blinked and turned his attention back to her face. "Um, hi. We're looking for Winifred. Is she here?"

The post office employee started in surprise. "That's me," she said, surprised. "Sorry, not many people that come in through the front way ask for me. You folks took me by surprise." She turned to a younger man sitting on a stool in the corner behind the counter. "Matt, cover for me, will you? I need to take these people out back." Matt shrugged and stood, taking Win's place at the counter in time to serve a couple who'd just walked in.

Win waved SG-1 behind the counter and through a doorway. "So, you want to owl someone?" she asked them. She rolled her eyes. "What am I saying? Of course you do. Why else would you ask for me? By the way, call me Win. Everyone does."

She led the way down a corridor to the last door on the left. They walked into the last place they expected to see in a post office. The ceiling was two stories high, impossibly tall considering they hadn't seen any protrusions on the roof from outside. On wooden perches protruding from the walls were perched several kinds of birds. Most of them were owls, but there were a few pigeons and one toucan.

"Most people who want to owl someone don't come through the Muggle Entrance," said Win, oblivious to the bewildered looks being exchanged between SG-1. She gestured to a second door directly to the right of the door they'd come through. "I thought the Owlry Entrance was common knowledge by now."

Teal'c briefly stepped back into the hall and glanced to the side. The second door was nowhere to be seen.

"Now," Win said as she stepped behind a counter, "what can I do for you?"

"Um, we'd like to send a letter to a friend of ours," Daniel said. He wasn't sure what was going on, but from the way this woman was acting, this was normal. He glanced overhead at the birds, hoping none of them needed to go to the bathroom. Was Win going to send their letter out with one of those birds? Why?

Win held out her hand. Shrugging, Sam handed her an envelope. Win scanned the forwarding address. "You want to send this to Hogwarts, eh? I must admit, I don't get many requests to do that. Most witch and wizards around here want packages delivered to Jinxed Wands or Salem Academy if it's to a wizarding school at all. I'll have to send Poseidon with this one."

"Is Poseidon a bird?" Sam asked, glancing at Daniel. He only shrugged back. He was as clueless about how to proceed as she was.

Win blinked at her and laughed. "Well, of course he's a bird! You don't expect the letter to get there by itself, do you? Besides, Muggle Post won't do. Not if you want your letter to get to Hogwarts."

"What is Muggle Post?" Teal'c asked, speaking the question on all of their minds.

Now Win was staring at them. "Well, you folks must be Muggles! No wonder you came through the Muggle Office! You probably couldn't see the Owlry Entrance! I wonder, though, how you even knew to contact me, then?"

"A friend told us how to contact him if we ever needed to," Daniel explained smoothly. It wasn't like it was a secret. "Could you tell us what a Muggle is?"

"Hon," she began, laughing. Her eyes danced at the chance to tell a group of Muggles about the wizarding world. Many other wizards and witches had done so before, but she had never done the honors. "Muggles are non-magic people."

Their reaction was classic, and it was one she'd never seen before. She felt like chortling.

*****

It was a bewildered three-person exploration team that left the Colorado Springs post office a few minutes later. "Magic? The wizarding world?" Carter repeated, skeptical. "She's obviously crazy."

"Indeed," Teal'c agreed.

"But she knew what Hogwarts was," Daniel argued, even though he also had his doubts. "And I couldn't even find the place on a map. It's probably just some sort of code word or something."

"That is most likely, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said. Something bizarre enough that such an insane cover story would be concocted for it would be something even Jack's clone would become involved in.

"Probably," Carter agreed. "Let's hope he gets that letter no matter how it'll be sent, or else we are going to look like idiots for giving the letter to that woman in the first place."

While SG-1 may have had its doubts about the existence of magic, Win certainly did not. She'd only given the Muggles the basics. She'd left out any mention of Voldemort or any information concerning her own unique situation.

She re-read the forwarding address of the letter. It was addressed to 'Jack O'Neill,' a name she knew well. Win glanced up and let out a low whistle. Above head, a white owl hooted and swooped off his perch, coming down to land on a second perch situated on the countertop. "Have you eaten yet, Poseidon?" Win asked him. "You'll need the energy."

Poseidon gave her a look that told her in no uncertain terms that he'd never been so insulted in his life. Win only rolled her eyes before placing the letter in his beak. Poseidon took flight immediately, disappearing up into the open skylight in the ceiling.

Win bent down behind the counter and pulled out a quill and some parchment. She scribbled out a note and magically sealed it closed with her wand. Then she took off her ring and slid the rolled-up note inside it.

"Okay, you know what to do," she told it before placing it on the counter.

The ring glowed red before it, and the letter, vanished. The letter would go to Win's mistress. Her lady would want to know what had happened that day.

Unbeknownst to Winifred, Poseidon made one short stop before heading off across the Atlantic. He circled over the post office's parking lot, waiting for SG-1 to leave before swooping down into Matt's car. The Muggle Post Office employee went on his break fifteen minutes later and found the owl sitting in the front seat. He took the letter from Poseidon and read it, then re-sealed it and sent the owl on its way to Hogwarts. Matt then sent a coded message of his own. His own master would want to know about this.

Win would have been shocked to learn that her coworker was not a Muggle but a Squid. She would have been equally surprised to know that he had a tattoo on his left arm that depicted a snake crawling out of the mouth of a human skull.

*****

O'Neill had been on his own for over three months and he was convinced that he had finally found a real, solid lead concerning the location of Silvia's family. Those three months of scoring the English countryside for Silvia's relatives had been extremely frustrating. He'd gone to Diagon Alley hoping to hear something about Salamanders. He'd done research on the living habits of both Veela and Salamanders, hoping it would help find Silvia or her relatives. He hadn't contacted his clone; he didn't want to endanger the other Jack's cover. Besides, he doubted he could help. As far as O'Neill knew, Silvia had nothing to do with Voldemort, Death Eaters, or Slytherin House, and O'Neill had no reason to suspect she did.

Finding magical creatures that had centuries of practice evading both Muggles and wizards wasn't easy. The Stones had disappeared along with whatever other Salamanders were living in England back in 1963, and their house in Stratford now belonged to a Muggle family. The Stones had left no forwarding address; he'd known that for forty years. However, O'Neill was certain he'd finally gotten a lead, and it pointed to Florida or all places.

It did make a kind of sense when he thought about it. Everyone else retired in Florida. Why not magical Salamanders?

May and Jules Stone, posing as Muggles, lived in Vero Beach, a small town on the state's east coast. Their house was one of many that looked out onto the Atlantic. At least, O'Neill hoped it was their house. He was about to find out. Even in the middle of winter, Vero Beach was a scenic, beautiful town that was half on an island just off the coast and half on the mainland. As O'Neill drew his new truck over the bridge connecting the two pieces, he glanced out over the water and couldn't help thinking it wasn't a bad place to live. He didn't much care for oceans, but he could go fishing in the little area between the island and the mainland. Not that he would ever move there. There were way too many palm trees. Give him his cabin in Minnesota any day.

He pulled up in front of the house. It was a three-story town house painted pink. It was barred from the outside world by an iron-fenced yard crowded with thick foliage and palm trees. O'Neill got out of the truck, opened the gate, and walked up the path to the house. He paused on the stoop. He wondered if the Stones would even remember him. He was also worried that he'd gotten yet another false lead.

He rang the doorbell and waited. A moment passed before an older woman answered the door. Her white-blonde hair had turned truly white, but her Veela-inherited looks were still there. She was still stunning regardless of the fact that she was now over a hundred years old.

"May Goodwind Stone?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed slightly before she smiled. O'Neill was pretty sure she put some Veela power behind that smile because he felt himself go weak in the knees. At his age, that didn't happen as easily as it did when he was fifteen.

"May I help you?" she asked. Her voice sounded smooth and stiff simultaneously, reminding him he was treading dangerous waters while reeling him in.

His brain was going to turn to mush if she stared at him any longer. He blinked furiously, trying to stay focused. "I’m Jack O'Neill, Mrs. Stone," he replied. "I don't know if you remember me…"

Her eyes widened. O'Neill blinked as if released from a trance. He realized that she'd let go of her Veela power-induced hold on him, probably accidentally.

O'Neill grasped the handle of his wand in his pocket and muttered a protection spell. Inwardly, he cursed himself for forgetting about a Veela's ability to disable a member of the opposite sex. Even a half-Veela could be potent enemy if crossed.

"Jack O'Neill?" she repeated, studying him. "It is you!"

"Mind if I come in?"

"Of course!" she said, stepping aside. O'Neill walked inside and glanced around. Everything was in style, from the furniture to the draperies, and it was all tastefully arranged, just as O'Neill remembered the Stones' house in Stratford. 'It wouldn't do for even a half-Veela to be living in an unattractive pigsty,' Mrs. Stone had said on several occasions. It looked like that philosophy was still true.

Mr. Stone appeared at the entrance to the living room. "Jules, you remember Jack O'Neill?" May asked him.

Jules' eyes widened. "Well, I'll be the son of a lizard!" he said. He smiled and strode forward. He shook O'Neill's hand warmly yet cautiously as always. The Salamander's hand felt hotter than usual. If O'Neill had to guess, he'd say that Jules had just stepped out of the fireplace, and he didn't think it was from the floo network.

Jack frowned at him. While May looked nearly the same as she did forty years ago, Jules did not. The years had not been kind to him. His fiery red hair was peppered with gray. His skin, meanwhile, looked too pale, especially for him.

"You should spend more time in the fire, sir," O'Neill remarked. "You're looking a little pale."

Jules grinned. "Oh, you mean my 'tan?' It's a disguising charm to keep me off the Muggle radar. It should wear off in a bit."

They moved into the living room. O'Neill took their offering of tea and cookies and couldn't help feel a sense of déjà vu. If his team had been there, he would have thought he was on another mission because here he was with representatives of two different cultures, eating their food and talking about a possible alliance with Earth - or, in this case, an alliance with him.

O'Neill studied the still family portrait hung over the mantle and sucked in a breath. The portrait had been done within recent years, that much was obvious. The four surviving Stone children posed with their parents and children. Standing in front of Josh was a girl in her teens, and in Daphne's arms were two children, a three-year-old boy and a baby girl. Silvia stood between Josh and Courtney. O'Neill realized that she'd become even more stunningly beautiful as time went by. Although she was as old as O'Neill, she looked twenty years younger. Her skin had taken on a redder tinge, but it was still very peach, and her hair was as red as ever. Her eyes, along with those of her siblings, father, nieces, and nephew, all danced with wild fire even in the portrait.

"How did you find us, O'Neill?" Jules asked, his gaze piercing.

"I did some digging. Recent events have made me want to seek some answers. You weren't easy to find."

"We're not supposed to be found at all, but we knew we wouldn't be able to cover up all our tracks," Jules allowed. "Still, none of our neighbors or friends know that we're anything more than a retired Muggle couple. Be sure to keep it that way."

O'Neill nodded his assent. "Where's Silvia? I was hoping to see her."

May's smile widened. "She'd be delighted to see you. I'll go send her a message."

She got up and left the room, leaving the two men alone. O'Neill smiled. He couldn't believe he'd be able to see Silvia again after so long. He wondered what she looked like now, if she even wanted to see him.

"There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, sir," O'Neill said. "A few months ago, someone cast a spell on me. It was a Memory Charm. I was wondering if you might know who cast it on me."

Jules' eyebrows went up. "You don’t know?"

"No."

The tips of the Salamander's lips quirked up in a facsimile of a smile. "I think I may know who the caster is, yes."

"How'd you do it?" O'Neill asked. It was one of many questions he'd had three months to ponder over. Frustratingly, the answer had eluded him.

"I have Premonitions, Jack. You knew that. I've also been keeping an eye on you. When I saw it was time, I cast the spell and sent you and your friends to the Forbidden Forest to find your pensieve. I made sure you got there through whatever means of transport you were accustomed to so you wouldn't question it before it was too late."

"What does the curse mean?" O'Neill asked, at a loss. "You never told me, and now…I feel it's important that I understand it, but I just…"

This was the reason for his retirement. He'd tracked these people down after all these years because he just knew that this was important to know now, that the curse had something to do with whatever was happening now. After thinking about it for three months, he had an inkling of what the curse meant, but he didn't want to admit it. He needed someone to explain it to him, and who better than the Curse-giver himself?

A grandfather clock standing in the corner made its presence known as it announced that it was four o'clock. Jules looked at the clock, then at O'Neill. He sighed. "Well, I could tell you," Jules began, "but we're as stumped as you are. We were so hoping you could clue us in."

Jules' whole posture changed, dropping from the strong, impenetrable baring of the Salamander ruler to the baring of a man who disliked what he was doing and wished he were elsewhere. The flames in his eyes died as O'Neill watched with growing alarm. Warning bells went off in the ex-colonel's head, and the bells became red alert sirens when Jules' hair melted from its normal red to straight brown hair in only moments.

O'Neill jumped to his feet and pulled out his wand. The man posing as Jules Stone raised his own wand. "Expelliarmus!"

O'Neill's wand flew out of his hand and into the other man's. Shit! What I wouldn't give for a zat, O'Neill thought.

"Stupefy!" the man cried. O'Neill collapsed to the ground in an uncontrolled heap. His vision blurred but he could still make out the Veela woman who had posed as Mrs. Stone as she entered the room. The Polyjuice Potion she'd taken had worn off as well.

She was followed by a group of black-robed, masked figures. The masked men grabbed O'Neill and hauled him off the floor.

Everything turned to black.

*****

"Welcome, everyone, to the fourth Quidditch game of the season!"

"Ready, O'Neill?" Malfoy asked. He was the captain of the Quidditch team this year. Coupled with his continuing stint as Prefect and Jack thought Draco's ego had been given way too many bursts.

"You bet, Malfoy," he said, and he was. He'd trained hard over the past few months; he was ready for this. It was late January and that Saturday's game was against Gryffindor. Each house had only three games every term; this would be Slytherin's second that term and Jack's first in close to sixty years.

Jack had had a long, relaxing Christmas break. He'd gone fishing in Minnesota and spent the holiday contentedly in peace and quiet, away from prejudiced wizards and witches and everything associated with them. It had been exactly what he'd needed, and had made him more than ready for what came next, New Year's Eve at the Malfoy Mansion.

New Year's at the Malfoys' was disappointing, to say the least. Nothing extraordinary happened. All that was required of Jack was to watch what he said around the Malfoys and their servants, and he was doing that anyway at Hogwarts so that was nothing new. But for crying out loud, he'd figured that something would just have to happen at a Death Eater's house, but no, of course it didn't. No wand fights, no uncovering of unsavory plots and being thrown into the dungeon in the basement, nothing. Jack never thought he'd actually miss being banged up and running for his life, but he did. He knew it was a good thing to not be thrown in the Malfoy dungeon. It meant his health wasn't impaired and his cover wasn't blown, but he still wished something exciting had happened. After the break-in earlier in the month, Jack had been hoping for just a little excitement. Instead, he had to spend his time making small talk with the other guests and staying off Lucius Malfoy's 'Muggle-lover' radar.

Jack thought again about the letter he'd received from Colorado Springs just that morning. It had been a letter from Sam asking him if he'd seen the original Jack O'Neill or knew where to look. Apparently, O'Neill had retired three months previously - something no one had bothered mentioning to clone Jack, not that he was surprised - and SG-1 had been unable to locate the man. He seemed to have disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Jack hadn't written back yet. He kept mulling over the possible reasons for O'Neill to retire. There were plenty of them, but there were even more reasons for him to stay in the Air Force. He'd been as shocked as SG-1 to learn that O'Neill had just retired without any warning or indications of his plans. He was having just as much trouble thinking of where in the universe the seventy-five-year-old could have gone.

Jack turned his attention to the present, making plans to comb his planted memory for wherever O'Neill could have gone later. The two Quidditch teams flew out onto the field, halting their brooms at the middle of the pitch. The fourteen players faced each other. Malfoy glared daggers at Harry. Jack watched them from the corner of his eye. Even a month after the fact, Malfoy still hadn't gotten over the time in Hogsmeade when Potter had broken his jaw. It had been a simple matter for Pomfrey to heal both his jaw and Potter's hand, but the damage to Malfoy's ego wasn't as easily forgotten.

Hooch released the Quaffle. Jack darted forward and caught it, then soared up and over Angelina Johnson's head. He headed straight for the goal guarded by Ron Weasley. He could see Ron tense, readying himself for whatever attempt Jack made to score points.

"O'Neill's got the Quaffle and it looks like he's heading straight for the center hoop," a student shouted over the loud speaker. "He ducks a Bludger aimed at him by Gryffindor Beater Andrew Kirke. Gryffindor Chaser Leigh Grossman rushes in front of O'Neill and steals the Quaffle! She tosses it to fellow Chaser Ginny Weasley. Weasley heads for the goal. Slytherin Beater Gregory Goyle shoots a Bludger at her but it misses! His fellow Beater Vincent Crabbe sends the Bludger back and - ouch! The Bludger has hit Weasley in the chest! That looks like it hurt! Weasley seems to be okay, but the move forced her to drop the Quaffle. Slytherin Chaser Pansy Parkinson has caught the Quaffle and tossed it to O'Neill, who catches it. He tosses to the other chaser, Bellatrix, just before Gryffindor Chaser Johnson knocks into O'Neill! And Bellatrix is heading for the goal! Ron Weasley tries to block but Bellatrix scores! Ten points to Slytherin! O'Neill looks like he's out of it - his broom is headed for the ground - wait, he's pulled back up at the last minute - and he's still in the game."

The game continued in a flurry of passes, ducks, and collisions. Jack couldn't believe he'd forgotten what this had been like, to have blood pumping in his ears from adrenaline that wasn't triggered because he was running for his life. He loved it.

Jack, Parkinson and Bellatrix scored several goals, and Weasley, Grossman and Johnson scored some of their own. Crabbe was knocked out by a Bludger from Kirke, and Kirke promptly followed Crabbe to the Hospital Wing when Goyle hit him with the other Bludger. Ron Weasley was knocked unconscious, also, and after that Gryffindor had a hard time keeping Slytherin away from their unprotected goal hoops. No one else was knocked off their brooms, although there were a few close calls.

And suddenly, the game was over.

"Potter has caught the Snitch! But what's this - ladies and gentlemen, there appears to be a tie! Gryffindor and Slytherin have tied at 210 points each!"

A cry of indignation rose up from the crowd from all four houses. Surprised, Jack glanced at the scoreboard. He hadn't even realized that Slytherin had made twenty-one goals.

He met up with Malfoy on the way back down to the ground. "Think there'll be a rematch?" Jack asked him.

Malfoy scowled. "I'm going to have a chat with Hooch."

With that, Malfoy touched down on the ground and, with broom in hand, headed across the pitch to where Hooch stood talking to Angelina Johnson. Malfoy quickly joined in the heated discussion. It looked like they would be there for a while.

Jack head to the Slytherin changing rooms with the rest of his teammates. Goyle headed for the Hospital Wing to check on Crabbe without even changing, which left Jack alone in the boys' changing room while Parkinson, Bellatrix, and Bullstrode disappeared into the girls' changing room, muttering angrily about the outcome of the game.

Jack sighed before he started pulling off his wrist guards. He, too, was upset about the tie, but he wasn't as angry about it as his teammates. He thought they'd done well, better than Slytherin usually did if what he'd heard was true.

He sat on the bench and began pulling on the strings of his boots. He heard a knock on the door. He looked up and saw Blaise walk in. "Hey," she said, smiling seductively at him. "It's a shame that we tied with Gryffindor." She managed to spit out the word like it was poison and still make it sound alluring at the same time.

"Come to make me feel better?" he asked her as she sat down on the bench next to him.

"Mm-hmm." She hooked a finger under his chin and pulled his lips to hers. At least Blaise was a good kisser. Jack felt like sighing despite his body's aroused state. He wasn't in the mood for this game, not that day. He wondered why he went along with it in the first place. Did Blaise even realize he wasn't head over heels in love with her? Did Voldemort or Draco or whoever she reported to know that the reason why she hadn't gleaned much information out of him was because he'd had so much experience with the word 'classified' that it was second nature for him to dodge around the truth?

He hadn't really experienced any of that, of course, but he'd given up trying to make a distinction. He'd thought long and hard during his Christmas vacation about what it meant to be a copy of someone else, and all it had given him was a headache and a desire to drown himself in booze that no one would sell him. And now, with the contents of the letter he'd received from Sam still fresh on his mind, he was starting to feel really depressed again.

It turned out that the letter was on Blaise's mind, too.

She pulled one of his booted feet into her lap and undid the rest of the laces before yanking it off. Jack saw her briefly wince at the smell before she recovered, and he hid a smirk. He had to stink after a game of Quidditch. Blaise must have been desperate to come in here before he'd even taken a shower.

She pulled off his sock and began to massage his foot. Jack half closed his eyes at the feeling. Damn, but Blaise was good. It must have been frustrating that she hadn't gotten what she wanted from him by now; he doubted any other teenagers would have been able to stop themselves from confessing their most embarrassing moments from childhood after a week with her.

"I noticed you got a letter today," she said, her voice tinged with the right amount of concern. "It didn't look like you liked the contents."

"My turtle died," Jack told her. "I named him Turtlebert. I was so hoping he and Mrs. Turtlebert would mate and have lots of little Turtlebert Juniors."

She tsked audibly, and Jack grinned. He opened his eyes in time to see her annoyed look. "Jack, you know you can talk to me. What's really bothering you?"

I'm not the real Jack O'Neill. I'm just his clone. And my 'great-uncle' has now disappeared and SG-1 has turned to me for help.

Jack could just picture what dear old Voldymorty would say to that.

"It's nothing, Blaise," he said instead.

Blaise made a noise that sounded like a sigh. She stopped massaging his foot, much to Jack's disappointment. He opened his eyes to see Blaise stand up.

"I have to get to the library," she said as she headed for the door. Her body was tense and her words clipped. He wondered if she was mad at him for not trusting her or if she was mad she didn't have anything to report to her master. "I have a test to study for."

She pulled the door open and walked out, slamming it behind her. Jack sprawled back on the bench and stared at the ceiling, wishing for all the world that he was either back on his broom or in Minnesota fishing in a fishless lake.

That was, of course, when the pain hit him.