Clarke's Law

"That made me pass out, yes," said Rodney, quickly.

"So you're free to go. But you might want to be a wee bit more careful with the Ancient technology."

Rodney made a face. "That was the whole point of the gene therapy! Now I can figure out what all these things do, and I don't have to bother you or Major Sheppard." Then he frowned. "Wait, wait. You think it will still work for me? The shield didn't stop because the gene injection wore off, did it?"

"Gene therapy is not really the sort of thing that wears off," said Carson, with a guilty half-smile. "The truth is that I only said it might in order to make you feel better."

"Oh, great. I'm starving to death, and you're only trying to make me feel better."

"Rodney. You're not starving to death now."

"Right. Just suffering the lingering after-effects of being immersed in an energy-sucking alien. I'll be fine." He swung his legs off the examining table. "But you're sure I can still operate the Ancient stuff?"

"Reasonably certain, aye. But you don't have to be so happy about it. It's quite frightening, sometimes - putting your hand on something and not knowing if you're going to accidentally blow up the city."

"Come on, Carson. The Ancient devices are incredible. And making them work, just by touching them?" He smiled, and the expression on his face was the same one he'd had when he'd first shown Carson the personal shield glowing on his chest and proudly told him he'd become invulnerable. "It's fantastic. It's like - it's like magic."

"It is nothing at all like magic!" Carson said indignantly.

"Okay, not magic in the sense that, yeah, this is something real, but, Clarke's Law, right?" Carson's confusion must have shown on his face, because Rodney sighed. "Arthur C. Clarke, science fiction author. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."

Carson shook his head. Ancient technology was nothing in the least like magic, as far as he was concerned. Ancient technology was incomprehensible and unpredictable. Magic, on the other hand - well, he hadn't thought about magic in a long time. But perhaps Rodney had a point. In fact.... As the idea struck him, his eyes grew wide. "You know, it might be, at that."

Crossing the room to the file cabinet by his desk, he pulled out his genetic research notes. "All right, let's see," he muttered to himself, looking for the preliminary work he'd done while developing the gene therapy.

Rodney cleared his throat ostentatiously, and Carson gave him a distracted glance. "You're still here? You're fine, Rodney. Back to the lab with you."

"Right, right," said Rodney, sliding to his feet. "I'd better make sure I can still operate the Ancient technology. Just in case."

Carson had no regrets about giving up the wizarding world. It had been a dangerous time to be a half-blood wizard, and when his mum took him out of Hogwarts after his fourth year and sent him to a Muggle school instead, he told himself it was just as well. It wasn't as though he were particularly talented; he had been good at Herbology and Potions, mediocre at Charms, and utterly hopeless at Transfiguration. He hadn't been nearly good enough to become a Healer, which was what he'd had his heart set on. But he excelled in his new science classes, and when his teachers told him he could very well become a doctor, he decided that would do just fine.

He'd gone to university, then to medical school. He'd decided to go into research, and that had led to the SGC, and to Antarctica, and ultimately to Atlantis - and that was something he would never have been able to do, had he remained a wizard. But maybe, he thought, as he searched feverishly through his research notes, just maybe it wasn't coincidence.

The biochemistry of the Ancient Technology Activation gene - the ATA gene - was fascinatingly complex, a multi-layered sequence involving the brain, the nervous system, even the skin. The gene directed the body to produce certain enzymes and proteins that interacted with the brain, made the pathways generate minute electromagnetic fields that somehow triggered the Ancient devices. A person with the gene was in all other ways exactly like a person without it. And before the discovery of the stargate on Earth, the first Ancient artifacts, the ATA gene would have passed through the generations unnoticed.

Or so he had thought, until Rodney inadvertently reminded him of his own long-forgotten genetic heritage. What if, thought Carson, it was the ATA gene that conferred magical ability?

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced. It was a reasonable theory. But testing it - aye, that would be the problem. You couldn't just go around asking people if they could do magic. It would be a breach of the deliberate separation between the magical and Muggle worlds, and even though the Ministry of Magic couldn't reach him in Atlantis, he'd had it drummed into his head when he was a child: no talking about magic to the Muggles. It wouldn't be a problem, of course, if his theory held, but he could be wrong. And there would go his reputation as a serious scientist and doctor.

Other than himself, only one other member of the expedition was a natural carrier of the ATA gene, and that was Major John Sheppard. "I don't suppose you happen to be a wizard, Major?" he tried aloud, then shook his head. How ridiculous that sounded. He'd have to work out a more subtle approach.

It was several weeks before Carson had a chance to talk with Sheppard. Once the word got out about Rodney's successful gene therapy, several dozen scientists and soldiers requested it; it made sense to have more people who could activate the Ancient devices, and of course that meant Carson himself would no longer be called upon so often, but it was still a lot of work to culture the doses and inject all the volunteers. But then there was the incident with the Wraith bug. Sheppard was recovering in the infirmary under light sedation, and that seemed a God-given opportunity.

He came into the room where Sheppard lay resting and made a show of checking his monitors. "Your vital signs have stabilized nicely. Any pain?" Sheppard shook his head. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, considering I was dead. Kind of bored, though."

A perfect lead-in. "I could have someone bring your sports shows up to the infirmary. I understand you like gridiron football?"

"Actually, Doc, we just call it football."

"What you call football is entirely different from what we call football." He pretended to consider. "Are you by chance a Quidditch fan?"

"A what fan?" Sheppard looked honestly confused, and Carson's hopes plummeted.

"Quidditch? You know, with the brooms?"

"Oh, the ice game. We call it curling - actually, we Americans don't call it anything. It's more of a Canadian thing, like hockey. McKay might be into it, I don't know."

"A Canadian thing?" Carson said, indignantly. "I'll have you know the Scots invented curling." As well as Quidditch, of course. "Never mind," Carson told him. "Now you rest, and I'll look in on you later."

He returned to his laboratory, disappointed. Any wizard - even an American wizard - should at least have heard of Quidditch. It was like never having heard of football, for goodness' sake. He had been so certain that he had been correct. He'd have to find another way to question Sheppard, he supposed. But perhaps the ATA gene had nothing to do with magic, after all.

Things got busy in Atlantis for a while after that, and Carson put aside his theories on magic and the ATA gene in favor of more practical matters, such as helping the Hoffans develop their Wraith-proofing inoculation, and learning how to fly the puddle jumper without crashing it, and generally keeping everybody alive and healthy. It wasn't until they had revived the alternate Elizabeth Weir and learned about their grisly fates in her version of reality that he started reconsidering his conclusions.

They had all been rather quiet, after the other Elizabeth had died. He and Rodney were eating dinner, and John Sheppard had come over to join them, and for a while they sat in a companionable silence, lost in their own thoughts. Finally Sheppard spoke. "It all seems so weird. The other timeline, I mean. We all died."

"Not the other, Major. An other," said Rodney, as he shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth.

"Another what?"

"Another timeline." Rodney waved his fork in the air. "There are an infinite number of them, not just one. Every decision could have been made differently, and, wham, there you are, another reality. You died, you lived, you moved to Wisconsin."

"I don't think I ever would have moved to Wisconsin," said Sheppard.

"Whatever. The point is, the multiverse contains all these possibilities. There's a Rodney McKay out there who went to, oh, Cal Tech instead of Northwestern, probably changed his whole life."

Carson nodded. "My life would have been very different had I attended a different school," he said, thinking of Hogwarts. "I'd not have become a doctor. Somebody else would be sitting here with you."

"Two somebodies," said Sheppard. "When I was a kid, I got a scholarship to some special school; I don't remember the details. My old man didn't want me to go, so I didn't go." He shrugged.

"Oh, so you're special," said Rodney.

"Come off it, McKay. Maybe it was a school for math geniuses," Sheppard said. "You never know, I could have become an astrophysicist." He smiled at McKay across the table, a slow, wicked smile. "Maybe I would have ended up here anyway."

"What, working for me? Right, I don't think so."

They continued to bicker, but Carson had stopped paying attention. A special school, he was thinking. He remembered when Professor McGonagall had come to their house, because his mum was a Muggle, and she'd given his parents the choice about whether to send him to Hogwarts. And they had said yes; back then, before things got bad, they were proud that their son was a wizard.

He stood up, abruptly. "Gentlemen, I'm finished. But Major Sheppard, if you could come by my room when you're finished? I have an Ancient device I'd like you to try out."

Carson didn't use his wand often. He almost hadn't brought it to Atlantis, but it was small (eight inches, ash and unicorn hair), and he hadn't had all that many personal items to bring along. And there was something about the mere fact of knowing it was there, wrapped in a cloth at the back of his socks-and-underwear drawer. It was like the photograph of his mum and the first fly he'd ever tied by himself; it connected him to home, to Scotland. To Earth.

He retrieved it from the drawer and waved it experimentally. A light trail of sparks shot from it, nothing dramatic, but he felt the magic tingle. Swish and flick, he remembered. " Accio pillow," he said, flicking his wrist in the direction of the bed, and the pillow rose up and flew across the room, smacking him softly in the chest just as the door opened.

"Having a pillow fight?" said Sheppard.

"Looks like he started without us," said Rodney, a half-step behind Sheppard.

Carson sighed as he motioned them both in. He should have known Rodney would come along; mentioning Ancient technology in his hearing had been a mistake, but it was too late now to do anything about it. He tossed the pillow back onto the bed and held up his wand. "All right, Major, let's see what you can do with this."

"Where did you find it? I don't remember hearing about this," said Rodney.

"It was in one of the medical laboratories," Carson lied.

Rodney frowned. "You found something, and you didn't check it in with my lab? Regulations clearly state that all newly-discovered Ancient devices -"

"You're not the only one with the gene, you know. Besides, you're getting a chance to play with it now."

"It's not play. It's research," sniffed Rodney. "You could have blown yourself up."

Carson turned away to hide his smile. Rodney might call it 'research', but his eyes lit up like a six-year-old child's on Christmas morning every time someone unearthed a new Ancient machine. "As you can see, I managed to survive. Now, then. Major?"

Placing his wand into Sheppard's hand was oddly discomfiting. Sheppard took it as though it were a relay baton, grasping it in the middle, and Carson had to remind himself that it was all right, that Sheppard was an untrained wizard - if his theory was correct - and there was no reason he should know what to do. "No, like this," he said, moving it in Sheppard's hand.

"What is it, a magic wand?" said Rodney, smirking.

Carson just smiled and said, "Clarke's Law," and Rodney gave a short bark of laughter and nodded his head.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing that Sheppard did was to wave it, like a Muggle child pretending to do magic with a stick; Carson's breath caught in his throat, but nothing happened. Which he should have expected, he told himself, because it was his own wand, attuned to him, and wasn't it said that the wand chooses the wizard? The command chair in Antarctica had preferred Sheppard, perhaps, but at least his wand remembered to whom it belonged.

"All right," he said. "Point it at the pillow. Now, move it through the air with a sort of flicking motion, like so." He demonstrated with his empty hand, and Sheppard imitated it. A buzz of magic like static electricity made the hairs on his arms stand up, but the pillow stayed put. Of course the mental component was important; speaking the incantation aloud would be too obvious, but silent spell casting, which he vaguely remembered from his schooldays, was near enough what they did to activate the Ancient devices that he ought to get away with it.

He took back the wand to demonstrate. "When you flick the - the device, think in your head that you want to summon the pillow to you. Think of the pillow coming toward you." Accio pillow, he thought hard, imagining it flying through the air, and obediently it came to his outstretched hand. "You see?" he said, throwing the pillow back onto the bed.

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, but took the wand from him. "All right. Here, pillow, pillow," he called, lazily flicking the wand toward the bed. Gracefully, the pillow lifted itself and soared toward him, and Sheppard caught it in his other hand. "Cool," he said, sounding surprised.

"A pillow-summoning device. Oh, how very useful," said Rodney, holding out his hand for the wand. Carson tried not to flinch as Sheppard tossed it to him.

"It's like a remote control," said Sheppard. "Which you have to admit is pretty useful."

"Right, assuming you need a pillow."

"The pillow is only for demonstration," Carson told him.

"Okay, so this is a general, what? Thing-summoner?" He pointed the wand in the general direction of the mess. "I'd like a cup of coffee."

Carson made a futile grab for the wand. "I don't think that's a very good idea."

"Coffee is always a good idea. But all right. The pillow." Sheppard threw it back onto the bed, and Rodney pointed the wand at it. "Come here, pillow."

"You have to..." Carson said, and flicked his wrist.

"Oh, a gay pillow summoner. Give me a break."

"Try it," said Carson. He'd decided it was good after all that Rodney was there, because he had undergone the gene therapy rather than being born with the gene. If Rodney could use his wand, that had a whole additional set of implications.

Rodney did a creditable flick and swish, and the pillow vibrated a little. "Hmm. Pillow pillow pillow." At that, it rose a few inches and then settled down again. He frowned at the wand. "What does it use for an energy source? Can I take it back to the -"

"No," said Carson firmly, plucking the wand from his hand. Although Rodney had neither Sheppard's natural talent nor Carson's years of schooling, he definitely manifested magical ability - no doubt conferred by the gene therapy. Interesting. "I'm finding it a great help in the infirmary," he lied, nudging the others toward the door, "but if I find another one, I'll be certain to let you know."

When they'd left, he lay on his bed, thinking. Major Sheppard, Rodney, and himself: only a tiny sample, true, but it appeared as though the ATA gene did, in fact, correlate to magic. But correlation and causation were two different animals; the only way to be really sure would be to test known witches and wizards. And all the known witches and wizards were back on Earth. Who knew if he'd ever be there again?

"Please, Dr. Weir. I would not be asking if it weren't important."

"I don't doubt that, Carson. But the Stargate Project is still classified. The Ancient technology we're bringing back to Earth on the Daedalus is all intended for research, and it has to stay on site, you know that. If you want an exception you'll have to talk to Stargate Command when we arrive. And," she added, raising her eyebrow and fixing him with a sharp look, "they're going to say no. Unless you give them more details than you've given me."

"I cannot do that," he said unhappily. "My government has - this other project is classified as well." Which wasn't a lie, really. The Ministry of Magic was part of the government, even if nobody outside the wizarding world was aware of it.

"I'm sorry. But I can't help you unless I know more."

He thought for a moment. Telling the truth was obviously out. And that bothered him, because under most circumstances he was a strong advocate of the truth. But as open-minded as Elizabeth Weir was, expecting her to believe in magic would be a bit much; anyway, he wasn't quite ready to reveal that particular truth. "Since we've got a few days back home before we meet to select the new personnel, I'd like to arrange a meeting with some people I, er, knew before."

"The other project?"

"Aye."

"You realize that you're bound by the terms of your security clearance."

"And I'll not violate them," he said. Not that the people he'd be speaking with would believe him if he did. The wizarding world had enough trouble with things like automobiles and airplanes; stargates would be right out. "But I must find out if my theory about the ATA gene is correct. Their knowledge could be extremely helpful to us."

He nodded as he got up to leave. Of course he'd do the right thing - once he worked out what, exactly, that was.

Scotland was green, chill and slightly damp, and Carson breathed in the air with delight. His travels over the past several years had brought him ever farther from home, and the difference between the alien planet he'd just left and his homeland was as strong in the scent of the atmosphere as it was in everything else.

He was coming home in another way as well, he thought, as he walked through the streets of Hogsmeade, doing his best to ignore the strange looks he got from the villagers. No doubt they thought his clothing odd, but he hadn't worn robes since his childhood, and he wasn't about to dig his father's old robes out of the attic just for this visit. After years of scientific training, the magical world had seemed almost a child's memory, a distant place he'd left behind. But now his separate worlds were converging, and he felt a thrum of anticipation.

Besides, had he been in robes, he would have been given much stranger looks during the rest of his journey. He'd left Hogwarts for the Muggle world before learning to Apparate; his mother had long since discarded his old broom, and their cottage hadn't been on the Floo network since his father had died. So instead he drove his mum's old Renault Clio, and that was partly why he'd decided to go to the relatively close-by Hogwarts rather than making the trip all the way to London, to the Ministry of Magic. And he'd just as soon go to Hogwarts, where there was a chance the headmaster might remember him, than deal with the government's inevitable bureaucracy.

As it turned out, Professor Dumbledore was no longer headmaster. Old Filch fixed him with a suspicious eye for not knowing that - it turned out that the wizarding world had recently had a tumultuous time, and Dumbledore had been murdered by a follower of the evil wizard Voldemort a few years ago. It was all rather confusing, thought Carson, because he had thought Voldemort had been dead for over twenty years. Voldemort had been responsible for Carson's father's death, among many others. But only a year later, Voldemort had been killed when a spell he'd cast had gone awry. At least, that was how Carson remembered events; he'd been young, and it had all been very long ago.

He supposed he must have misremembered, and Voldemort had not actually been killed; or perhaps he'd been somehow resurrected. But he was well and truly dead now, according to Filch. Professor McGonagall, who had been Carson's Transfiguration teacher, was headmistress now.

She fixed him with a canny eye as he sat uncomfortably in a hard-backed chair. Maybe it would have been better to have worn robes, he thought; he had forgotten the elegance and impressiveness they added. Professor McGonagall looked exactly as she had twenty-five years before, and he felt rather at a disadvantage - as though he'd been called to the office for some transgression, perhaps. At least she was Scottish as well, and might be predisposed to look kindly upon him - or so he hoped.

"Well," she said, adjusting her spectacles as she looked at him. "Mr. Beckett."

"Dr. Beckett, actually. It's, er, a Muggle profession. Like a Healer."

"I know a little about Muggles, Dr. Beckett. But you're not a Muggle. I believe you were a student here? A Hufflepuff, if I recall correctly?"

He nodded. "Until Mum took me out of school. I studied Muggle things, and went to medical school, and eventually got involved with this project - I'm not permitted to tell you about it, it's highly secret, but it's fascinating, amazing. The things we've done, we've discovered - just amazing. Most Muggles would find them as hard to believe as - well, as magic."

She raised an eyebrow at that, and he rushed on. "There are these - these objects we have found. Not everybody can use them, but I can. And another man, from America. I believe he is an untrained wizard."

"There are wizarding schools in America."

"He's Muggleborn, and I'm certain his parents kept him out of the wizarding schools there. But he cast a respectable summoning spell with my wand when I showed him how."

"That was a grave risk," she said, frowning. "What if he had been a Muggle?"

"But that's the point. I've developed a test to tell Muggles from witches and wizards." He decided not to mention the gene therapy; at best she wouldn't understand, and at worst she'd be furious. "At least, I think I have. But I need to test someone I know has magic - other than myself. To be sure."

"You 'need' to test someone? Magic ability is self-evident. Either one has it, or one does not."

Carson's heart sank. How was he supposed to explain the scientific method to someone to whom science simply wasn't relevant? "It's not like that. I'm not looking for magic; I'm looking for the ability to use these objects. To see if other wizards and witches can use them."

"And you believe this is important? Very well, I shall try." She held out a hand.

"Unfortunately, I was not allowed to take them with me. But I've developed this scientific test - it's a sort of Muggle potion, I suppose - and if you'd give me just one strand of your hair -"

"There are many uses for hair," she said, frowning. "Many for which I would not give it willingly."

"I won't do anything but my test, I promise. It would be a great help. We've got this terrible enemy, you see, and we must do everything in our power to keep them away from...well, at the moment they're far away from here. These things we have are our only way of fighting them. If we could use magic as well, perhaps we'd be able to mount a better defense."

"What sort of enemy, Dr. Beckett?"

That made him stop and think for a moment. He wasn't supposed to tell people about the Wraith, not if they didn't have a security clearance. And most people would be skeptical, anyway. But the magical world had some awfully strange creatures in it; if anyone would understand the Wraith, it would be Professor McGonagall.

"Well," he began. "In size and general form, they look almost like men. But their faces are different - they've got these mouths, these teeth...." He shuddered. "Horrible. They...they feed on people. They touch a man and they suck out his life. I've never seen anything so terrible."

She nodded. "Like Dementors."

"Dementors?"

"Foul creatures that feed on human souls," she said, her mouth curving downward in disgust.

"Aye, sounds like the Wr- like them."

"Well, in that case, Dr. Beckett," she said, removing her tall, pointed hat. "I would be happy to help. You may have a hair." She tapped her bun with her wand; a single hair slid out and curled into her hand. She held it out to him, and he carefully put it into a pocket. "You have your wand?"

He nodded, taking it from his jacket.

"Good. I shall teach you a spell that is effective against Dementors. Perhaps it will be effective against your enemy as well."

After an hour of practice, Carson felt as exhausted as though he'd been battling an actual Wraith. This was what he got for having hardly used magic at all in the past two decades, he supposed; it was a wonder he'd even managed to summon his pillow, back in Atlantis. It was much harder to summon a Patronus than a pillow, and it took a dozen tries before he got anything more than a vague cloud of mist from his wand, but eventually a small silvery animal shot from the end of his wand and wiggled its long and lushly furry tail at him.

He stared as the misty animal dissipated. "What was that?"

"I believe that was a pine marten," said McGonagall. "Your Patronus, evidently."

"That wee thing is going to kill a Wraith?"

"If your Wraith are similar to our Dementors, yes."

Belatedly he realized what he'd said, and sighed. "I wasn't supposed to name them."

"I'm not going to take out an advertisement in the Prophet," she said tartly. "But consider, Dr. Beckett. We had a great deal of difficulty with Dementors some years ago; we understand the importance of destroying an enemy before it can destroy you. I believe there are many wizards and witches who would come to your aid, if the need is great."

Carson smiled to himself, thinking of an army of witches in tartan robes and pointed hats, marching through the stargate with wands at the ready. Sergeant Bates would have kittens. "I wish it were possible. But the secrecy around our project is so very great, and it's run by the American military; I don't know how I'd begin to tell them about magic. They'd never permit it even if they believed me. And would you want them to know about the wizarding world?"

"Do these Wraith threaten our world?"

"Aye," he said heavily. She had no way of knowing how true those words were.

"Then I see no alternative. Your leaders and ours will keep each other's secrets. If we can make the difference, you must not hesitate."

"Professor McGonagall, I am deeply thankful for your offer. But our - our field of battle is very far away. And the people in charge are all Muggles. I don't know how I could possibly send word."

"I do," said McGonagall. Rising, she turned to the fireplace and tossed in a handful of powder - Floo powder, he dredged up from the recesses of his memory - that made the flames glow green for a moment. "Ministry of Magic, Miss Granger's office."

A woman's head appeared in the flames. "Professor McGonagall! What can I do for you?"

"Could you come through for a moment, please? There's someone I'd like you to meet."

A small cloud of smoke puffed out, and the woman whose head he'd seen stepped out. She was a lovely lass of about twenty-five, Carson thought, and although she wore robes, their severely tailored style might pass for a somewhat eccentric but acceptable Muggle fashion. Her return gaze was frankly appraising; she stepped over to Carson and held out her hand.

"Hermione Granger, Wizarding-Muggle Relations."

"Carson Beckett," he said. "How do you do?"

"Dr. Beckett needs to be able to contact our Aurors - and myself - in an emergency. I immediately thought of you," said McGonagall.

"Of course," said Miss Granger, taking a small case from a pocket and extracting a card. When he took it from her he saw that it was not a standard business card, but a square of thin but sturdy vellum, with letters and numbers inscribed in a flowing hand. "My office has both telephone and standard Floo," she said. "But you're not a Muggle, are you?"

"Not exactly, Miss Granger -"

"Hermione, please."

"Hermione, then." He turned the card over in his hand. "I can't promise I'll even be able to use this. We don't even have the telephone, where we are. But I can get a message to the head of our project, in our command center in America. Whether or not he believes me, that will be the difficulty," he said. Convincing General O'Neill to allow a message through to people who didn't have security clearance - well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

The two women exchanged glances. "We could enchant something to send us a message automatically," offered Hermione.

"I don't think that's a good idea," said Carson, thinking about what might happen to his security clearance if he brought an enchanted object into the SGC. Besides, the chances that it would work from the Pegasus Galaxy were remote.

"Then you'd best give me a password, so I will know the message is from you."

"All right." He considered. "My password will be 'pine marten.' And could I trouble you for a hair?"

The DNA results were conclusive - or as conclusive as one could get with such a limited sample size. But he wasn't going to be publishing in the Lancet. The only person who had needed convincing was himself, and Carson had to admit he'd been convinced when Major Sheppard - Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, now - had summoned the pillow. Wizards and witches were the descendants of the Ancients; the ATA gene conferred not only the ability to use their technology, but also the ability to do magic. And he'd given more than twenty people that ability through the gene therapy he'd developed. Not everybody in Atlantis had wanted the gene therapy, and it was only successful about half of the time, but still, that was a good lot of magic.

Although what good it would do them, he wasn't sure. He practiced the Patronus Charm daily before going to bed, but it was far easier to concentrate on the happy memory that the spell required with no actual Wraith in sight. There was no guarantee the Patronus would truly work against the Wraith, and even if it did, he was only one man. It was a pity he hadn't had the time to visit Diagon Alley and bring back enough wands for the entire crew - assuming Ollivander's shop would even sell them to him. And he was not about to allow McKay to tinker with his own.

He began to carry it with him, though, at all times, on and off world. At first he told himself it was insurance against a Wraith encounter, much like carrying an umbrella guaranteed a sunny day. But it almost seemed to him as though the wand was unwilling to be only a familiar weight in his pocket; it almost seemed as though it wanted to be used, not just as a talisman but as part of his daily routine.

Little by little, he let magic back into his life. In the infirmary he used his wand judiciously, when nobody was around to see him or when he could pass it off as an Ancient device. Summoning and levitation charms made his work easier, and the more he used magic the more comfortable he felt with it.

And he found himself becoming more comfortable with Ancient technology as well. He'd always felt nervous turning things on with a thought, with his hand pressed to a panel that bore no relation to a normal switch or knob. But when he thought of them as magical, it somehow became easier, his body relaxing into the familiar flow of energy as though recognizing it on a cellular level.

Perhaps it literally was, it occurred to him one day, as he was looking over his research on the anti-Wraith retrovirus he had attempted to develop. He'd hardly touched this work after Sheppard's accidental infection with the prototype. His subsequent transformation had showed Carson that he'd been spectacularly wrong. His prototype retrovirus had enhanced the characteristics of the Iratus bug rather than the human aspects of a Wraith, and he'd set that particular project aside in favor of others.

He still had notes from his work with the Hoffans and his analysis of Teyla's genetic makeup; it was like a hundred different puzzles, all revolving around each other, all tantalizingly incomplete, the solutions out of reach. Sometimes it seemed as though all he needed was more information. But then a new fact would come to light, contradicting previous conclusions and casting former connections in doubt, and he'd be forced to take a step back and consider everything anew.

It was while rereading the notes that Elizabeth had transcribed from the data recorder they'd retrieved from the abandoned Wraith laboratory that he realized there was a resource out there they had overlooked. A whole laboratory - who knew what they might find there?

Elizabeth gave permission for a small exploratory team; he and Rodney would look for biological and technical items, and Teyla would provide the DNA signature needed to enter the hidden chambers, and provide security along with Colonel Sheppard.

The planet on the other side of the gate was shrouded in gloomy clouds, and Rodney looked around the ruins of the village with distaste. "Still looks like the set of a B movie."

"At least we've got daylight this time. It looked worse by night," Sheppard explained.

Carson nodded. Prowling around a Wraith laboratory - even an abandoned, empty Wraith laboratory - was a scary enough prospect. He couldn't imagine doing it by night.

"This path has been used since our visit," said Teyla, scrutinizing the vegetation next to them. "The plants have been disturbed."

"How do you know we didn't do that?" said Rodney.

She shrugged. "Perhaps we did. But I do not think so."

"Well, somebody was here," said Sheppard, pointing ahead of them. The laboratory entrance stood visible, a cavernous opening in the cliff. "Last time, that looked like a solid rock wall."

"No life signs. Still showing a faint energy reading, though," said Rodney.

They moved cautiously into the first chamber. Strange alien technology lined the walls, much of it dust-covered and some of it in pieces. Here and there were gaps revealing clean walls behind, perhaps where things had been recently removed. Rodney immediately went to investigate something that Carson guessed was a computer; Carson could only stand in the middle of the room and wonder where to begin.

Sheppard turned to him. "See anything you want, Doc?"

"I don't know yet. There's so much, and I have no idea what any of these things even do."

"What are you looking for, exactly?"

"Biological samples, perhaps?" He shrugged. "This hasn't quite the look of a medical laboratory. I'd love to find preserved tissue samples, or chemical extracts. Assuming they've survived over the years, they would be incredibly valuable for my research."

"There are probably more rooms back there." Sheppard gestured with his P-90 toward the far side of the chamber, which narrowed into a hallway leading off into darkness. "Teyla can stay with Rodney, and we can continue down this corridor, look around."

Carson glanced around the room. "I'd like to look this over a little first."

"In that case, Teyla and I will go poke around. We'll give you a call if we find anything that looks like it belongs in a chemistry set."

They headed to the back of the room and vanished into the darkness; Carson crossed to where Rodney was kneeling by a large machine. "What is it?"

"I'm trying to figure that out. Go bother someone else," said Rodney, waving his hand behind him.

Carson smiled to himself and obediently crossed the room to a rack of equipment whose use he could only guess at. He picked an item at random, turned it over in his hands. Two small vials were built into it, one on each side, with probes extending into each one and a screen between them. A sort of comparative spectroscope, perhaps? He turned the knob on top but nothing happened; maybe its power source had been depleted, or maybe it was designed only to operate when the vials were full.

There were all sorts of interesting things on the shelves, and he had set aside a small pile to bring back to Atlantis for further investigation, when Rodney said, "Oh, shit."

"What is it?"

He held up his life-signs detector. "Something's out there and coming our way."

"Something?"

"Somebody." Rodney keyed his radio. "Colonel, Teyla, I think we're going to have company."

A burst of static came from the radio, and then a faint, "On our way."

"Oh, God. It's getting closer," said Rodney, his voice going high and tight as he fumbled for his gun.

"Is it a Wraith, do you think?"

"We are in a Wraith laboratory, so yes, I think it's highly probable, and Sheppard, get your ass up here, please?"

Carson took a deep breath and drew his wand. Concentrate on the happy memory, he told himself.

"What the hell - Carson, I think your gun would be a better choice here!"

"If this doesn't work, you shoot it," he said, not taking his eyes from the entrance. He thought of fishing on the Tay with his father, his pride in the graceful arc of his line as it whipped through the air. Green hills around him, the water clear over smooth pebbles, salmon darting for his fly, rainbow scales sparkling in the rare sunlight. He gathered the memory to his heart like a talisman, held on to it as he held onto his wand, and when the tall shape of the Wraith filled the doorway he felt the magic flow from his entire body into his wand as he shouted, " Expecto patronum!"

The silvery form of the pine marten coalesced from the end of his wand and leapt for the Wraith's throat. An unearthly scream echoed in the laboratory chamber as the Wraith sank to the ground, its features horribly contorted, its hands grappling at the air, at its own body, unable to get purchase on the spectral Patronus. It was almost - no, it was melting, melting like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz, its pale flesh sizzling to a burnt gray and dissolving into ash. When the Patronus vanished, all that was left was the Wraith's black robe.

Carson stared at the robe, still shaking with the effort, shaking with the terror he had deliberately not allowed himself to feel until now. It had worked. That was the important thing. It had worked.

Behind him he heard the sound of people running toward him, and Sheppard's voice. "What the hell was that?"

He turned his head toward Rodney, who was staring at him. "Pillow summoner," said Rodney. "Right."

Carson managed a weak smile. "Clarke's Law."

His report was the first of the debriefing, since he'd been the one to suggest this mission. Laying out the few items he'd brought back onto the table, he gave his best guess as to how each one might have been used when the laboratory had been in operation. Elizabeth nodded approvingly, but Carson could sense the others' tension. He had suddenly become an unknown quantity to them, and unknown quantities were dangerous until they'd been evaluated and understood. They were waiting for his explanation; he had a feeling it wouldn't reassure them.

Then it was Rodney's turn. Several of the computers he'd seen on his first visit were gone, and other things had been moved. No other data recorders had been left behind. "Obviously they knew somebody had been there, and they didn't like it."

"I believe we may have accidentally set off a sort of beacon," said Teyla. "Colonel Sheppard and I were exploring the other rooms for biological samples, at Dr. Beckett's request."

"Did you find any?"

Sheppard shook his head. "It looked as though someone had set off an explosive charge back there. Hiding the evidence, maybe. We were poking through the wreckage when McKay radioed us about the Wraith."

"The Wraith?" asked Elizabeth, frowning.

"Yeah. Just one, fortunately. Dr. Beckett killed it," said Sheppard, looking pointedly at him. "And now, he's going to tell us how."

Carson glanced around the table. He had everybody's attention, which he was never fond of; his palms were getting slightly damp and he could feel his heartrate speeding up. Almost worse than facing down that bloody Wraith, he thought despondently. "All right," he finally said, focusing on Dr. Weir. He pulled his wand from his pocket. "I used this."

"Looks like a magic wand," she said, smiling.

"Aye, that's it exactly," he said.

The smile vanished. "I don't understand."

"Wait, wait," said Rodney. "Carson showed it to us a couple of months ago. It's an Ancient device that just happens to look like a magic wand. There's no such thing as magic."

"Indistinguishable from sufficiently advanced technology," Carson said softly. "It's my magic wand. I'm a wizard."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I am not believing this."

Sheppard leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. "You stepped through a stargate, and came to another galaxy, where life-sucking aliens are trying to kill us. Frankly, I don't see what's not to believe." Carson shot him a grateful glance; convincing the scientists of the existence of magic would be difficult, he knew, and support from any quarter was welcome.

"Those things have a basis in physics," said Rodney. "Okay, not the aliens, but we understand wormholes - and by 'we' I mean I, of course - and even though we, that is, humans, weren't able to get to this technology on our own, it is all, theoretically, possible. But magic wands? Not theoretically possible."

"That magic wand doesn't look theoretical to me."

"Enough," said Elizabeth, giving them both a quelling look. "Carson, will you explain, please?"

Carson took a deep breath. "This," he said, holding it up in his hand, "is a magic wand. I am a wizard." He looked at Sheppard. "So are you, but you don't know it, because you weren't allowed to go to the wizarding school when you were a lad. And you are, now -" he nodded at Rodney - "because of the gene therapy."

"That was for the ATA gene. Ancient Technology Activation," said Rodney, and Carson could hear the capital letters in his voice. "Not magic."

"It's the same gene, I'm sure of it. I hadn't thought about it until you made the connection. You said using the Ancient technology was just like magic."

"That was a figure of speech!"

"But it got me thinking. That's why we did that, er, pillow-summoning exercise. So when I went back home, I paid a visit to an old teacher of mine from when I went to Hogwarts - that's Britain's finest school for wizards and witches."

"Your mystery project," said Elizabeth.

"Aye. I brought back hair from two witches, to test their DNA. They both have the ATA gene."

"Oh, big sample size, there," muttered Rodney.

"I still want to know what you did to the Wraith," said Sheppard.

"Professor McGonagall - my old teacher - taught me a spell that they use against these creatures they call Dementors. I've never seen them, but apparently they're enough like the Wraith for it to work."

"Work, hell. You should have seen it," Sheppard said to Elizabeth. "This silver thing shot out of his, his wand, and the Wraith just crumbled to nothing. I've emptied two clips into these guys and it hardly slows them down. This spell, or whatever it is, is definitely something worth knowing."

"It was extremely impressive," agreed Teyla.

"Oh, I see, we're going to use spells against the Wraith. What's next, voodoo? I'll just make a little Wraith doll and stick pins in it, shall I?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Hey, if it works, I'm all for it."

"Obviously it works. I saw it. But calling it magic - look, Carson even said that these so-called witches and wizards have the ATA gene. They're not doing magic, they're not 'casting spells,' they're activating Ancient technology. Not to say that it's not incredibly useful, very impressive Ancient technology. But if we could just take that device apart in the lab -" Rodney made a grab toward the wand, and Carson snatched it away just in time - "there's probably some sort of power source, maybe even a form of naquadah, I don't know, some kind of channeling structure triggered by whatever the gene does."

"It's a magic wand, Rodney," said Carson. "Made out of ash wood, with a unicorn hair as its core."

"Unicorn hair? Come on, you don't seriously believe - this is insane, completely ridiculous," began Rodney, and Carson sighed, flicked the wand at him, and said, "Silencio!" Rodney continued to move his mouth for several seconds before finally realizing that no sound was coming out and sputtering to a noiseless halt.

For a moment the room was completely quiet. Then Sheppard tapped Carson on the shoulder. "Could you teach me that one?"

One thing you had to give Elizabeth credit for, thought Carson, was that she evaluated things as she saw them, with an open mind. After a demonstration of a few spells - including John Sheppard's successful summoning of a chair from across the room - she gave her approval for a message to be sent back to the SGC directing them to telephone Ms. Hermione Granger of the British government with a request for a crate of magic wands - or rather, as Carson intended to say, "products of Mr. Ollivander's workshop." With the new ZPM they'd received from Earth, they easily had enough spare power for a microburst transmission through the gate; the wands would come back on the Daedalus, which was scheduled to leave Earth in less than a month for its next resupply mission to Atlantis.

"That should be enough for everybody here with the ATA gene," she said. "And a few left over for Rodney to study."

"Which I am definitely looking forward to," said Rodney. Chastened by his enforced silence, he had not voiced any objections after Carson had ended the spell. But when the debriefing meeting ended and Carson started back toward the infirmary, Rodney fell into step with him.

"What I want to know is why you're acting like you believe it's really magic. I mean, you're a doctor. Not that medicine is all that removed from voodoo, but. You're supposed to be a scientist."

"But before I was a scientist, I was a wizard," he said. "We traveled on broomsticks, and learned about potions and hexes in school. Then my dad was killed, and my mum, well. She was a Muggle - someone without magic," he clarified, "and it was a dangerous time for half-bloods like me. She was worried for my safety - afraid they'd get me too. So I left magic behind. That's when I learned about science."

"But you still believe in magic?"

"Honestly? I don't know what to believe. I had myself nearly convinced that what I had remembered about magic was all a child's fantasy, that my wand was only a pretty stick - and then I put my hand on an Ancient device and it lit right up. Scared me half to death, it did."

Rodney nodded, smiling. "I could hardly get you in that control chair. You were terrified, and all I could think of was that I wished I could do it."

"And now you can."

"But is it technology, or is it magic?"

"I don't know. But I don't think it really matters, Rodney. What matters is that it works. And that we can use it."

But how they could use it - that was the question. Until the Daedalus returned with the wands, they had only the one, and Carson was absolutely not going to allow Rodney to take it apart. Then Colonel Sheppard had asked Carson to teach him the Patronus Charm, and he'd agreed; but when they got to the part about concentrating on a happy memory, John had looked frankly skeptical.

"A Wraith was attacking you, and you were thinking about fishing?"

He had spread his hands apologetically. "It's a necessary part of the spell."

John had stared at him for a moment. "More to you than meets the eye, Doc," he'd finally said; but that was the last they'd talked about magic, at least until the Daedalus arrived.

The control room crew spotted the ship on the long-range sensors while it was still some distance off, and Dr. Weir radioed him to let him know when they'd landed. Hastily he tidied his lab and headed to the landing pier.

They had sent a microburst message to the SGC with a list of things to be sent. Each laboratory had its own wish list, and Carson had requested a number of medical supplies for the infirmary. He'd felt quite silly adding the message to Hermione at the end - especially when he'd had to look into the camera and say, "pine marten." For all he knew, the SGC personnel had thought it was a joke. Maybe they hadn't passed the message on at all; and even if they had, what had they thought when a carefully-wrapped shipment of sticks came from England?

The welcoming committee was small: only Elizabeth, John, Rodney and himself, standing on the observation balcony together, watching the amazing sight of the bulk of the Daedalus gently lowering itself to the pier. When the ship had settled, and the door had opened, they headed out to meet the incoming crew.

"You asked them for more EpiPens, right?" said Rodney, as they walked forward. "I think I'm down to only two, after the mission to that planet with those stinging flowers."

"You should have ordered them yourself," Carson replied, then put up a hand. "Of course I did. But it's a fine time to worry about it now. We're stuck with whatever - my God, I can't believe it," he said, staring at the people filing out of the Daedalus behind Colonel Caldwell.

"What is it?" said Rodney.

Elizabeth frowned. "We're not expecting any new personnel, are we?"

"It's all right," said Carson, unable to suppress a smile. He strode forward. "Hermione, welcome to Atlantis."

After the new arrivals were assigned quarters and the rest of the unloading was underway, Elizabeth called a short meeting in the briefing room. John and Rodney took seats on one side of the triangular table, Colonel Caldwell and Elizabeth on another, leaving Carson to sit with Hermione on the third; he wondered what that said about allegiances, and battle lines, and whether he would have to prove himself all over again. He hadn't expected Hermione to come at all, let alone bring other wizards and witches, but it was because of him that they were here.

"I'm surprised the SGC permitted you to come," said Elizabeth to Hermione, when they were all seated. "A dozen - what did you call them?"

"Aurors," said Hermione. "Or at least, that's what the British contingent are. The Americans call themselves Agents, I believe. But the important thing is that they are all trained to fight Dark magic. And they're going to train you."

"I see," said John. "Excuse me for bringing this up, but most of our battles with the Wraith aren't exactly hand-to-hand combat. Now, if you've got some new weapons we could mount on our puddle jumpers, that might be helpful."

"General O'Neill seems to think that they can work with your scientists to come up with something," said Caldwell. He was sitting back in his chair, arms folded, and Carson thought he looked rather skeptical.

And so, apparently, was Rodney, who leaned forward and frowned. "O'Neill said that?"

"Oh, yes," said Hermione. "It was he who arranged everything for us. Carson, why didn't you tell us that the head of your project is a wizard?"

Jaws dropped around the table. "I didn't know," said Carson faintly. He thought a moment, then nodded. "Of course. He has the gene." Good Lord. That would have saved him so much time, if he had only known; it would have set him on the right track from the outset. General O'Neill, a wizard. That explained a lot about the Stargate Project, right there.

"O'Neill? That's ludicrous," Rodney snapped. "Look, best-case scenario, we now have, what, almost three times as many people with the gene? Fine. But what you're all forgetting is that all the Ancients had that gene. And they lost against the Wraith."

"Your General O'Neill believes that with the advances we've made in modern witchcraft, we can combine -"

"Witchcraft!" sputtered Rodney, his face reddening. "This is - we need to contact the SGC! I can not believe that O'Neill has been taken in -"

"Rodney." Elizabeth's firm voice cut through the room like a blade. "I think it's clear that their 'witchcraft' is just another name for Ancient technology." She smiled. "Can you blame them? Without the knowledge of the Ancients, being able to do these - these remarkable things, it must seem like magic to them."

Hermione was frowning, looking like she was about to argue; Carson hastily stepped in. "I agree, it doesn't matter what we call it. But think of it: Hermione and the others can use their ATA genes to do things we have not even dreamt of doing. They're not just using the devices the Ancients have left us; in some sense, they are creating new ones. None of us know how to do that." He looked around the table; John and Elizabeth were nodding, and that bolstered him. "We need their help, Rodney."

Carson felt his palms begin to sweat as he looked around the room. The gene therapy recipients had been told only that there was a mandatory meeting; they sat in groups, scientists on one side and soldiers on the other. Most of them were looking curiously at the new arrivals who sat together at Carson's end of the table, and at the large crate on the table in front of him. At least the witches and wizards were in SGC uniforms rather than in robes, he thought thankfully. The meeting would be difficult enough as it was.

It didn't surprise him that Rodney was the last to arrive, nor that Rodney refused to sit but instead took up a position by the doors, arms crossed and chin jutting out like a challenge. John, sitting on the military side of the room, clearly noticed as well. His raised eyebrow in Rodney's direction only resulted in Rodney's chin tilting a few more degrees. Then John looked at Carson, and shrugged. The message was plain: It's Rodney, what did you expect? At least John supported him, and that support should help convince the military personnel. He nodded at John, hoping that his nervousness was not showing on his face, and rose to his feet.

"All right," he said, looking about the room. "You've been called here because we've discovered something new about the ATA gene. No, not something bad," he added quickly, seeing looks of consternation on the faces before him. "We've found, er, a new way of using - that is to say, it appears that, er...."

"Maybe you should just give a demonstration, Doc," said John.

"Aye, of course." He took his wand from his pocket, then hesitated, looking around the room for something he could do, something he could use as an example.

Hermione took pity on him. "The crate, perhaps?" He frowned at her, and she made a lifting gesture with her hand.

Oh, of course. He pointed his wand, swished and flicked. "Wingardium leviosa!"

The crate of wands rose several feet into the air, and he looked at the assembled group expectantly. Silence. Finally one of the marines raised his hand. "You found an Ancient levitating device?"

"Pillow summoner," muttered Rodney from his place against the wall.

"Not exactly," said Carson, stealing a quick glance at Rodney. Nervously he passed the wand from one hand to the other, and the crate crashed back to the table. "It's a little difficult to explain -"

"Expelliarmus," came a voice from off to his left, and his wand flew out of his hand and into the hand of the wizard sitting next to Hermione. He was about her age, with dark hair and an odd-shaped scar on his forehead. He grinned at Carson by way of apology and tossed the wand back to him. "Perhaps I should give it a try."

"These people have no idea," began Carson, looking nervously at the scientists, who had begun to murmur amongst themselves.

"That's all right. Neither did I, when I first learned about magic."

That caused a definite stir. Major Lorne leaned forward, frowning. "Magic?"

The young man nodded and got to his feet. "My name's Harry Potter. I'm a wizard." The murmurs became louder. "So is your Dr. Beckett, there," he added, and Carson felt his face go red as twenty-five faces swiveled toward him. Most of them looked distinctly skeptical.

"You can't expect us to believe you're wizards," scoffed Dr. Kavanagh.

"Oh, you're a wizard as well," said Harry, grinning.

Kavanagh pursed his lips. "That's ridiculous!"

"Yes, it is," said Rodney from his place by the door. "What he means by 'wizard' is that he has the ATA gene, like the rest of us in this room. Apparently with one of those - those devices, and enough training, we can all levitate boxes and summon pillows."

"And kill Wraith," added John. Everyone turned to look at him.

Rodney waved his hand in the air. "Yes, well, that too. The point is that these people may call it something different -"

"Magic," said Hermione firmly, just loudly enough to be heard over Rodney's voice, and he shot her an irritated glance.

"But it's essentially just the ATA gene, right, Carson?"

Carson sighed. This was exactly the discussion he had been hoping to avoid. "That's certainly one way of looking at it."

"But you called it magic," said Dr. Kusanagi, looking shyly up toward Harry. "Does this mean I am also a wizard and can do magic?"

"Girls are witches," said Harry. "That's what you are - a witch. All of you in this room are witches and wizards, and you can all do magic. But first, you need wands." He pointed his own wand at the crate. "Cistem aperio!"

The nails around the top of the crate slid out, landing on the table with quiet metallic thunks, and the lid of the crate flew upward. "Cool," breathed one of the marines.

"Ordinarily, you'd go to a wand shop that would have hundreds of different wands for you to choose from. Or as some would say, that would have the opportunity to choose you. It's rather a personal thing, the choice of a wand. But your SGC gave us information about each of you, which we took to the best wandmaker in Britain. He assures us that there should be good matches for everyone in this selection."

"This 'wandmaker' saw our personnel files? Does he have security clearance?" asked Lorne.

"Mr. Ollivander couldn't care less about stargates and space travel," said Hermione. "From his perspective, you are the security risk. The wizarding world is as closely-held a secret as the SGC. Perhaps more."

"Well, I'm looking forward to getting my own wand," said John. "You're not going to believe what these things do to the Wraith. And frankly, I think magic is kind of cool," he added, nodding toward the marine who'd spoken earlier.

"I think you're all out of your minds," said Kavanagh, standing abruptly and walking to the door. He frowned reprovingly at Rodney. "I can't believe that you, of all people, are allowing this travesty to go forward."

Rodney shrugged. "Believe me, I'm not thrilled about it. But it's just another way of using the ATA gene. And Colonel Sheppard's right about its effectiveness against the Wraith."

"You're all crazy," repeated Kavanagh. "I'm going to report this nonsense to Stargate Command."

"You're welcome to try," said John, a lazy, dangerous smile on his face.

For a moment they were all frozen in an angry tableau. Then Hermione pointed her wand. " Mobilicorpus," she said, and Kavanagh floated up into the air, his arms and legs working wildly as he made a futile attempt to get his feet back under him.

"Please, Dr. Kavanagh," Carson said. "You're a scientist; you know that one must evaluate the evidence and keep an open mind." Rodney snorted derisively, and Carson shot him a swift glance, willing him to stay quiet. "But if you want to leave, of course you're free to go."

"We don't really need him anyway," said Rodney. "We've got enough members of the science team with the gene for us to get started studying the phenomenon of this so-called magic."

Carson nodded at Hermione. "Let him down." She did so less gently than Carson would have done; Kavanagh glared at her, then at Rodney, but returned to his seat with a pronounced sulk.

Harry had taken a dozen individual boxes out of the crate and arrayed them on the table. "Let's see. Travis Billick?" One of the marines stood up, and Harry motioned him over. "Try this one."

Billick made his way to the end of the table. "What do I do with it?"

"Just give it a wave," said Harry, and put a wand in his hand. Hesitantly, Billick waved it awkwardly; a pale stream of sparks trailed from the end, and Carson could feel the tingle of magic in the air like static electricity. "Excellent, that will do. Try not to accidentally set anything on fire until we get lessons arranged, would you?"

With varying degrees of enthusiasm, the Atlantis personnel were called up to the crate one by one to receive a wand. Most of the military acted as though they were being issued new and interesting weapons, which was in some sense true, Carson supposed. The scientists were generally wary, some of them looking over their shoulders at Rodney before going up to Harry. Kavanagh took his as though he was being handed a lighted stick of dynamite; Kusanagi stroked her slender ebony wand reverently. For most it took only one or two tries before a good match was found, but Rodney went through five wands, his bored expression turning more anxious with each one, before an oak wand was placed in his hand and Harry nodded. "That'll be it, then."

"I guess so," said Rodney, who had not taken his eyes from the wand he held. Carson knew the feeling: the warmth, the flushed tingle of magic, when you held the wand that was destined for you. He'd bet Rodney wouldn't be taking that one apart in his laboratory.

The witches and wizards were quickly integrated into Atlantis life - surprisingly quickly, thought Carson. With a touch of cynicism, he wondered if magic had surreptitiously eased the way. Five had been assigned to Colonel Sheppard as a military auxiliary, and five others, including Hermione, were working with the scientific staff on incorporating magic into the Ancient technology. The remaining two - Harry Potter and a tall black man named Kingsley - took on the task of teaching the ATA-positive Atlantis personnel how to use magic.

A small gymnasium was commandeered for the magic lessons; the Atlantians were each assigned a partner, and a schedule was set up so that each pair had an hour of lessons every other day. Carson had thought he might be exempt, since he'd had a formal education in magic, even though it had been cut short. But Harry had gently suggested that a refresher might be useful, and as it turned out, he was right.

He had been partnered with Miko Kusanagi, and it was disconcerting to realize that even as a beginner she was quite a bit better at magic than he was. He wasn't sure which was worse: crashing to the ground after failing for the third time to repel her Jelly-legs Jinx, or having her help him up, giggling and embarrassed, apologizing over and over again for sending him to the floor. If a Wraith attacked her she'd probably apologize for not having more life force to give him, he thought dismally as he scrambled to his feet yet again.

"I don't quite see the point of this," he grumbled as the lesson came to a close. "We're not going to be using this ridiculous spell against the Wraith, and they're most certainly not using it against us."

"It's the principle of the thing, Dr. Beckett," said Kingsley cheerfully. "We want to make using magic a reflex, something you can do automatically without thinking about. These childhood jinxes are excellent teaching tools."

"But Hermione told me you'd cast the Patronus Charm," said Harry. "Which is very good, really. Took me ages to learn that one."

"The learning was the easy part," he said, although it hadn't been easy, exactly. "The hard part was casting it while looking at the bloody Wraith."

Harry nodded. "It seems scary, doesn't it. But I think the fear helps energize you, in a way. Using your fear and anger against your enemy, instead of letting him use them against you. It took me a long time to learn that."

"But you did, I gather."

Harry gave him a somewhat flinty smile. "Oh, yes."

The next pair of Atlantians came in, then, and Carson returned to the infirmary. But at dinner he sought out Hermione; she was sitting at a table with Radek Zelenka, talking animatedly.

"...but the Arithmantic properties imply that one could select the most likely outcome."

"No, no, no. You are forgetting that this is a completely nondeterministic set of equations. The chaos theory does not allow you to choose."

"Sounds fascinating," said Carson as he set his tray on the table and sat down.

"That is one way of putting it," said Radek. "This young lady is trying to convince me that not only does God play dice with the universe, but that the dice are loaded."

"It's basic Arithmancy -well, not so basic, actually, but if you limit the allowable frequencies of the energy pulse to correspond to the values with greatest magical resonance, I'm positive you can influence the result." Hermione was almost vibrating with enthusiasm, Carson thought, and in a way it reminded him of the way Rodney got, when he was deep in some theory that was perfectly obvious to him - and, more often than not, perfectly opaque to everybody else.

Radek shook his head. "What you are saying is to me complete nonsense. Perhaps the magic gene is required to understand what you call Arithmancy."

"It sounds like nonsense to me, too," said Carson. "Sorry, Hermione."

"In your case, it is not the lack of the gene, but the lack of a physics degree," said Radek. "It is an extremely complex situation. Hermione and I have been arguing this since - lunchtime?"

"Not quite," said Hermione, smiling.

"Close enough. But I do not mind arguing with Hermione. She is prettier than Rodney, and unlike him she is polite enough to say when she's wrong."

"Which is not the case here."

"You have yet to convince me," said Radek as he stood. "You can try again tomorrow." He nodded his head at them and walked off.

"So. Are you accomplishing great things?" Carson asked.

"It's much too early to tell. We've barely got started with the theory; we don't dare try integrating magic into your Ancient technology until we have the basics down pat."

"Like us practicing the Jelly-legs Jinx instead of the Patronus Charm."

"Exactly," she said. "Learn the fundamentals and then move on to the tricky bits. Although in my case just getting your people to open their minds is the first step." She sighed. "At least Radek listens to me. Some of the scientists seem to think I must be an idiot, because I don't have their sort of education. They treat me like a child."

"Well, you are rather young. Actually, most of your lot are quite young."

"Yes, and do you know why? The older witches and wizards would never be able to adapt to something like this." She waved her arm to take in the room, the city. "Can you imagine Professor McGonagall getting on a spaceship? I don't believe she's ever even been in a car."

"Oh, I wasn't complaining. Your friend Harry is an excellent teacher. I imagine he has a great deal of experience despite his youth."

Hermione's expression was a mirror of the hard look Harry had given him in the gymnasium. "You could say that. Considering that his curriculum vitae includes defeating Voldemort."

"Ah." He swallowed. "He killed my father, you know. Voldemort. Although I had thought he'd been killed shortly after."

"It turns out he wasn't actually dead." She looked down at her food. "It's a very long story, and it doesn't have a completely happy ending. You might say we had our trial by fire." Her eyes met his; they were old eyes, eyes that had seen too much, and they were at odds with her young, unlined face. "A great deal of experience, yes."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's all right. When you've lived your whole life - well, since we were eleven, anyway - when you've had that kind of evil hanging over you like a great horrid cloud, the mindless hatred that he preached about people like me - I'm Muggleborn, you see - and knowing that my best friend was going to have to kill him or be killed...." She shook her head, giving him a shaky smile. "Can you believe it? It's been nearly seven years, and I still get angry and upset just thinking about it."

"I understand," he said. Because the too-old look in her eyes was the same look that the people of the Pegasus galaxy had, the Hoffans and the Athosians and everybody else, the cultures who had always lived under the shadow of the Wraith. Hermione and her friends had a lot to teach them, he suspected. And it wasn't just Arithmancy and the Jelly-legs Jinx.

The devices they'd brought back with them from the abandoned Wraith laboratory had certainly proved to be useful. It wasn't that they did anything that the technology of the Ancients couldn't; in fact, they weren't much more advanced than Earth laboratory equipment. But the way they worked - their design, their calibrations, the scales they used - all of this gave Carson just a little more insight into what they were facing.

For example, one of the items seemed to be designed to release a chemical stimulus into - something. Carson wasn't quite sure what was involved, as the chemical reservoir was empty; the residue he scraped from it seemed to be a neurochemical transmitter of some sort, compatible with their Wraith tissue samples. But the interesting thing was that rather than using a needle to deliver the chemical, as one would normally do if one were injecting a substance into living tissue, the device terminated in an odd sort of plug that looked a bit like the USB port on his laptop computer.

Perhaps Rodney would have an idea about it, he thought. Rodney had been anxious to get his hands on the devices when they'd first brought them back, but Carson had waved him off, promising that he'd bring them by after he had had the chance to look at them. But then the Daedalus had returned with its cargo of wands, witches, and wizards, and both of them had been far too busy.

Rodney's lab was buzzing with activity. Miko and Hermione were deep in discussion in one corner, Radek was wiring something together in another, and at the far end two of the new wizards were pointing their wands at a Wraith stunner, muttering incantations. Carson finally found Rodney at a terminal, looking at diagrams and schematics labeled in the Ancient script.

"Yes, what is it?" said Rodney, glancing up as he approached.

Carson held out the device. "It's one of the things I brought back from the Wraith laboratory. I'm not sure what this part is meant to do," he said, indicating the pluglike connector.

"What does the rest of it do?" As Carson explained, Rodney took the object and turned it over in his hands. "Hmm. You know what this reminds me of...just a minute." He put it down on the desk and tapped a few keys on the terminal, bringing up an image that looked somewhat like the inside of a cathedral, only oddly distorted. The resolution was much lower than the usual quality of the images stored in the Ancient databases, Carson noted. "Here it is."

"And it is...?"

"A hive ship. I downloaded these schematics from the Wraith data recorder we, er, obtained from the Genii. Hang on a second." He manipulated the image, bringing it into slightly better focus and zooming in on one small section of what must have been a wall. "This is only a guess - the quality of that recorder was worse than the cassette tape on the Heathkit I had in third grade. But I think your device is meant to plug into a receptacle...there," he said, stabbing his finger at a spot on the image that looked vaguely like the female match to the fitting on the device.

"That can't be right," said Carson. "It doesn't need electricity. And anyway -"

"Of course not. It's not a power plug. The connection's obviously designed to inject some chemical into the hive ship itself."

"Obviously? Rodney, what use would a neurotransmitter be on a spaceship?"

"A hive ship is no ordinary spaceship," said Rodney, bringing up another image on the screen. "I wasn't exactly taking notes when we snuck aboard, considering that staying alive was the priority. But when I cut into the wall to get to the door controls, it was like cutting into flesh. Not metal, or plastic - it wasn't like the wall of an airplane. It was like cutting into someone's chest." He wrinkled his nose and held up a hand. "Although of course you know what that's like better than I do."

Incredible, thought Carson. "So the Wraith ships are alive?"

"Not exactly. But they're not entirely inert. They seem to be a kind of hybrid between living tissue and machine. It's all part of the system that keeps the Wraith alive while they're dormant."

"The ships are composed of living tissue?" Hermione's voice came from behind them; Carson hadn't seen her approach. He turned to see her eyes shining, her face flushed with excitement. "That could be the key to turning the Patronus Charm into a large-scale weapon. Is the tissue of the ship the same as that of the Wraith?"

"That would be a reasonable assumption," said Rodney.

"This device shows traces of a Wraith neurotransmitter," said Carson, nodding. "It makes sense that the biological component of their ship would be compatible with their own biology."

Rodney's eyes went wide. "Their weakness. That's it." He snapped his fingers. "The captain of the Aurora told us they had information about a weakness in the technology of the Wraith ships, but we weren't able to find out exactly what it was. That's got to be it. If we can manufacture a chemical that will interfere -"

"We don't need a chemical," said Hermione. "We've got a spell."

"Oh, you've got a spell, do you," muttered Rodney. He looked over at Carson and rolled his eyes. "She and her - her colleagues have been putting together a method of interfacing with Ancient technology using harmonic amplifiers."

"Magic wands," said Hermione, grinning.

"As long as it works," said Carson.

Rodney and Hermione must have found something that worked, because over the next few weeks the magic lessons became more serious and more difficult. No longer were they practicing basic attack and defense skills with minor hexes and jinxes. Harry and Kingsley began teaching the Patronus Charm; at least this was something Carson already knew how to do. But at the same time the atmosphere in Atlantis was subtly shifting, from a city of scientists studying their surroundings to a city preparing for war. And this was something Carson dreaded.

It wasn't as though he hadn't expected it. Their subterfuge of pretending to destroy Atlantis had worked for longer than anyone had dared hope, but when John Sheppard had been held prisoner by the Wraith queen, she had pulled the knowledge of Atlantis out of his head, just as the Keeper had learned of Earth from Colonel Sumner. Everyone in Atlantis knew the Wraith would be coming again. It was just a matter of when.

"The point is," said John, gesturing with a carrot stick at the others sitting at his table in the mess, "if we can bring the battle to them, we can keep it away from us. At least for a while."

Rodney frowned. "Oh, great. Remember what happened last time you tried to blow up a hive ship? No, thank you."

"Are we even close to being able to do that?" asked Carson. Nothing had been announced yet, but the tension was palpable throughout Atlantis. Elizabeth had suspended off-world missions; the Aurors and Agents were being trained to fly the puddle jumpers, and even he had been asked to make a few more practice runs, despite his protests that he was far more useful - not to mention skilled - as a doctor rather than a pilot.

In the jumper bay there had been parts scattered across the floor, teams of engineers doing arcane and complicated things to the jumpers that weren't being used for flight lessons. Carson had recognized the wizards who had been working with Rodney; Radek and Hermione had been there as well, but they were obviously very busy, and he hadn't wanted to interrupt them with questions. It was easy enough to find Rodney and John in the mess at lunchtime, because if anybody knew what was going on it would be them.

"Can we do that?" he asked again, looking from one to the other. John shrugged and tilted his chin in Rodney's direction.

Rodney's mouth twitched a little. "Maybe. I don't know. They've got some ideas about incorporating their so-called spells into the jumper weapons systems." No need to ask who they were. "Personally, I think it's hopeless."

"You always say that," John pointed out.

"That's because I'm always being asked to do hopeless things."

"Well? You do them, and they work, don't they?"

"Yes," said Rodney. "When they involve the laws of physics, and other reasonable, rational things that I understand, they work." He glared at Carson as though he held him personally responsible for the wizarding presence in Atlantis. "These weapons modifications have no rational basis."

John gave Carson a conspiratorial smile. "He's just upset because he can't make a Patronus."

"That's nonsense," said Rodney, ostentatiously digging into his meal. "I'm sure I could, if I decided to use my considerable brainpower on something worthless and ultimately self-deluding, rather than the important research that I prefer to spend my time on."

"See?" said John.

Carson hid his smile by taking a bite of his own food. He'd heard that John and Rodney were partnered for magic lessons; what he wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall during their practices! Then again, it was probably dangerous to be in the same room with them while they were casting spells. The way Atlantis so strongly responded to his ATA gene, Sheppard must be an extremely powerful wizard. And Rodney was doubtless caught between his disdain for magic and his ego, which was not very good at coming in second best at anything. He nodded toward John. "I take it you've mastered the spell?"

John grinned. "Yeah. I get a hawk. I like it." Rodney rolled his eyes.

Not too surprising, really, thought Carson. Miko's Patronus was a housecat; he wondered what Rodney's would be, if he ever managed to cast the spell. Probably something small and bad-tempered, like a wolverine. "But we're not going up against the Wraith one-on-one, are we?" he said.

"Not if we can help it. That's what the jumper modifications are all about."

"Right," said Rodney, stabbing his fork viciously into the cutlet on his plate. "We're going up against hive ships with puddle jumpers. Unless you put a nuclear bomb in them, which we are not doing again, thank you very much," he said, with a meaningful glance toward John, "the chances of us doing anything other than dying miserably are very, very small."

"That's not what Zelenka is saying," John said.

Carson frowned. "He doesn't have the ATA gene."

"He knows more about jumpers than anybody else, though. And I guess the guys with the magic are doing their part. Zelenka seems to think they're on to something."

Rodney sniffed. "I'll believe it when I see it."

When Dr. Weir made the announcement that their deep-space sensors had detected two hive ships on a course for Atlantis, the formless discomfort that had been swirling around the city settled, taking on almost measurable shape and weight. Or at least it seemed that way to Carson. The city's pace quickened; people walked faster down the corridors, spoke nervously and urgently, worked with a quiet, crackling intensity.

He was in his laboratory going through some gene sequencing information he'd found in the Ancient database when Hermione appeared at the door. She looked tired - they all looked tired - but her face was shining. "I think we've got it," she announced as she dropped into a chair. Her hair was pulled back, a few escaped tendrils framing her face; her barely suppressed excitement reminded him a little of how Perna had been, when they'd been developing the anti-Wraith drug together, and he couldn't help but feel apprehensive. There were so many ways things could go wrong.

"Sounds wonderful," he said. "What exactly have we got?"

"Oh! I suppose nobody thought to tell you. Even though it was your idea." He frowned, trying to remember what he could have said, and she prompted him: "About the hive ships having a biological component."

"That's what you've been working on?"

She nodded. "We've come up with a way to combine and amplify spells through the weapons systems on the puddle jumpers, so we can cast Patronus at the hive ships. Assuming they've got Wraith biology in them, they should react much like the Wraith do. And the Wraith in them should be affected as well."

Carson stared at her, dumbfounded. Casting the Patronus at hive ships? Might as well throw rocks at them, he thought, and shook his head. "That's a terribly big assumption, Hermione. We don't even know why it is that the spell works against the Wraith!"

"It works because the Wraith are related to Dementors. They feed on the human life force, and so the only way to repel them is through human joy," she said, and he heard an echo of Professor McGonagall in her voice. Then she shrugged. "Of course, if you're asking about the fundamental operation of magic, I'm as baffled as you are."

"And you have a way to shoot spells from a jumper?"

She lifted her chin, with more than a hint of pride. "We levitated the Daedalus yesterday."

"You didn't," he said, impressed.

"It wasn't easy," she admitted. "It took twelve of us, in four puddle jumpers. But we lifted it nearly three meters."

"And Colonel Caldwell allowed it?"

"We didn't tell him." Her smile broadened. "Colonel Sheppard sent one of his men to make sure he stayed in his office. We didn't want him to think we were firing on his precious spaceship!"

"I should say not," he said, unable to keep from smiling along with her. Then something struck him. "Hermione, if you can amplify any spell at all, why not use something against the ships themselves? There must be spells that can be used as weapons."

"We thought of that from the first, actually. But there aren't many offensive spells which operate on things rather than on people." She began ticking spells off on her fingers. "You can't cast Incendio in space, because even wizarding fire needs oxygen to burn. Diffindo is more suited to cutting thin stuff like fabric. We tried to sever a metal plate, but even a dozen wizards together couldn't manage it. Reducto - well, we're hoping to use that one as well, in combination with the Patronus Charm. It should be more effective than the energy weapons the jumpers normally use. But the military have told us that the hive ships won't be taken down by simply blasting a few holes in them."

"And you think the Patronus will do it?"

"It's our best hope," she said. "And we don't have a great deal of time to come up with alternatives. Dr. Weir said the hive ships will be here in less than two weeks."

It was an eerie and uncomfortable flashback to the first time the Wraith had come to Atlantis. They'd had only two weeks then as well, from the moment the ships' signatures appeared on the deep-space scanners, and they also had a new and untested weapon they had hoped would give them the edge. The weapons satellite had destroyed one of the approaching ships, but it had then been destroyed itself, and that had left them with nothing to fall back on but their own wits.

The subterfuge they'd used during that siege would not work a second time. The mix of magic and Ancient technology would have to do the job - or the Wraith would almost certainly win.

The meeting was held in the mess hall, the only room in the central part of the city large enough to hold so many people. Carson scanned the room behind him as he took a seat in the front row; it looked as though all of Atlantis's military were there, along with Colonel Caldwell and several of his crew from the Daedalus. Ronon and Teyla were there too, of course; they were practically part of the Atlantian military now, even if they had no official rank.

The only scientists who had been required to attend were those who had the ATA gene, although he recognized several others who were no doubt curious, or perhaps simply worried. All the wizards and witches who had come from Earth were there; Hermione slid into the seat next to him, and they had just enough time to exchange brief hellos before Dr. Weir stepped up to the improvised podium.

"Good morning. As you know, two Wraith hive ships are on their way to Atlantis. Scouts, we assume. On their present course, they'll be here in little more than a week. That is, if they get here at all." Her lip quirked in the tiniest of smiles. "If they see Atlantis, they'll know that we only pretended to destroy the city - so our plan is to meet them first. Dr. McKay?"

Rodney moved next to her. "Yes, well. The Wraith ships have to drop out of hyperspace periodically, and in about two days they will be stopping at a point nine hours by jumper from the gate in orbit around M4X-102. The Daedalus should get there in, what, a day?" He looked at Caldwell.

"Twenty-one hours."

"Close enough. The jumper weapons systems have been modified with an experimental technology conduit that can be accessed by those of you with the ATA gene."

Hermione snorted softly and turned to whisper in Carson's ear. "He still can't bring himself to call it magic."

"Those of you who know basic math can see this leaves us very little time to prepare. So beginning immediately after this meeting," Rodney continued, waving a hand toward Harry, slouched against the wall, "Potter and his people will show everyone how to activate the modified systems. The conduit multiplies the effective power inherent in the gene, so each jumper will be manned by three people, all of whom must have the gene."

"And that's my cue," Sheppard said, striding to the podium. "This is a military operation, and I know a lot of you didn't sign up for the military side of things. And I'm sorry about that. But we need everybody who can - who can use magic," he finally said, shooting a sidelong glance to Rodney, who crossed his arms with an aggrieved-sounding huff.

"Like McKay said, each jumper team will have three people. We'll be going out in two strike forces of six jumpers each. Strike Force Alpha will be led by me in Jumper One, with Dr. Beckett and Ms. Granger."

Sheppard continued listing the members of each team, but he could have been reciting a nursery rhyme for all that Carson heard him. What in God's name did the man think he was doing, putting him in the lead jumper? He was a doctor, not a bloody fighter pilot! No matter that John was going to be doing the actual flying. He was more likely to get in the way than anything else, he thought gloomily. It would be just his luck; John would probably get knocked out, and the work would fall to him, and he'd cock up everything.

And they couldn't make a hash of this mission. It was far more serious and complex than the time he'd gone after the Wraith dart with Sergeant Bates - and when they'd landed he'd sworn to never do that again. True, he'd become more accustomed to using magic, and his skills at piloting a jumper had improved considerably, but he wasn't remotely qualified to shoot down a pigeon - let alone a hive ship.

He returned his attention to the podium just as Sheppard was finishing up. "Any questions?"

"Yes," said Rodney, who was glaring at Sheppard with an expression that promised mutiny. "I couldn't help but noticing that not only am I not on your team, I'm not on any team."

"Not now, McKay," said John in an undertone that barely reached Carson's ears.

"Yes, now. What, I'm not good enough -"

"It's because you haven't mastered the Patronus Charm," said Harry from his spot against the wall. "Sorry, Dr. McKay, but it's a critically important part of our strategy."

Reddening, Rodney turned away, and John shrugged apologetically. "Don't feel so bad. Kavanagh can't do it either."

"Oh, great. You're comparing me to Kavanagh?"

"Rodney," John said warningly, before turning back to the room. "Anyone else?"

Major Lorne raised a hand, and Sheppard nodded to him. "Exactly how are we supposed to get close enough to the hive ships to fire, sir? They're going to have cruisers and darts protecting them."

"That's a very good question," said Sheppard. "Which brings us to Colonel Caldwell's part of the show."

Caldwell moved to the podium. "I'll be taking the Daedalus to the M4X-102 rendezvous point where we will meet the jumpers coming through the gate. My men will be running interference in the F-302s." He looked out at the assembled soldiers and nodded toward a knot of his men sitting together at a group of tables in the rear - they must be the fighter pilots, Carson realized. Grim-faced and silent, they nodded back. "We'll lay covering fire and clear a path for the jumpers to get close enough to the hive ships to do their thing. The Daedalus will serve as communications center for the duration of the operation."

"You need me to come with you on the Daedalus," said Rodney, stepping forward. "We'll have to keep separate radio frequencies for the two strike forces, as well as scramble them at periodic intervals to keep the Wraith from intercepting our signals - I've got an algorithm we can install - and of course we might need to direct the -"

Caldwell held up his hand. "All right, all right. You're on the Daedalus."

"I'm coming too," said Ronon.

"And I as well," said Teyla.

Caldwell looked over to John, then sighed. "I was afraid of that. All right, you're coming. Anybody else?" he growled, looking around the room as though daring people to respond. After a moment of silence, he nodded once, sharply. "Good. We're leaving in four hours."

"The rest of you should be ready to leave tomorrow. Early. And practice your Patronus," said Sheppard.

"Sir," said one of the Marines. "If the hive ships break your line and make it to Atlantis, we won't have anybody back here who can fly the jumpers."

Sheppard looked at him for a moment. "If the hive ships make it to Atlantis, it won't matter, Lieutenant."

"Well, here it is," said Hermione as they got up to leave. "I'm anxious to see if our modifications work as expected."

"You're only anxious?" said Carson. He shook his head. "I'm bloody terrified."

He only caught a glimpse of M4X-102, clouds stranded like pearls across the dark blue of its ocean, before their jumper was pointed out to space and accelerating away from the gate.

"It's beautiful," breathed Hermione. Carson had gladly given her the right-hand seat up front, and her head turned to watch the planet as it receded behind them. "The Daedalus was rather boring, you know. Nothing but space and hyperspace. But this - for the first time I really feel like I'm in a real spaceship. Exploring strange new worlds."

"Seeking out new life, new civilizations," said John. "And killing them."

"You had to say that," muttered Carson.

"They're the Wraith. We kill them, or they kill us. I know which one I'd choose."

Just then the radio crackled to life. "Jumper Twelve, through the gate, sir."

"Excellent." An image sprang up on the large front window, the phalanx of twelve jumpers. The bulk of the Daedalus hung above them, like a mother goose herding her goslings. "We've got about nine and a half hours to the battle zone, so I suggest you all get some rest. No unnecessary radio traffic. Jumper One out." He looked over his shoulder at Carson. "I think I'll take my own advice. Doc, you want to take over?"

"I don't want to, but I will. Hermione, you'll take a turn as well, won't you?"

"Of course."

"I'll be at the controls when things heat up," John assured him, sliding out of the seat and stretching. "Anything out of the ordinary happens, let me know."

A companionable quiet descended on them as the jumper slid through space. The only sound was the light hum of Ancient electronics; the ride was smooth, thanks to the jumper's inertial dampers, and with only the distant stars as a backdrop behind the front window, it almost seemed as though they were not moving at all.

That was a nice illusion, thought Carson. A pity it wasn't true; a pity that with each passing minute they drew closer to the spot that Rodney had indicated on their star maps, the spot where the Wraith ships would materialize out of hyperspace, the spot where the battle for Atlantis - this particular battle for Atlantis - would be fought. A ragtag army of scientists and witches, flying spaceships and waving wands. God knows what Caldwell was thinking, up there on the Daedalus.

At least Colonel Sheppard seemed to have faith in Hermione, and in him, and in this whole crazy venture. Carson only dimly understood the Colonel's battle plan, but he supposed it didn't matter. Really, he was not even a soldier; he was a part of the weapon, and like a cannon, he had no say in how he was to be fired.

When they approached the designated point of battle, Hermione had been at the helm for some time. He'd tried to nap, but it had been hopeless, and instead they'd ended up talking in low voices about Scotland, about the green hills that surrounded Hogwarts, about the forests and fields of home, until he was almost sick with longing. What was it about the eve of battle that made soldiers want to tell stories of their homes, he wondered.

To take his mind from Scotland he told Hermione stories of the early days in Atlantis, about their arrival in the slumbering city and its rise from the depths of the ocean; about the wonders they had found, far beyond anything they had imagined when they'd first studied the things the Ancients had left on Earth; about the days of discovery that had given way to the serious business of learning to survive on a strange planet, in a strange galaxy.

"And yet it is home to you now," said Hermione. There was a wistful undertone in her voice, and he supposed that she was feeling homesick herself, missing her family or perhaps a sweetheart. "I can tell you love it very much," she said.

He opened his mouth to protest, to say it was only of Scotland that he thought of, when he thought of home, but he realized before he spoke that she was right, perfectly right. Atlantis was home, and they weren't out here only to keep the Wraith from their portal to Earth, but to defend the city itself, their city. The situation wasn't quite the same as it had been the previous time the Wraith had threatened Atlantis; if they failed here and were forced to destroy the city to keep it from falling to the Wraith, they wouldn't be stuck in the Pegasus galaxy, not now that they had the Daedalus. They could return to Earth; he could return to Scotland. But it would be an unimaginably hard loss to bear. Atlantis had come to be home.

It was almost a relief when space rippled and the Wraith ships appeared. The jumpers had been holding their positions in formation, cloaked and quiet, with the Daedalus stationed far enough away that it would not be considered an immediate threat - or so they hoped. Colonel Sheppard had explained that the jumpers' stealth mode made them invisible not just to the eye but to the Wraith sensors, but even so, Carson felt a deep thrill of unease at the sight of the hulking hive ships and their cruiser escorts. As they watched, darts began emerging from their bays, presumably to go on a culling expedition to M4X-102.

"Right on time," muttered Sheppard, and keyed his mike. "Target sighted. Strike Force Alpha, we're taking the guy on the left. Beta, you're on the right."

"Acknowledged," came Lorne's voice over the radio.

"We got some F-302s?"

"On their way," said Colonel Caldwell. "Good luck."

Sheppard switched off his radio and turned to Hermione. "That's your department, isn't it?"

"Actually, ensuring luck through magic is quite complicated," she started, but Sheppard, who was focused on the ships in front of them, waved a hand and she fell silent.

"Come on, come on," he murmured. Carson wasn't sure what he was looking for so intently, but after a moment he evidently saw it. "Alpha, move out." Sheppard's hands flickered across the controls and their jumper began flying toward the hive ship. The Wraith darts were flying back toward the planet, swarming around the bigger ship like bees, and the jumper dove abruptly from side to side as Sheppard deftly maneuvered between them. Carson supposed the other five jumpers strung out alongside them were doing the same. He couldn't imagine the skill it took to avoid the darts, let alone the other invisible jumpers, and he was heartily glad it was John and not himself at the controls.

The cruisers seemed to be heading toward the far side of the hive ship, and he realized that the specks in the distance must be the F-302s, drawing them away so the jumpers could have clear shots. No doubt the cloaked jumpers could have slipped through the cordon easily enough, but as soon as they started firing their positions would be revealed, and it was good to know they'd have a bit of room.

The jumper slowed as they neared the hive ship, then hovered, motionless. It was like sidling up to an oil tanker in a rowboat. At this range the hive ship filled the entire window, its gray, featureless surface stretching out of sight in all directions.

"Okay, we're three hundred meters off, as planned. Close enough?" Sheppard asked. With the jumpers all in stealth mode, it looked as though they were alone, a gnat poised to bite an elephant.

"It should be," said Hermione.

"Alpha, report," said Sheppard, and one after another, the other jumpers checked in. "Sounds like we're all here." He thumbed his radio to change the channel. "Alpha ready." It seemed an infinity of time before Major Lorne responded, although it was probably only thirty seconds.

"Beta ready."

"Well, I guess we're ready to rumble, people." He pulled out his wand and turned to Hermione and Carson. "On the count of three."

Carson took a deep breath as he touched the tip of his wand to the weapons-system crystal that sparkled on the edge of the console, laying it alongside the others' wands. The fine hairs on the back of his arm rose as the magic seemed to whisper to itself, curling around the cockpit and gathering in the crystal.

"One."

The steely gray side of the hive ship became the flank of a trout, twisting in the current, leaping to his fly. He heard his father's voice, a low rumble of encouragement, and he smiled.

"Two."

In his mind the dancing rivers of Scotland merged into the deep blue ocean around Atlantis, the endless waves that lapped against the city, clean and bright and beautiful. As he focused on his memories, he felt the energy vibrating through him, coming to the surface, pouring into his wand ready to be released.

"Three," said Sheppard. " Expecto patronum!"

The words burst from their mouths at the same time, sounding unnaturally loud in the small space of the puddle jumper. Carson's wand hand tingled as the buzz of magic spilled across his fingers; the crystal glowed white-bright, and through the window he saw a sharp arc of silver energy leaping from the weapons pods on the jumper's sides. To either side, more coruscating beams arced from apparently nowhere, spreading and merging into a silvery net as they raced toward the hive ship. As it hit the side of the hive ship, the pulse of energy brightened to an intensity that was almost painful to look at, and Carson closed his eyes briefly, seeing the white flare even behind his eyelids - and then it was gone.

He opened his eyes. "Did it work?" The ship looked exactly as it had before: a bleak, foreboding wall of gray. All this for nothing, he thought, and his heart sank. They would be killed; they would be taken, and sucked dry of their life, and then the Wraith would take Atlantis, and maybe even Earth.

"I don't know yet," said Hermione tensely.

"Well, it certainly made them angry," said Sheppard. The cruisers had changed course and were headed back toward them, F-302s in pursuit. Missile after missile from the fighters found its mark, and as they watched, one cruiser slowed and then exploded in a shower of fragments. Two cruisers still remained, and soon they'd be close enough to fire on the jumpers' positions. "We'd better get out of here," he said, and keyed the radio. "Alpha jumpers, fall back." He dropped his wand on the console and reached for the controls.

"Wait," said Hermione, touching his wrist. "Look at the hive ship."

The gray wall was no longer uniform. A large spot of darker gray marked the place where the energy pulse of their combined Patronuses had hit; as they watched, its center darkened, and its edges crept out farther across the ship's side. It was like a coffee stain seeping into a paper towel, gradually spreading, and Carson watched, transfixed, as the center darkened to black, then crumbled into fine dust. For a moment it looked as though the blackness would eat the entire ship, that the whole thing would disintegrate, Wraith and all, but the slow outward movement of the edge of the stain soon stopped. Still, a large fraction of the hive ship was affected, and it was clearly very badly damaged.

"Sir, I suggest a second volley near the dart bay," Lorne's voice came over the radio.

"Good idea, Major; coordinate your team and I'll get mine." Sheppard was already jockeying them upward and out, away from the damaged area; with one hand he tapped his frequency control. "All right, Strike Force Alpha, move out toward the rear of the hive ship and let's do it again. We'll have to drop out of stealth mode so we don't crash into each other, so try not to get hit."

This was easier said than done, thought Carson gloomily as Sheppard maneuvered them alongside the hive ship. More darts were already beginning to fly out of the larger ship, like fleeing rats; the darts that had headed for the planet were looping back, and the cruisers that had been drawn away by the F-302s were closing in.

A bright flash off to their side showed that one jumper had not managed to evade every shot. It was not destroyed, but it was damaged; darts swarmed toward it like ants at a picnic, eager to attack. Two F-302s zoomed to the rescue, but there were too many darts.

A silvery glow shot out of the damaged jumper; its crew must have cast the Patronus Charm again, but the glow from the spell passed apparently harmlessly across the darts.

A panicked voice on the radio called out, "It's not working!"

"Their darts must have a different composition," said Hermione, frowning. "Although if there's a line of sight to the Wraith aboard, the spell ought to act directly on them."

Sheppard shook his head. "The canopy's opaque, so you can't see the pilot." He smiled grimly. "First-hand knowledge I wish I didn't have."

"Tell them to try Reducto," Hermione said, but the witch or wizard aboard the other jumper must have thought of that at the same time, because a wave of force shot out from its weapons pods, smashing the dart into fragments.

"We should help them," said Carson, reaching his wand toward the weapons-control crystal.

"We need to destroy the hive ship first," said Sheppard. "Otherwise we'll be doing nothing but dodging darts." It was already dizzying, the way they looped and dove among the Wraith craft, and Carson nodded, although the thought of leaving the injured jumper to fend for itself made his gut twist, and when another bright flare behind them coincided with the flickering disappearance of the jumper's image on the aft display he took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, and wished he had no part in this battle.

He opened his eyes again at the sound of Caldwell's voice on the radio. "We have closed well within range to fire on the second ship, Major, if you want to get your team out of the way."

"Negative, sir," responded Lorne's voice. "We've just made our second attack. The hive ship should be - there," he finished, satisfaction evident in his voice.

There was a pause. Then: "I'll be damned," said Caldwell, sounding awed. Carson pressed his face to the glass, wondering what had happened, but the hive ship that the other team had attacked was behind them. All he could see was their own target, oncoming darts, and a cruiser above them, a cruiser that was - good Lord in Heaven - firing a torpedo at them. He opened his mouth to croak a warning, but Sheppard was already throwing the jumper into a dive, rolling away from a blast that rocked them but did no apparent damage. A moment later they were dodging a barrage of shrapnel as the cruiser exploded, and Caldwell's voice came across the radio again. "You can thank me later."

"Thank you, sir," said Sheppard into the mike. "All right, we're in range. On three."

As soon as the spell was cast, shimmering silver racing toward the hive ship, Sheppard dropped his wand and grabbed the controls to maneuver them away. "Let's get out of here," he growled into the mike, and the jumpers scattered as they scrambled to put as much distance as they could between them and the Wraith ships.

After a few moments, Sheppard looped them around in a quick circle, so they could see the hive ship through the large window at the front of the jumper. A second area of blackness was overtaking the first from where they'd made their second attack, and the area where they met rippled and heaved with a strange motion, almost as though the hive ship were alive and in agony. As they watched, the ship gave a final shudder and then broke into three pieces, each slowly drifting away from the center, surrounded by a cloud of dust and shimmering particles of ice.

"Good Lord," breathed Carson. It was an awesome sight: that impossibly huge ship, reduced to dust and rubble by their spells. He felt a pang of regret that they had not been able to even think about rescuing the humans who were no doubt aboard, cocooned for later feeding by the Wraith; but they'd killed many Wraith and perhaps saved many of the people on M4X-102 - as well as those in Atlantis, and on Earth.

"We're not done yet," said Sheppard. "We've still got one cruiser left." But even as he said the words, the remaining cruiser shimmered and slid into hyperspace. "Huh. Never mind. Let's hope they don't come back too quickly with reinforcements."

Carson nodded. The first time hive ships had come to Atlantis, the cruisers had also disappeared when the hive ships were destroyed - only to return with twelve more. But the hive ships had scattered after the mock destruction of Atlantis; perhaps it would take more time for them to gather together again. And if they were lucky, the Wraith still alive would report that the Atlantians had a new and fearsome weapon, and recommend they be left alone.

"Now what?" Hermione asked.

"Now it's mop-up time." The jumper executed a smooth dip and came up under a dart that was heading for one of the F-302s. "Can we use the drones?"

"Not without swapping out the control crystals," she said. "But Reducto will work."

They cast the spell, and the dart exploded; then they chased another, and did it again. With no hive ship to retreat to, the darts were apparently making suicide runs, wild attacks against the jumpers and the F-302s. Lorne reported the same situation in his sector.

"If you're tired of dogfighting you can go back to the gate," said Caldwell, on the radio. "We'll finish them off."

"Sounds good," said Sheppard. He toggled the frequency. "All right, all jumpers back to the gate. Good work." As he switched off the radio, their jumper rocked abruptly.

Carson grabbed the edge of the console in alarm. "What was that?"

"I don't know, but I think we just got hit." The jumper was moving oddly, jerkily, twisting to the left, and Sheppard looked concerned as his hands skimmed across the controls. "Not a stunner blast. Shrapnel from an exploding dart, maybe."

Hermione was studying the crystal control box, frowning. "I think our left drive pod may be damaged."

"Can you fix it?"

"Me?" She shook her head, eyes wide with alarm. "I'm sorry. I don't know anything about the drive mechanism. I should have asked Radek. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," said Sheppard. "Good thing we have a back-up plan." He turned his mike back on. "Colonel Caldwell, can you give us a lift back to Atlantis?"

"Not a problem. Can you get to us?"

"I think we can limp along. Major Lorne, you've got the fleet."

"Acknowledged, sir," said Lorne's voice.

They turned toward the Daedalus, which had advanced closer to the wreckage of the hive ships. The F-302s were still engaged with the darts, but the other jumpers were only dim specks in the distance, flying toward the stargate.

"Get your wands ready," Sheppard said. "I see four darts heading this way, and I'm not sure I can get out of the way with - hmm."

"Hmm, what?" said Carson.

Sheppard pointed to where the darts were flying in formation ahead of them, away from them. "They didn't even take a shot."

"They're headed for the Daedalus," said Hermione.

"Oh, hell," said Sheppard. He clicked on his mike. "Colonel Caldwell, you've got a problem." As they watched, the darts swept over the Daedalus; one exploded in space, hit by one of the larger ship's rail guns, but below the others bloomed the distinctive blue of the culling beams. "I think you just picked up a few Wraith hitchhikers."

"Thanks for the warning," said another voice. Carson recognized it as Rodney's. "We'll take care of it."

"Don't play the hero, Rodney," John muttered, but Carson noticed that he hadn't toggled his mike. They flew awkwardly toward the Daedalus, John muttering, "Come on, come on," as though he could fix the damaged drive pod with his will alone.

No sooner had their jumper been secured in the F-302 bay than Sheppard grabbed a P-90, opened the rear door and sprang out. Carson and Hermione scrambled to follow, barely keeping up with his long strides.

"If it's Wraith, you don't need the gun, you know," said Hermione. She had her hand extended in front of her, holding her wand like a sword. Carson held his wand out as well, imitating her pose, but he admitted to himself that he was just as happy that John had the P-90.

"Force of habit," John told her, then clicked on his headset comm. "What's the situation?"

"One Wraith confirmed down," said Caldwell. "We've got teams hunting them."

"McKay?"

Rodney's voice broke in on the channel. "I'm perfectly all right, Colonel. I've got Teyla and Ronon with me. We're on our way to you now, to see if we can't - oh, shit!" The sound of gunfire echoed weirdly over the radio, and the three of them broke into a run.

Carson fumbled out his life-signs detector and directed them down a corridor, to the left, through a door, to the right - and then the noises of battle were coming over both the radio and down the hallway in a strange sort of unsynchronized stereo, and they followed their ears. Down the hall they ran, listening with dread to the clatter and slam of gunshots, grunts, voices screaming -

"Expecto patronum!"

They skidded around the corner. Spent shells and tossed-aside weapons littered the floor. Teyla lay slumped against the wall next to the sprawled, bullet-riddled body of a Wraith, her eyes blinking back pain. Standing over them both was Ronon, who was staring at Rodney, who stood trembling in the middle of the corridor, his wand clutched in his hands, wide eyes transfixed on the ashy pile of robes in front of him that had once been a Wraith, and the cloud of silver mist that hung above it, dissipating into the air.

"McKay," said John. "You all right?"

"A bear," said Rodney, in a voice filled with wonder. "It was a bear," he repeated. Then the wand slid from his fingers, and he crumpled to the ground.

The debriefing meeting had been long, and to Carson's mind, fairly dull. The conference room had been full, the table barely large enough to fit everybody around it, and it seemed that every one of them had had something to say about the battle.

Colonel Caldwell had complained about losing two F-302s and had made pointed remarks about better deployment of resources - meaning the Daedalus, Carson had to assume. Colonel Sheppard had countered with their successes, which were undeniable, and pointed out that in addition to the F302s only one jumper had been destroyed and two damaged, as contrasted to the utter annihilation of the Wraith fleet. Major Lorne had chimed in with something. Harry Potter, who'd been on Lorne's jumper, had argued something else. Even Ronon had made a few remarks. Carson imagined Teyla would have had something to contribute as well, had she not been still recovering from her injuries in the infirmary; for himself, he kept his head down and tried not to look as bored as he felt. The battle was over, and all he felt was relief.

When they had finally finished rehashing the battle and discussing future strategy to everybody's satisfaction, Carson was the first one out of his seat and through the door. Really, he had too much to do to waste time in these interminable meetings. The Daedalus would be heading back to Earth soon, and he needed to finish putting together a list of medical supplies for the next run back to Atlantis. Then he had to look in on Teyla, and check with Radek about whether the medication he'd given him for his ulcer was working all right; and there was the immunization program he was developing for the Athosians, who were having reactions to something on this planet that they'd apparently not been exposed to on Athos, and he had some ideas on the anti-Wraith retrovirus he wanted to explore -

"Carson!" It was Hermione, running to catch up with him. "I haven't had a chance to talk with you since the mission. I wanted to talk with you about the gene therapy."

"Oh, that," he said, as they started down the corridor together. That was a subject he'd hoped had been swept under the rug long ago. When the witches and wizards came on the Daedalus, none of them had asked him why there were suddenly all these untrained witches and wizards in Atlantis; Harry and Kingsley had just gone straight to work, teaching them the hexes and spells that most wizarding children knew by the time they hit adolescence. He had supposed that General O'Neill had told them about the gene therapy, had smoothed things over.

"I was thinking that it would be interesting to test it on some Squibs. It might make the difference between family acceptance and rejection, especially in some of the old pureblood families."

"Squibs?" he said faintly.

"Recessive cases where the parents have the gene and the child doesn't? When the parents' identity is bound up in being magical, it causes a lot of problems. It wasn't very long ago that it was legal to abandon a Squib child."

"Ah." These were the aspects of magic he had been happy to leave behind. His parents had been pleased he'd inherited his father's ability, but he knew they would have been just as happy if he hadn't.

"Of course, it might be that something else in their genetic makeup is what keeps the ability from being transmitted - there's your fifty-four percent failure rate, that might be related -"

"Hermione," he said, reaching out to put a hand on her arm. She looked up at him, those sharp eyes in her young, pretty face, and he shook his head. "I don't understand. I'd think you'd be upset about the gene therapy. We're creating wizards. That's got to be a problem."

"You're giving people the gift of magical ability! How is that a problem?"

He stared at her. "Are you mad? Can you imagine the rioting if this was made public, both from the Muggles and from the magical community? And you said it yourself - it doesn't even work half the time."

"But it's not public. And you're not going round all of Great Britain, turning everyone into wizards. Look, you need people with magic here in Atlantis. And the traditional magical community isn't going to provide you with the sort of people you need - scientists, engineers, doctors. It makes more sense to give your scientists magic than to try to turn witches into scientists."

"I suppose," he said. Certainly Atlantis was still full of unknown Ancient artifacts that required the gene for operation. And the battle had made it clear: the combination of magic and technology - or rather, the combination of the new magic developed on Earth with the old magic the Ancients had used - was their best hope for defeating the Wraith. Everyone in the meeting, even Rodney, had agreed.

"I've already drafted a letter to my successor about handling an influx of untrained witches and wizards when your people who've been given the gene go back to Earth. Of course we'll have to integrate them into the existing magical communities. Although most of them are American, aren't they. Hmm." Frowning, she dug in her pocket, pulling out a small spherical object which she tapped with her wand. She held it close to her mouth and spoke. "Reminder: tell Penelope to find out who handles Muggle relations in the American Department of Magic."

"Penelope?"

"She works with me in the Muggle Relations Office," said Hermione, putting the sphere back in her pocket as they continued down the hallway. "She's been doing my job while I've been gone, and I'm hoping she'll keep the position permanently."

Permanently - that's right, she had mentioned her successor. "I thought you were all going back on the Daedalus."

"Some of us are. But several of us are staying. After you defeat the most evil wizard to come to power in a half-century, ordinary life seems a little boring. But this...." She gave him an uncharacteristically shy smile. "I asked Dr. Weir if I could stay on. As a liaison to the magical world, sort of. And I think we can improve our magical weaponry interface - Dr. McKay had some brilliant suggestions, and I -"

"Just a moment. Rodney had suggestions about magic?"

"Oh, yes. Not that he's calling it that, mind you. But he's become a bit more open-minded." She grinned. "As far as he's concerned, when it's done by men with long white beards and pointy hats, it's magic. When he does it, it's technology."

A smile stole across Carson's face, and he nodded. "Clarke's Law."

"Exactly!" she said, beaming. "I didn't know you read science fiction."

"I don't, actually. But perhaps I should."

"Arthur C. Clarke was a wonderful writer. I think you'd enjoy his stories. I always did." She had that shy look again, as though she were a little embarrassed by the admission. "I started reading when I was quite young. Books were my refuge - I didn't get on well with the other girls my age, so I immersed myself in fantasy worlds, with unicorns, and dragons, and magic. And worlds where we traveled through space to other planets. You can imagine how I felt at age eleven, when I got my Hogwarts letter."

"Your fantasies came true."

"Some of them, yes. And then I came here, to Atlantis - and the rest of them did." He raised an eyebrow, and she laughed. "Well, most of them. But I think I'm the luckiest woman in the world - in the universe! Both magic and spaceships. How many people can say that?"

"Not many at all," he agreed, as they reached his office door. "I'm glad you're staying, Hermione."

"So am I," she said, giving him a radiant smile. "All right. I should be getting back to work."

He watched her head down the hallway for a moment, then went in to his office. Both magic and spaceships - well, that was true for both of them, wasn't it, although for him they had always been sources of trepidation rather than sources of joy. But he had to admit, he hadn't felt that way for a long time. Not since he had realized that the Ancient technology was magic, and that magic was scientific, endowed through his genes.

Sitting at his desk, he opened his laptop and pulled up the file containing his list of medical items they needed to replenish their stores. He looked over the requests he'd already marked down: syringes, latex gloves, ibuprofen, codeine. Then he smiled and reached for the keyboard.

In addition to the aforementioned medical supplies, I'd appreciate it if you would include one or two novels by Arthur C. Clarke.

story notes

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http://hieroglyfics.net/clarkeslaw.htm | written November 2005 by Isis