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mhalachaiAnother Quasi-Drabble entry.
Pictures of the Dead
A Stargate Atlantis/Harry Potter story
Missing Scene: #41 - Atlantis
Quasi-Drabble entry:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladynyxchaos SGA/Harry Potter- Hermione and Rodney and/or I.Q and lemons
Summary: The way Rodney saw it, this was all John Sheppard's fault.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Sony and MGM own all things Stargate Atlantis. J.K. Rowling owns all Harry Potter. I'm only borrowing and will return them at the end of the fic.
Spoilers: Slight spoilers for SGA 3.08 (McKay and Mrs. Miller), nothing for HP.
Word count:: 930
Note: Takes place after Songs Across the Oceans and Ancient Blood.
~*~
This was all John Sheppard's fault.
Sheppard's fault that the last mission had ended up with half his team in the hospital, Sheppard's fault that he was still unconscious in the infirmary after five days. Sheppard's fault that Rodney couldn't stop thinking about ways to go back and make it go different, with less blood and less pain and less disaster.
It was Sheppard's fault that Rodney ended up in the Colonel's quarters, sitting on the man's bed, staring at the walls, trying to understand.
Why hadn't Sheppard ducked when Rodney told him too? Why did he have to go back for those three people? If he hadn't, then the Wraith wouldn't--
Rodney knew better than this. Questioning human behavior was a waste of time; humans never behaved in normal patters, never played by the rules, never made the logical decisions. Sheppard was the worst. He changed his internal rules so often and for no discernable purpose that Rodney would never be able to understand the man.
The darkened room was still. Rodney hardly ever came into Sheppard's quarters; hell, Sheppard barely had enough time to sleep to come in this place. Sumner's tattered Johnny Cash poster hung on the wall over the bed and the dead man's guitar lay on the side board, and Rodney didn't understand.
Rodney didn't understand why Sheppard kept a dead man's belongings. True, the poster was one thing, but Rodney knew Sheppard didn't play guitar. Why did he keep them?
Standing up, Rodney crossed the floor to the sideboard. The shelves were covered with a thin layer of dust, but the guitar was clean. Rodney reached out and plucked the E-string. The perfectly tuned note hung in the air, almost an intrusion in the funereal atmosphere.
Underneath the guitar, Rodney spotted the corner of an envelope. Curious, he pulled out the envelope. The torn flap had been tucked into the envelope, and Rodney didn't hesitate to pull the flap loose. Into his hand spilled a sheaf of photographs wrapped in a piece of paper. The outer letter was unaddressed and undated.
Molly Weasley died last week. There was nothing the healers could do for her. Before she died, she asked me to find you and tell you that she loved you like a son.
Kingsley found these when he was going through her effects. I recognize the handwriting as yours. I know you wanted to get away from this, but too bad. None of us can escape our pasts.
--Tonks.
The letter could only have come on the Daedelus's last run, two days before the ill-fated mission that left Sheppard in a coma. Two days before Sheppard screwed up and got himself hurt.
More confused than anything, Rodney looked at the photographs. Most of them were of a young John Sheppard, his hair as messy as ever, but that was the only recognizable thing. Rodney hadn't known John had gone to some kind of weird private school, or that he had worn glasses.
And he certainly hadn't known that John Sheppard had flown on a broomstick.
Rodney blinked. No, that had to be an optical illusion, some kind of graphical trick. The boy in the picture couldn't have been riding on a broomstick. That wasn't possible.
That would be magic, and there was no such thing as magic, no matter what Ronon said.
The next picture in the pile didn't have Sheppard in it. A young girl with crazy hair flying everywhere gazed at the camera, a shy smile on her face. She reminded Rodney so strongly of his sister Jeanie that his breath caught in his throat for a moment.
Rodney turned the photograph over, to see Sheppard's messy scrawl on the back.
Hermione Granger, the smartest person I will ever know.
Died 7 September, 1989.
A strange feeling growing in his stomach, Rodney looked at the rest of the photographs, and at the names of the dead.
Ron Weasley
Ginny Weasley
Albus Dumbledore
Percy Weasley
Fred and George Weasley
Arthur Weasley
Bill Weasley
Fleur Delacour
Neville Longbottom
Luna Lovegood
Cedric Diggory
Draco Malfoy
Minerva McGonagall
Mum and Dad
Rodney stared at the people in the last photograph. A young woman and man, no older than twenty, holding a tiny baby.
John had his dead mother's eyes.
~~~
Rodney took the night shift by Sheppard's bed. Teyla lay asleep on a nearby cot, still recovering from her own injuries. Ronon had gone off to do whatever it was that he did to blow off steam. Elizabeth had stopped by and left, and Carson was somewhere in the other room.
Normally, Rodney didn't do this. There was no scientific evidence that people in comas registered their surroundings, but tonight, everything was different.
He looked down at the picture of Hermione Granger in his hands. The photograph of a dead girl, one of the missing pieces from Sheppard's past.
"We're not like them," Rodney said suddenly. "We're not going to die. So you don't have to do stupid stuff like try and get yourself killed, or keep a shrine to a dead man in your room. The dead don't care." He set the photograph by the bed. "I guess you don't, either. Get better or don't, but stop thinking that you're the only person who's ever lost everyone." Rodney glanced at Teyla, then back at John.
This is useless. Rodney stood up and walked out of the infirmary without a backwards glance. He had better things to do than wait for John Sheppard to find his way back to them.
end
A Stargate Atlantis/Harry Potter story
Missing Scene: #41 - Atlantis
Quasi-Drabble entry:
ladynyxchaos SGA/Harry Potter- Hermione and Rodney and/or I.Q and lemonsSummary: The way Rodney saw it, this was all John Sheppard's fault.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Sony and MGM own all things Stargate Atlantis. J.K. Rowling owns all Harry Potter. I'm only borrowing and will return them at the end of the fic.
Spoilers: Slight spoilers for SGA 3.08 (McKay and Mrs. Miller), nothing for HP.
Word count:: 930
Note: Takes place after Songs Across the Oceans and Ancient Blood.
This was all John Sheppard's fault.
Sheppard's fault that the last mission had ended up with half his team in the hospital, Sheppard's fault that he was still unconscious in the infirmary after five days. Sheppard's fault that Rodney couldn't stop thinking about ways to go back and make it go different, with less blood and less pain and less disaster.
It was Sheppard's fault that Rodney ended up in the Colonel's quarters, sitting on the man's bed, staring at the walls, trying to understand.
Why hadn't Sheppard ducked when Rodney told him too? Why did he have to go back for those three people? If he hadn't, then the Wraith wouldn't--
Rodney knew better than this. Questioning human behavior was a waste of time; humans never behaved in normal patters, never played by the rules, never made the logical decisions. Sheppard was the worst. He changed his internal rules so often and for no discernable purpose that Rodney would never be able to understand the man.
The darkened room was still. Rodney hardly ever came into Sheppard's quarters; hell, Sheppard barely had enough time to sleep to come in this place. Sumner's tattered Johnny Cash poster hung on the wall over the bed and the dead man's guitar lay on the side board, and Rodney didn't understand.
Rodney didn't understand why Sheppard kept a dead man's belongings. True, the poster was one thing, but Rodney knew Sheppard didn't play guitar. Why did he keep them?
Standing up, Rodney crossed the floor to the sideboard. The shelves were covered with a thin layer of dust, but the guitar was clean. Rodney reached out and plucked the E-string. The perfectly tuned note hung in the air, almost an intrusion in the funereal atmosphere.
Underneath the guitar, Rodney spotted the corner of an envelope. Curious, he pulled out the envelope. The torn flap had been tucked into the envelope, and Rodney didn't hesitate to pull the flap loose. Into his hand spilled a sheaf of photographs wrapped in a piece of paper. The outer letter was unaddressed and undated.
Molly Weasley died last week. There was nothing the healers could do for her. Before she died, she asked me to find you and tell you that she loved you like a son.
Kingsley found these when he was going through her effects. I recognize the handwriting as yours. I know you wanted to get away from this, but too bad. None of us can escape our pasts.
--Tonks.
The letter could only have come on the Daedelus's last run, two days before the ill-fated mission that left Sheppard in a coma. Two days before Sheppard screwed up and got himself hurt.
More confused than anything, Rodney looked at the photographs. Most of them were of a young John Sheppard, his hair as messy as ever, but that was the only recognizable thing. Rodney hadn't known John had gone to some kind of weird private school, or that he had worn glasses.
And he certainly hadn't known that John Sheppard had flown on a broomstick.
Rodney blinked. No, that had to be an optical illusion, some kind of graphical trick. The boy in the picture couldn't have been riding on a broomstick. That wasn't possible.
That would be magic, and there was no such thing as magic, no matter what Ronon said.
The next picture in the pile didn't have Sheppard in it. A young girl with crazy hair flying everywhere gazed at the camera, a shy smile on her face. She reminded Rodney so strongly of his sister Jeanie that his breath caught in his throat for a moment.
Rodney turned the photograph over, to see Sheppard's messy scrawl on the back.
Hermione Granger, the smartest person I will ever know.
Died 7 September, 1989.
A strange feeling growing in his stomach, Rodney looked at the rest of the photographs, and at the names of the dead.
Ron Weasley
Ginny Weasley
Albus Dumbledore
Percy Weasley
Fred and George Weasley
Arthur Weasley
Bill Weasley
Fleur Delacour
Neville Longbottom
Luna Lovegood
Cedric Diggory
Draco Malfoy
Minerva McGonagall
Mum and Dad
Rodney stared at the people in the last photograph. A young woman and man, no older than twenty, holding a tiny baby.
John had his dead mother's eyes.
Rodney took the night shift by Sheppard's bed. Teyla lay asleep on a nearby cot, still recovering from her own injuries. Ronon had gone off to do whatever it was that he did to blow off steam. Elizabeth had stopped by and left, and Carson was somewhere in the other room.
Normally, Rodney didn't do this. There was no scientific evidence that people in comas registered their surroundings, but tonight, everything was different.
He looked down at the picture of Hermione Granger in his hands. The photograph of a dead girl, one of the missing pieces from Sheppard's past.
"We're not like them," Rodney said suddenly. "We're not going to die. So you don't have to do stupid stuff like try and get yourself killed, or keep a shrine to a dead man in your room. The dead don't care." He set the photograph by the bed. "I guess you don't, either. Get better or don't, but stop thinking that you're the only person who's ever lost everyone." Rodney glanced at Teyla, then back at John.
This is useless. Rodney stood up and walked out of the infirmary without a backwards glance. He had better things to do than wait for John Sheppard to find his way back to them.
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