A/N: Just a short chapter today. Originally I wanted to work this into a larger one, but it works well on its own also.

Merlin, he was bored! One would think that with two universes of bad luck, he'd find himself in some trouble. But alas, it was not meant to be. Harry had woken up late, mentally pulled up his personal calendar on the optical heads up display, and realized that nothing required his immediate attention. The ZPM facility was up and running, no evil overlords needed slaying, and he'd already prank called O'Neill at work the day before, so that was out.

On top of that, he'd been blown off by SG1, Tonks and his sort of family!

James and Nym were working a case, JP was on base, Sara busy with her apprenticeship, and Lily was teaching at Hogwarts today. As for SG-1, they were off-world babysitting some IOA muggles on their new base, and that sounded more like punishment than adventure.

Perplexed, Harry strode into his private kitchen (technically everything was private since the Graf Spee had no crew) to put the kettle on, then turned on the Teli, probably for the first time since it was installed by the Asgard. They'd insisted on calling it a holo display, but it picked up most eastern seaboard channels so it was a Teli. End of discussion.

Lazily flipping through the channels while sipping on his cup of Earl Gray, Harry wondered if this was what retirement would be like.

Dear God, he hoped not.

Harry paused on a car restoration show. They'd stuffed some shiny new bits into the old shell and were trolling some people on a nameless drag strip.

Mind wandering, he couldn't help but think back to his and Ron's second year, and that old blue Ford Mr. Weasley had owned. Was that thing still banging around in the forbidden forest?

He sat up. Was it?

Curiosity piqued, he apparated to the edge of the Forbidden forest and pulled his wand, resting it flat on his palm.

"Point me Weasley Ford Anglia." He watched the wand quiver and spin a few times, before settling on a spot to the northeast.

With a grin, Harry set off.

The search took a few hours, and nearly as long to convince the easily offended magical car to come with him for some high octane fuel. Honestly, he felt like a child lurer.

Back on the Spee, he scanned the beaten up two-door and fired up the matter converter, first spitting out replacement body panels made from Trinium, before working on a compact version of a Jumper nacelle for the new and improved flight capabilities he planned to gift/impart the car with.

Harry also had planned to slap a ZPM under the bonnet and ward the living daylights out of the thing so no one could remove it, but he hadn't told the car that bit yet.

In fact, he was having a hard time keeping it still.

"Look, you old bucket of bolts, I'm trying to help you. If I hadn't found you there'd be a tree growing out of your rusty corpse in a few years. Now hold still or I'll break out the Jaws of Life!"

Each wheel had a boot on it, and yet the thing still managed to squirm around.

The spunky car then revved its engine angrily and swatted him with one of its doors, knocking him on his can.

"That's it! I'm painting you pink!"

It retaliated by squirting hot oil in his face. Painful screams erupted from the hangar bay, followed by crashing and banging, with the occasional honk.

In the end, Harry won, but only by directly beaming the parts off the car instead of using a good old-fashioned wrench. The turquoise Anglia went spare trying to figure out what in the seven hells was going on, but calmed down when Harry conjured a mirror.

It was an odd reaction because it didn't have eyes per se. Maybe Arthur had charmed the headlights? Up until that point, Harry didn't even think it was self-aware, though now he was revising his earlier opinion.

The process was painful, but when he finished later that night, it was like he was looking at a whole new car. Well, it was a stretch. it still looked the same from the outside, but the windshield wasn't smashed anymore and the paint looked minty fresh.

Also gone was the fatigued four-cylinder 'Kent' power plant, and in its place were some truly monstrous electric motors that would drive the wheels.

As for his 'testing grounds'? Well, he'd always wanted to know if that 'No speed limit' thing in Germany was true.


Tobias Werkel was a speed freak. He'd started with a 50cc moped when he was fifteen and had worked his way up to the monster Suzuki Hayabusa currently between his legs. He showed off his stuff on his U-tube channel, which featured many clips filled with close calls and other reckless stunts. But today, he opted to do an early Sunday Morning speed run. The sun was just beginning to drive away the night, revealing a thin, dark line cutting across the countryside.

It also meant the A8 between Karlsruhe and Stuttgart was a desolate, straight patch of pavement that would make any gearhead weep with envy.

The go pro was already recording when he pulled onto the Autobahn, positioning himself in the center lane. Within seconds the speedometer needle jumped from 130 to 250 km/h. With a whoop of joy, he twisted the throttle on the handle all the way back, and the bike screamed ahead.

The scenery began to blur as he passed 300, but this motorad had more to give! He spent the next minute or so squeezing every last bit of speed from the machine.

Just as he was reaching the zenith of the run, something odd slipped into his peripheral vision. He turned his helmeted head and the eyes behind it went wide.

Behind the wheel of a dilapidated old Ford was an old granny, barely able to look over the dash, let alone the steering wheel. Good thing it was nothing more than a metal wheel wrapped in vinyl, meaning she could look through it.

The old lady took note of him and gave him a polite wave before turning her gaze back to the road ahead.

Stunned, the young German Muggle watched as the vintage car pulled away, and not gently either.

Easing off the throttle, Tobias leisurely slowed down until he approached a rest area, which he pulled into. He would spend the next ten minutes looking alternately at his bike, the road, and towards the rising sun peeking up from behind a nearby field.

If it weren't for the go pro footage, he'd have thought it was his mind playing tricks on him.


Further down the road, a pair of Autobahn Polizisten sat in their AMG tuned Mercedes interceptor vehicle, the portable radar gun trained towards the empty road.

A strange humming filled the air. Within seconds, a light blue missile blurred by, fast enough that the officers didn't catch what make or model the PKW was.

Looking at the radar gun the numbers on the back display read 493 km/h. The sandy-haired officer gave the electronic device a firm pat on the side before muttering in German. "Must be broken."


Harry had a death grip on the violently shaking steering wheel as the needle on the old gauge cluster went around completely for the sixth time. The number topped out at eighty.

A GPS linked display showed a number associated more commonly with planes at cruising altitude rather than a car driving down the motorway. The shield he'd installed on the car was the only bloody reason the car hadn't been torn apart like a wet tissue paper or simply scooped up into the air. It deflected the relatively static air mass around the brick-like object, cutting through it, and allowing for unparalleled speed.

The gentle curves rises and falls of the road meant to convey cars at a quarter of his speed felt like a windy mountain road at this pace. And traffic was getting heavier.

Not to worry though, before he could obliterate the back of an unsuspecting Lorry, an unexpected and barely noticeable crest at the recommended speed shot the car into the air like a ramp, the downforce of the shield's wing shape unable to match the vehicle's mass as it left the hard asphalt at an oblique angle.

The sensors Harry had wisely installed basically went; 'hey, you're no longer in contact with the road!' and activated the rear-mounted power plant, which hummed in response. The Invisible shield morphed for better handling in atmo and the car truly began to fly, rather than just arc through the air as it had a second before.

"Oops," Harry noted after finishing screaming bloody murder. He undid the glamour on himself and banked the car to the right, heading for Kaiserslautern to harass the Americans at the Air Force base there. With a mental command, his radar signature increased tenfold, mimicking that of a fighter jet. An added bonus was the half dozen or so 'phantom' signatures the air control tower would be seeing around the real one.

Within two minutes the first flight of four F-15's was screaming down the runway, clawing to get altitude before the unknown bogeys came within missile range.

A few minutes later, Harry punched the cloak on the little Car and scanned the early morning skies for the gray-blue planes.

Selecting one that was flying in lazy circles, he angled to pull up beside it and dropped the cloak again.

It was too bad those muggle pilots had reflective visors on their helmets. Just like before, Harry pulled ahead, before banking hard to the left and spiraling down to attempt the first-ever Ford Anglia Wronsky Feint.

He'd installed those fun-sounding Stuka sirens on the underside of the car that began whining when they popped out of the body.

Far down below, tiny specks could be seen scurrying to and fro on the runway, because why wouldn't you run when hearing 'that' noise getting louder.

Shockingly enough the plane behind him loosened a stream of 20mm ordinance at him. A few of the projectiles glanced off the back of the shield, making it flare.

"Why those little blithers." He growled, wishing he could shoot back with something. In a moment of rare mental clarity, he'd decided that arming the temperamental little car with drones was probably not the best idea, and just this once reason had prevailed.

The ground took up all of the windshield at this point, and he could feel the car fighting him in an attempt to pull up and save itself.

At the last second, he spun it on its axis, selected the appropriate shield sequence and shot out sideways a mere twenty feet from the ground, again screaming his lungs out. Well, there may have been some manic laughter in there as well.

The car touched down on the concrete runway with screeching tires, braked hard against its operator's wishes, and booted the young wizard out of the driver's seat before flying off, honking madly.

Harry sat up and watched his ride disappear over the treeline, much like it had all those years ago by the Black Lake. Turning, he noted a trio of Humvees approach from the main complex. He pulled out a vial of Polyjuice tinted silver and knocked the contents back with a grimace.

"Freeze!" An angry-looking airman pointed an M16 at him, while several more rushed up, sidearms drawn.

"Relax guys, I'm General Jack O'Neill of the US Air Force. You know, your employer?"

They cuffed him and placed him in the back of one of a Humvee. Chuckling he drew the attention of a female airman (or woman)

"What's so funny?" the woman of Latin heritage asked, her face sour.

"This." He answered before beaming out.


Across the pond, O'Neill was just getting seated for a brass meeting when he overheard an angry air force four-star chew out a Colonel for telling him nonsense. Something about a blue flying car performing death-defying Aerial maneuvers above the Ramstein Base in West Germany.

The flustered Colonel whispered something else in his ear, at which point the General's eyes bore directly into his own, then the polished nameplate on his breast.

Jack closed his eyes, instantly knowing who was behind this, and cursed.

On an unrelated note Shiver me Timbers is alive and well. I'm working on the plot between movie 5 & 6, but it's going.