Author's Note: I got the idea for this at around one o'clock in the morning and began writing it then. The first part is Typed in an hour and Inspired by the awesomeness that is "Blood on the Scales." This is what happens when I type Flash Harry with the Galactica Soundtrack playing on my computer.

Strap in and prepare for launch! Today is a good day for crazy. All hail the glory of the Adama-stache! So Say We All!

Prevarications and Pragmatism


The cavernous CIC of the outdated warship echoed with the sound of alarms, as twinkling blue eyes took in the scene through half-moon spectacles.

"Message from Fleet, Sir," said Dualla, the communications specialist, "Reads: Cylon-Cylon attack underway."

She pulled the hardcopy of the transmission, and passed it to the spare, elderly Commander who nobody in Fleet seemed to be able to get rid of. He glanced at the missive on the paper with no corners, and scratched his smooth-shaven chin,
"Very well, Mr. Gaeta. Launch all vipers. And follow on that bearing. I want a complete tactical englobment before we ask them to surrender."

"Sir," said the young lieutenant, "The ship's got no ammunition."

"Well then, Mr. Gaeta, they shouldn't see us as any threat. It's possible we can work out an understanding between…"

"Albus!" interrupted Col. McGonagall, a woman long past middle age, with gray hair cascading freely down her back. Scarily competent, she had served with Dumbledore for years, and it was she who was responsible for Dumbledore keeping his career after so many poor readiness reports. She could only do it for so long though, and Galactica was the end of the line.

"Albus, they just nuked the Colonies. I sincerely doubt redemption is at the top of their processors at the moment."

"Minerva, it is vitally important that we try to reach out to the Cylons, and as a personal friend of President Adar-"

He caught the XO in the middle of taking a swig of her ever-present mug of 80-proof 'coffee,' that she needed to deal with him, and unfortunately making her spew it all over the plotting table before she could recover enough to combat his latest idiocy.

"Albus! We've nae time for your stupid political gamesmanship and remorse, people are dying!"

"Oh, very well," he sighed, "Plot a jump for Ragnar Anchorage."

"No one's plotted a jump that far in twenty years!" His XO protested.
"Well then," he said, "we shall be the first. Another exciting adventure!"

The crew of Galactica bent to sullenly to the task set to them by the "Old Coot."

It was not a complimentary nickname.


"What do ye think of that Baltar fellow, Albus?" Asked the Colonel, "because he seems a bit shifty to me."

"Oh, I think he just seemed rather overwhelmed with it all, after all, he's a brilliant scientist, and a personal friend of Adar's too. I daresay I trust Gaius Baltar unreservedly."

McGonagall stifled a growl, fingered the grip of her sidearm, took another swig of 'coffee,' and began to plot a mutiny.


An inhuman screeching sounded through the castle of Hogwarts, stopping all the children in their tracks, and demanding that all of the students pay attention to a speech by the man in charge of the school. A man by the name of William Adama, whose bass rumble echoed through the halls, killing the students' gossip and uncertainty about the war as he spoke:

"This is the Headmaster. Moments ago, this castle received word that a Death Eater attack against our families is under way.
We do not know the size, or the disposition, or the strength of the enemy forces, but all indications point to a massive assault against Ministry defenses. DMLE Deputy Director Bones has taken personal command of the remaining Hitwizards and Unspeakables at Hogsmeade following the complete destruction of Auror Headquarters in the first wave of the attacks."

He paused to let it sink in a bit,
"How, why doesn't really matter now.
What does matter is that as of this moment, we are at war.
You've trained for this. You're ready for this.
Stand to your duties, trust your fellow students, and we'll all get through this. Further updates as we get them.
Thank you."

"Is this really happening?" asked Ron, as Harry started to gather his wand and combat robes.

"What do you think? C'mon, Ron, you heard the Old Man, now MOVE IT!"

They rushed out of the Gryffindor boys dorm to get to the Headmaster's office, stopping in the common room to gape at the astounding sight of Hermione Granger, hair tied up in a practical bun dressed in green military fatigues festooned with pouches and pockets of all sizes, calmly seated on one of the obnoxious red sofas, while assembling and slotting a magazine into a very intimidating-looking hunk of metal.

"Merlin, Hermoine!" Ron exclaimed, "What've you got there?"

She racked the slide, checked her wand holster, and gave him a smile that managed to look both predatory and amused simultaneously.

"Honestly, Ron, if you'd bothered to take the courses Headmaster Adama recommended instead of the bare minimum, you'd know it's a Kalashikov. This one is the research project for my Muggle Studies Class. Professor Tigh gave us extra credit if we could transfigure something lethal."

Then, she reached into the knapsack next to her, withdrew a pistol and a belt of ammunition, and tossed it to Harry.

"Here's yours. I collected it for you, top marks as well."

"Oi!" said Ron, a hurt look on his face, "You never told me you took that class."

"Correspondence course with Professor Tigh over the summer," said Harry, "Don't look so hurt Ron, certain-events of last year just got me motivated to study…er…harder is all."

"Sorry, mate," said Ron, looking shamefacedly at the ground and missing the extremely significant and passionate glances passing between the other two,
"I forgot about Voldemort and Sirius for a minute there."

"Oh." Said Harry, who had been thinking about persuasive activities far more pleasant than the tragedies Ron mentioned, "That."

"What?" Asked Ron, still clueless.

"Never mind," said Harry, "I need to know if you're with me."

Ron had the grace to look abashed at his momentary lapse in judgment, "To the end, mate."

"Right," said Harry, nodding, an iron look of determination on his face, "Enough chit-chat. We've got 'Fodders' to slaughter."


Headmaster William Adama stroked his neat moustache as he and the Assistant Headmaster, his friend of many years, Saul Tigh, began to plot the strategy, now that the war was finally out in the open.

He tossed a pinch of green powder in the fireplace, watched it flare up, and stuck his head in,

"Mr. Filch. Get Hagrid and Flitwick. I want Severus Snape in an interrogation room in five minutes. " He pulled his head out.
"Saul, make sure he gets there. Alive, but not unharmed. I want any information pertaining to the enemy's whereabouts, tactics, and resources."
The other man grinned wickedly. "My pleasure. Bastard's finally gonna get his comeuppance for messin' with the students all these years. Seems he's outlived his usefulness."

Tigh jumped through the fireplace, wand outstretched, just as Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the office.

Bill Adama eyed Harry with a gleam of paternal pride as he observed the set look on his face and the holstered pistol at his waist.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter."

"Good morning, sir." They replied.

He smiled warmly at the trio's last member, "Morning, 'Bookworm,' whaddya hear?"

"Nothing but the rain." Hermione replied, grinning dangerously.

"Then grab your gun and bring the cat in."

The young woman smiled again and gestured to the rifle on her shoulder, "Yes sir. Boom, boom, boom…"