Lost in Transfiguration

Lost in Transfiguration

Chapter One: The Erstwhile Sirius Black

October 26, 2004 - 10AM, CDT

It was rather like being born, he reckoned. Darkness, claustrophobia, interminable waiting, then boom - you're rushing towards the light, surrounded by gooey plasma and bouncing gently off a soft, synthetic surface.

As you can tell, human anatomy and midwifery were not taught at Hogwarts.

Sirius opened his eyes to find himself suspended in thick, heavy liquid, breathing it in, though not drowning. It was definitely bright, though not white: little blinking things on the left corner, a big, rectangular box filled with back-to-front text and pictures of over-buff men crowding his line of vision.

Wow, he thought to himself. This is just like that time James and I stole peyote from the Potion's store cupboard in sixth year.

He raised a hand to his face. Nose, eyes, lips, impeccable bone structure: check. Long, silky hair: check. Incredibly youthful, yet distinguished, musculature: all there, baby, all there. He looked about his new environment. There was something really odd. Well, pretty odd, anyway. Last he recalled, before he fell asleep, he was fighting evil old Bella - well, she was only a few years older than he, but he called her old anyway, she was getting a saggy rack from the looks of her - and then he must've fallen asleep whilst falling through that suspicious veil...

Oh. So it wasn't sleep then. Oh God... oh... this wasn't good. This was definitely not good. Rather, it was a funny feeling, like getting into a loud, public argument with someone only to be proved wrong. Not just 'whoops, shouldn't have invested in that pyramid scheme' wrong, but more along the lines of the 'so the world is flat, eh chaps?' kind of wrong. You just sort of think to yourself 'haha, you've got to be kidding me', but no, you're proven wrong, and you're left there feeling a little embarrassed, questioning your entire existence as a sham, that you've been proven to society for the ersatz fool you are.

It was a pity. There was so much that Sirius had wanted to do in his life. Only last week (or had it been last week?), Moony had promised to take him to the muggle pictures. Sneak him in under a big old raincoat, and maybe add a fake nose or something. He remembered pestering his one remaining childhood friend into taking him to see 'Barb Wire', a cinematic selection which nearly left him with no remaining childhood friends. Couldn't they go see something decent, Moony argued, like 'Fargo', or maybe even that new 'Star Trek' movie - after all, he reckoned, you are a pure-blood wizard and all, and know very little of what constitutes fine muggle culture. But no - his mind was made up, and Sirius had finally coerced his non-romantic life companion into taking him to see 'Barb Wire'.

Bet Moony's feeling right chuffed now - he didn't have to take me to see that movie now that I've kicked the bucket.

If this was being dead, then it was fairly lonely. He'd expected there to be plenty of ghosts, like back at school. It was empty for a place like the Pearly Gates, mind you - aren't there supposed to be ten people carking it per second? On the other hand, though, perhaps this was heaven. Bright light, your life flashing before you, handsome, well-oiled men. If it wasn't heaven for some, it was heaven for others. At any rate, at least there were no queues, no flashing signs directing him to please take a number and wait.

"Erm... hello... um... oh, Christ, what the hell is this cockup?"

As soon as he spoke these words, a long, snaking line of text scrolled from right to left, his words translated in front of him, albeit back to front. He stared at it, scratching the back of his head. Exactly like the peyote incident.

However, his whimsical recollections of youth and innocence were interrupted by hot pink text directly beneath his. He realised then that there was now a new oblong in front of him: white, with grey borders. He squinted at the line of text.

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: a/s/l?

He blinked. Surely Saint Peter spoke a language communicable with human beings, after all.

"Your... um... Mercy, or is it Reverence... oh Christ, should've paid attention in Sunday School. Oh bugger, I said the Lord's name in vain. Is this heaven, perchance? Because... huh, I think I might've had a slight incident, see, where I bought the farm."

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: wtf r u talkn abt?

"Crikey, you can't even speak English, can you. I mean, for a belief system that has followers in every continent, you don't offer a very internationally friendly service, do you?"

Saint Peter's answer was short, but to the point: "omg u r gey."

"What is going on here, anyway? Who are you? What is your name? My God, Arthur Dent at least got a bloody babelfish."

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: im brooke

Finally, something that at least resembled a sentence. If not a sentence, then definitely a grammatically incorrect phrase. Moony would turn in his grave.

"Brooke? Is that your name?"

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: oh yah

"Right. Hi, Brooke, how are you. Erm..."

He pondered for a minute. This was the first time he was making contact with a sentient (or semi-sentient, at any rate) being since his untimely demise. What does one ask? Fortunately, he didn't have to come up with a question too quickly.

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: so lyk wot muzik do u listn 2?

This was getting really, really confusing. It was bad enough that all the text was visible only in reverse, but now he was sure that he was losing his marbles.

"Look, I don't have time for this, all right, Brooke? Okay. Now, do you think you could be a dear and possibly tell me what today's date is?"

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: r u sirius?

"WHO TOLD YOU ABOUT ME? HUH? WHO HAVE YOU BEEN TALKING TO?"

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: ur crazy lol :p.

Sirius slapped the membrane in front of him. It merely jiggled a bit, resuming normal shape in a few seconds.

"Damn! Look here, who are you? How old are you? Where the devil are we?"

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: im 14. duhhh dont u check da nam of da chatrom?

"Pardon? Where would one do that?"

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: lyk duuuhhh top lfet corna.

Right. That could say 'top left corner' or 'top felt cornea', but he felt the latter was most improbable. He doubted that whatever cruel teenage overlord he was communicating with knew what a cornea was. He looked to his top left corner, in this case, only to remember that everything was reversed, and he would best direct his attention to the tiny font on the right hand corner, rather.

AOL CHATROOM #14345, ST PAUL-MINNEAPOLIS MN DISTRICT CHATROOM

This was getting quite confusing. "What on Earth is a chatroom? Who the devil is AOL? And where the bloody hell is St Paul-Minneapolis?"

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: Duuuuhh CoOn falz Minesota, nt relly STPM :(

"Minnesota, eh? Isn't that where Fargo is?"

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: oh yah

"Quick question: do you guys really end all your sentences with 'oh, you betcha' and 'oh yeah'? It's just, I have this friend, right, who really wants to see 'Fargo', and... well, he's a bit of a boffin, really, but he reckons that in Minnesota everyone has to say those things or they're not really from Minnesota."

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: fuk u :(

"Sorry! Honestly, I was just trying to be a bit cosmopolitan, throw in a bit of muggle culture and all. So, I'm in Coon Falls, Minnesota, I presume?"

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: u dun haf 2 b. u cud b anywere, n wots a muggle?

"Oh... shit, nothing, don't worry. So... what the devil is going on then? Is this just a really ironic and poorly educated heaven like those early morning sermon shows depict?"

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: no duhh ur talkin on da intrnet.

"The 'intrnet', eh? Sounds rather novel to me. Explain."

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: lol ur funny lol

"What do you mean?" Then it hit him. This was the future. Like, nine hundred years in the future. Humans must've evolved to a state where they were no longer corporeal, but mere thought that was communicated in obnoxious flashing text. The only thing he knew for sure was that standards were slipping as far as the English language was concerned, but if this was nine hundred years since his time on earth, things must've gone downhill at a pretty rapid pace. "Oh ho ho! So, what year is it, eh? This 'intrnet' thing must be pretty advanced - I'm pegging my money at, oh, I don't know - say, five galleons that this is the year 3000."

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: omg rolflolf! woteva u rekon. check da bottom of ur screen for da date 2day!

He did so, scanning his eyes along the thin grey bar at the bottom of his line of vision.

October 26, 2004.

Sweet mother of all things pure and good. The future is a horrifying, stupefying place, and far closer than he ever could have anticipated.

"Blimey. Reckon I'm going to need a pint and a sit-down now."

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: wtf

"See, it's an interesting story - six years ago, a bit more, maybe, I died. And now, I'm here, talking to you, Brooke. This is all... wow. Bit humbling, really."

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: wtf, as if

"No, really! It's true! Well, it might not be... perhaps it isn't, I'm not really sure on all this. Really makes you ponder the nature existence and all that rubbish."

Another succinct response: r u gay?

"No, I most certainly am not bloody gay! Listen, if you could--"

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: how old r u?

"I'm thirty-six. Or at least I think I am. I was last time I was alive and breathing. Does this mean I'm forty-two now? Jeez, that's really old. Or maybe I'm a ghost. Ghosts never age. I could perpetually be in my prime. Death certainly is doing wonders for me, don't you think, Brooke?"

HoTlUvVaGaNgStAgRl: woteva, gtg - hw, dad is beeng a jerk, l8r!

And as instantaneously as it popped up, the white rectangular box of text disappeared, leaving a very disoriented Sirius Black floating about in a sea of plasma and buff men. This was all rather surreal. Goya and Dali haven't got shit on this place.

He did notice, however, that there was one tiny little flashing thing down on that long grey bar: he reached for it with his fingers, and it burst to life in front of him, a jumble of reversed words.

Teens4eva: Regional chat for the Long Beach, CA region.

PuNkRaWkAz: Regional chat for the Napanee, Ont. region.

LesEnfantsTerribles: Regional chat for the Provence, Fr. region.

SikSikSubwoofaz: Regional chat for the Melbourne, Aus. region.

He looked about, biting his lip, umming and uhhing, wondering what would happen if he were to press on one of those buttons. They were rather inviting, really, all shimmering and glistening. He decided, therefore, that this was a tough choice to make, and this problem would be best managed by closing his eyes, and poking his finger at whatever one of these words was closest.

A bright flash of light nearly blinded him through his eyelids, and he found himself being hurtled through space. It was a little like a portkey, really, only the jerk seemed to come from ones' head as opposed to the navel. After what seemed aeons, he felt the plasma around him starting to restrict his speed, and two seconds later he collided with a thick glass window.

October 27, 2004 - 1AM, AEST

Luna Lovegood yawned, stretching her arms over her head. She had another 2500 words to go at last count, and the damn thing was due in seven hours.

Australia was an odd place, she decided. For one thing, one's social status was determined by how much you paid for your car stereo system. Maybe it was just Melbourne. Melbourne is a very strange place indeed, but it suited her well enough. It was cheaper than London, and there were plenty of decent enough restaurants to be found. The only thing she lamented on was the ostensible lack of other young wizards and witches. True, there was a Witch Guild at Monash, but on further investigation she discovered that they were merely Muggle females who wore lots of black makeup and crushed velour corsets.

That all said, living as a Muggle was all right. Her odd name originally drew comment, but after she explained that she'd lived on a commune in Norfolk they generally left her alone. All she needed to do was throw in a couple of 'Bloody Shane Warne!'s and the occasional 'fully cut sick, bro!' to fit into Australian Muggle culture, and assimilation was easy.

To her left, her room-mate stretched and swivelled her chair away from the computer she was sitting at. "I'm pushing off. I'll have to apply for an extension, I think."

"All right. Can you leave your computer on? I'll grab those references from your bibliography, I'm about four short."

"Yeah, just shut it down when you're finished. Night."

Luna turned back to her essay. She was hardly the only one in the computer labs - apparently, half her class had decided that starting their News and Ethics assignment at midnight the day before it was due was a smashing idea. Thank God semester would be over in a few days. Once she had all her stuff finished off and handed in, she could head back to London for a few weeks off. See the old crowd again, actually live like a wizard without having pretend to just being a dippy earth child all the time. Patchouli gave her headaches.

She clicked open the word document on the computer beside her, and started scribbling down the titles and authors on the list. They wouldn't really check every reference. They couldn't - there'd be easily ninety essays to mark.

A chatbox popped up in front of the document. Her roommate had a compulsive addiction to AOL chatrooms, which was odd because so few people in the university knew of it. They mostly subscribed to the evils of MSN. She moved to click the beloved 'x' button on the top right hand corner of the window when she saw the first line of text, and halted.

anonuser: OW! Bloody motherfucking hell! Oh, sweet Jesus of mercy... oh, pissing fucking shitting hell!

Luna stared at the message. She knew it was wrong to use other people's chat programs without their permission, but at the same time this was a rather odd introductory message. Maybe the fellow was propositioning her. Whatever the case, she felt it warranted a response.

jnicholson81: Are you all right there?

anonuser: No, I just slammed my frigging head into thick glass. Oh, someone please kill me again.

jnicholson81: Are you a friend of Joely's? I'm just on her computer, she's away.

anonuser: Who the devil is Joely? At least you speak proper English - you should've seen the dolt they put me through to before.

jnicholson81: Who are you?

anonuser: I'm Al Ca-bloody-pone. Who the devil are you?

jnicholson81: No need to get abusive. Goodbye.

anonuser: Wait! Don't go! You can help me!

jnicholson81: I don't help people that abuse me. Sorry.

anonuser: I'm sorry! If you want, I'll sing for you!

jnicholson81: No sweet melody will sway me. Speak your case. You have precisely thirty seconds before I log this account off, so make it worth your while.

anonuser: All right. This is going to seem really, really strange to you. But, see, apparently I died six years ago, and here I am now talking to you.

In a second, it clicked in Luna's mind.

jnicholson81: My Lord... mate, you are so drunk.

anonuser: I have not been drinking! I'm being honest here! I'm stuck inside some infernally obnoxious flashing place where I can see your text scrolling in front of me!

jnicholson81: Oh yes? Have you been smoking peyote lately?

anonuser: No, I haven't. Moony bought me some for my birthday, said that if I was good and didn't apparate anywhere he'd take me to the Muggle pictures.

jnicholson81: Did you say Muggle?

anonuser: Oh... pretend I said nothing. Shit, bugger, curse it all.

jnicholson81: No, no, it's fine - you're a wizard too?

anonuser: Matter of fact, yes. Who are you? And what the devil am I trapped in?

jnicholson81: My name's Luna Lovegood. And you're talking on the internet, which is basically a network of phone lines that connects people and lets them talk to each other.

anonuser: Wha?

jnicholson81: Never mind. Where did you find a computer?

anonuser: I'm not on a computer. Or I don't think I am. I'm in this space, see, where whatever I say comes in front of me in words. This is really strange.

jnicholson81: Interesting. Describe it more to me.

anonuser: Well, it's bright, see. And in front of me there's this bigarse glass window. Before, it was soft, but firm, but now it's hard, and I have a ruddy great dint in the middle of my head from when I connected with it.

jnicholson81: What colour are the walls? Are there walls?

anonuser: Not really. There's not even a floor. Wait... did you say your surname was Lovegood?

jnicholson81: Yes...

anonuser: Is your dad editor of the Quibbler, by any chance? They published a hilarious story about me a while back before I kicked the bucket. Apparently I'm an 'innocent singing sensation'. Hilarious, let me tell you - we hung it up in the front room, it had pride of place.

Stubby Boardman. Sirius Black. The Innocent Singing Sensation. Luna banged her knee under the desk in surprise, and swore quietly.

jnicholson81: Ha, ha. Very funny. Who are you, really?

anonuser: Sirius Black.

jnicholson81: Pull the other one. You can't be Sirius Black.

anonuser: That's a bit unfair of you, telling me who I can and can't be. And I AM Sirius Black.

jnicholson81: Prove it then.

anonuser: Do you know incredibly difficult the last hour has been for me? First I get stuck with some idiot in Bumfuck Minnesota who wouldn't speak a word of understandable English. Now I'm being told that I'm not myself. I'm Sirius Black, member of the Order of the Phoenix, convicted innocent man, Marauder, godfather of Harry Potter, and the fucking legal owner of Number 12, Grimmauld Terrace. I also DJ at weddings and bar mitzvahs. I'm tired, getting a headache from the brightness around here and have gone six years without alcohol or drugs. There is something really wrong with this situation.

jnicholson81: You could've got that stuff out of the paper or anything. Once the Ministry of Magic found out about the Order, they published everything. Made a joke of it.

anonuser: They did what?!

jnicholson81: Of course, you wouldn't know all this.

anonuser: I didn't think Fudge could get any more stupid.

jnicholson81: Nice try, pretending that you don't know that he's not Minister anymore. You can do better than that.

anonuser: This is bloody useless. Luna, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but you're useless as tits on a bull. Could you put me onto someone else who'd be a bit more helpful, like Dumbledore or Remus or someone?

jnicholson81: They're not here. I'm in Melbourne, remember? They're twenty billion time zones away from me.

anonuser: No, I don't remember because in case you can't remember, I've only been dead for the past six years! Is Harry all right?

jnicholson81: What do you think? He's fine.

anonuser: Seriously?

jnicholson81: Yes. Look, I can't stay talking to you - I have this assignment due tomorrow and everything.

anonuser: Don't go, please! I'm desperate! Wait - I know! You know the Fletchers, don't you?

jnicholson81: Who doesn't know the Fletchers?

anonuser: Maggie would know what to do. Get Maggie.

jnicholson81: She's in London too. You know Maggie?

anonuser: I know Maggie. And Dung. Dung used to come on round after meetings and have a drink with us out on the back porch. Me, and him, and Remus... oh, and my cousin, Nymphadora. She doesn't like being called that. How is she getting on?

jnicholson81: She's all right. Lives near Piccadilly Circus with her girlfriend now.

anonuser: Girlfriend, eh? I always saw it coming. Honestly, that girl... all right, back on topic - talk to Maggie Fletcher. She's an exorcist, or at least she was last time I was alive. She'll know what to do. Please? I'm begging you. Desperately.

Luna looked at her watch. 3am. There was no way in hell that she could pump out another twenty five hundred words in five hours without sleep or food. Besides, she could always get a doctor's certificate, get an extension.

jnicholson81: All right. I'll owl her, all right? I can't guarantee anything.

anonuser: You, madam, are a good sort. You know that?

jnicholson81: I'm heading off now. Night.

anonuser: But what'll happen to me?

jnicholson81: I don't know! Don't touch anything. Just close your eyes and have a kip for a bit. It's bloody late. Bye.

She closed the window, and finished writing down the entries in Joely's bibliography.

Bugger. Bugger, bugger, fuck it all.

She logged the computers off, and swept her books into a pile, preparing for the stumble between the labs and Normanby House. The grass was wet under her joggers as she made her way to the dorms, walking along the lit path. Letting herself in, she pulled herself upstairs and into her bedroom. Joely was dead to the world, and she flopped down on her bed, reaching over for a pen and scrap of paper.

M & M Fletcher, Pty Ltd

4/54 Knockturn Alley

Maggie,

Trusting business is going well. If you ever get really drunk and think that post-graduate education at a Muggle institution sounds like a good idea, make sure someone beats the notion out of you because it is BLOODY HARD WORK. That said, it's fun enough. I don't think Dad did journalism studies, because apparently you need to find real sources for your reports.

I've got some fellow on an internet chat window here (will explain in more depth later if you can help me) who thinks he's Sirius Black. Though I know he died six years ago, there's a lot puzzling about this. For starters, he genuinely does seem disoriented and confused, and secondly his story checks out enough. I don't know - for all I bloody well know it could be some lark thinking it's funny to pester me while I'm doing assignments. Probably Fred and George Weasley's idea of a good time. Wondering if you have any knowledge whatsoever as to the Muggle internet system, and whether or not computer possession is possible in the slightest. If so, think I have an exorcism job for you.

Don't mention any of this to Dung or the others, if you see them often enough. Want to keep this under wraps - don't want to get anybody's hopes up.

Cheers,

Luna.

ps. Dad wants to know whether Dung intends to follow through on his threat of a libel suit.

Luna Lovegood

Normanby House, Monash University

Luna,

London is fucking freezing at present. Don't bother coming back for Christmas. Ministry is being horrid, started raiding the premises and threatening to audit us. I'd like to bloody shove one of our Spontaneously Impaling Pool-Cues up Lucius Malfoy's clacker. Lucky Dungy was out at the time or we would've been in some right strife. (He can't remember what lawsuit you mention, so tell your dad not to worry.)

Sirius Black, you say? Computer, you say? We have one of those. Well, we have a broken one sitting in the back room which fell off the back of a truck. Hasn't been set up, not a bloody clue as to how it works, but will have a play with it. We've a squib cousin who knows a fair bit about computers, I'll get him to help us set it up.

Arthur Weasley's coming in tomorrow to check out the wares, so to speak. He should know something about the internet system. From what I know, it operates over telephone lines, so there might be something incorporated into that. I've only heard of two cases of possession over phone lines, but fortunately you have the world expert on exorcism right here at your convenience. While it probably is just some bored arsewipe thinking it's funny to rattle your chains, it's worth having a second look.

Dung says hi,

Maggie