Magic and Mechs

“Remind me again: why did we decide to go for a drive?”
“Hmm…For the scenery?”
“It’s just a lot of trees. They’ve got those in Nevada too, even if it is mostly desert.”
“Well, then maybe…to get out of the hotel?”
“Nah, the hotel was awesome. Did you see the size of the pool?”
“Not to mention the mini bar. Um…We were bored?”
“Not particularly. Like you said, there was the mini bar. That’s not quite the reason.”
“…Because we enjoy getting lost?”
“Bing-o. In a foreign country, no less.”
“Well, it’s a new experience, eh?”
I didn’t respond. In my opinion, the dark-haired, blue-eyed man in the driver’s seat was entirely too cheerful for the situation we now found ourselves in. He didn’t seem worried at all, even as we drove on, possibly getting farther and farther from where we needed to be. I personally get a little nervous when I have no idea where the hell I am.
Maybe that’s just me.
I guess it could be worse—we could currently be in a country that doesn’t speak English. At least here, we were on foreign turf but capable of communicating. Not that he probably didn’t know almost all the languages there were to know.
I squinted out the window at the hills flying by, nothing but green blurs of landscape. “Your windows are gross, Jazz.”
He cocked his head at me, devilish smile already in place, and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Gonna wash me, babe? I’m a dirty boy…”
“Save the innuendo for when we’re un-lost, gutterface.”
“Relax!” he drawled easily, one powerful arm draped over the open window. “I’ll just pick a house an’ we’ll ask them for directions. Piece o’ cake.”
I rolled my eyes and once again pulled out the map we had brought along. It wasn’t much use at this point—aside from being hopelessly crumpled with my folding attempts, it was about twenty years old and thus completely obsolete. As we had discovered once we were good and far away from where the rest of our group was staying.
I was definitely getting the scenic England tour. See me looking on the bright side?
Yeah. Right.
As far as I could tell, we were in Devon. Or we were for a while, anyway. Jazz drives like a maniac and the names were all completely unfamiliar as well. I strained to read a sign that flew by us for any clue as to where we were near—Ottery St. Something-or-other. Not much help.
Finding a house to ask directions at was a little difficult when we were out in the country, apparently miles from a town. Unless there was a squirrel somewhere with Mapquest or a working phone.
Before I could get pissed about the lack of communication capabilities with the others and start off on Jazz again (just what he wanted to hear, I assure you), I caught a glimpse of a steeple rising out of the trees several miles ahead. Cheering up slightly, I was about to point it out—and maybe throw in a jab about how it wouldn’t seem possible for a guy with a super-advanced processor for a brain to get lost in the first place—when Jazz cut a sharp right, nearly sending me sprawling in his lap.
“Whoops,” he smiled, whistling innocently.
“Hey—there’s a village up there!”
“But there’s a house here.”
I looked up in surprise as he slowed to a stop on a dirt road and pulled the map in front of him, mumbling to himself and apparently trying to figure out where we needed to get to. That left me to stare at the building in front of me…although ‘gape’ was probably a better word to describe what I was doing.
It was definitely a house, but it was unlike any dwelling I had ever seen. It was as if someone had taken an ordinary cottage and tacked on about three stories worth of additions that honestly looked like they might fall off at any minute. I had to give the architect props for enthusiasm, however—it looked like the place could house a lot of people. There were about four too many chimneys dotted along the roof and a chicken coop in the yard. A charming little garden, unkempt in a nice kind of way, was next to the house, and I thought I saw something small and grey dart under a rosebush.
A sign out front proclaimed this strange dwelling to be ‘The Burrow’, which tickled in the back of my mind like I had heard it before.
Jazz looked up from the map and blinked at me, seemingly confused at my open-mouthed staring.
“What’s up, Lil?”
I gaped at him, then gestured wildly towards the house. “Do you SEE this place?!”
As if this hadn’t occurred to him, he turned a bright blue gaze to the building in front of us. After a moment of careful scrutiny, he shrugged and went back to his map. “I like it.”
Deflating, I watched as at the house, about fifteen feet away, a girl with red hair poked her head out the front door curiously. Jazz didn’t seem at all disturbed by the house, but I guess I should have seen that coming. He had seen things I could never imagine, traveled to place I could only dream of. He was, after all, an alien. However human the man in the driver’s seat appeared to be, the truth of the matter was that he actually was the silver Pontiac Solstice idling around us. In one form anyway. His true form was a twenty-foot-tall, silver robot from the planet Cybertron.
But that tended to scare away bystanders and attract a lot of unnecessary attention, so he and the rest of his freedom-fighting team had disguised themselves as ordinary (if not a bit flashy) Earth vehicles in order to remain on this planet, hiding in plain sight.
Lucky for us humans—squishy little organics to the massive Cybertronians—the Autobots at the moment outnumbered the Decepticons—the bad guys. The ones who didn’t subscribe to Optimus Prime’s altruistic motto that “freedom is the right of all sentient beings”. The ones who would have no qualms about blowing up this planet and everyone on it, and would probably enjoy doing it.
Scratch that, they’d definitely enjoy doing it.
But as their leader was currently seven miles under the ocean being crushed into the world’s biggest (and ugliest) tin can and their cowardly second in command was high-tailing it across the galaxy to avoid retribution, the Decepticons were…well, laying low.
Which is why the Autobots—as well as Sam, Captain Will Lennox, and I—were currently on a trip across the Atlantic. Lennox was in charge of the human part of the NEST team and Sam had saved the world once at great personal risk (and was also quite inseparable from the yellow Autobot scout), they were brought along. I was only there because Jazz wouldn’t stop bitching at the higher ups until they let me come. It beat the hell out of twiddling my thumbs in Nevada, where I knew no one (being Massachusetts born and bred), and it was a cool chance to see some new places.
Except it wasn’t just sightseeing. At the moment, we were investigating a possible new arrival to the Cybertronian numbers on Earth. Their communications must have been damaged upon entering the atmosphere, and as they would have already disguised themselves, finding them was proving difficult.
Sam had voiced the oh-so crucial question of whether or not this particular mech was friendly, since we couldn’t make any contact with the mech. There was nothing to show for whether it was a part of our faction or a raging psychopath Decepticon. At least until Bumblebee pointed out that as the death rate in England hadn’t skyrocketed and the city was still standing, it was either friendly or evil but also possessing tact.
Still, they needed to be found quickly, especially if they were damaged by the descent.
What I should really have seen coming was the fact that splitting up to cover more ground in our search, while usually a good strategy, would inevitably lead to Jazz and I getting lost. With no communications or navigation (and no good reason for that either—apparently they just ‘fizzled out’ at some point during the drive).
That was just our luck, honestly.
By now, a tall red-haired boy had joined the girl at the front door, staring out at us in confusion. He was followed by a boy with dark hair and glasses. They whispered to each other until a fourth figure elbowed into the door frame: a girl with bushy brown hair. The red-headed girl vanished back into the house, leaving the three onlookers still whispering.
I don’t know why it hit me all of a sudden, but I very quickly realized where I had heard of a house called ‘The Burrow’ before, and why the three kids in the doorway were so familiar. I wondered why it had taken me that long to figure it out, and Jazz wondered why I was suddenly banging my head on his dashboard.
Whack. Whack. Whack.
“Uh, kid? That kinda hurts…Whatcha doin’?”
“Beating some—whack—sense into myself—“
“Do I want to know why?”
I stopped, casting him a disparaging look. “Because there’s NO possible way we’ve fallen into a fictional universe straight out of a storybook series. There must be something wrong with my brain.”
Jazz pursed his lips, staring unblinkingly at me. Then his subtly glowing eyes dimmed for a moment—what I had come to associate with his Internet searching when he was in bipedal form. After a moment, he stirred. “Ah.”
“Ah?! That’s all you have to say?” My voice was bordering on panicked.
“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened to me, is what I’m saying.”
I opened my mouth to respond, then it hit me and my jaw closed with an audible click.
Honestly, it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing for me either.
The giant aliens from outer space kinda took care of that little milestone.
Finding myself at the Weasley home paled in comparison to watching Sam and Miles battle against Bumblebee and Ironhide—the two Autobots positively towering over them in bipedal form, somehow managing to hold onto the tiny controllers and press the buttons—in Halo 3 on an Xbox that was ALSO a transforming robot—only one that was made on Earth with a recently destroyed cube that possessed all the life-giving (and taking) powers of their race.
Yeah. Maybe this wasn’t so weird after all.
At this point, the entire Weasley family plus two had crowded into the doorway, talking lowly amongst themselves and looking almost…excited?
“Probably their first Muggle visitors,” I muttered, suddenly understanding why any unwitting non-magical person would give their home a wide berth. Having no doubt conducted a thorough Internet search, Jazz knew exactly what ‘Muggle’ meant, and smirked.
“Well, we should go introduce ourselves,” Jazz said brightly. “Looks like we’re stuck here till I figure out how to get back in touch with Optimus. This does explain why my comm. links are all down…”
Something occurred to me. “Yet you could access an Internet that puts this all under the fictional category?”
He shrugged.
Trying to work through the logic of it made my brain hurt, so I just sighed and unbuckled. If I were Prowl, I would have already fried my circuits and be in need of revival from stasis lock.
Now grinning, Jazz opened both our doors and practically hopped out. I wondered how long he could keep that hologram going—it wouldn’t be too fun if he revealed his true form and they freaked. My evasive maneuvering skills left much to be desired, and I wasn’t sure how Cybertronians would be affected by hexes.
But if he kept being so darn cheerful, I might have been willing to find out.
We were halfway to the house when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley appeared at the door, dressed, like their children and guests, in Muggle attire. I noticed the thin piece of wood sitting unassumingly in Mrs. Weasley’s apron pocket, knowing that a hapless arrival wouldn’t make the connection to ‘magic wand’ so readily.
Reaffirming their status as the antithesis of Dursley-style hospitality, the red-haired couple hurried out to meet us, looking positively delighted. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed at a distance, with the rest of the Weasley children watching dubiously from the front stoop. They clearly didn’t trust much in their parents’ abilities to appear normal to Muggles.
“Welcome, welcome!” Mr. Weasley beamed, arms spread wide as if he was about to hug us both. He glanced behind us at the silver car, and I saw a flicker of interest in his eyes. “Ah…car troubles?”
Jazz smiled crookedly, holding up the map and once again demonstrating how perfectly comfortable he was around strangers. “No, map troubles,” he joked. “This one must be broken.”
Five pairs of eyebrows shot up as he spoke. “You’re American?” Mrs. Weasley asked curiously.
I almost laughed, imagining what the true answer would be. But Jazz just smiled and replied charmingly, somehow managing not to lie. “Most recently, yes. I’m Jazz, and this is Lily.”
Something flashed across Harry’s face and I realized with a jolt just how many horrible similarities I had to his deceased mother—the red hair, the name, the green eyes. I was probably not a welcome reminder. I dropped my gaze to the dirt.
“Very nice to meet you both. I’m Arthur Weasley, and this is my wife Molly and our children. Why don’t you two come inside for some tea, and we can figure out how to get you where you need to go.”
Flashing a dazzling 1000-watt smile that made Hermione stop in her tracks and Mrs. Weasley turn slightly pink, Jazz agreed and thanked them.
I swear, as I trooped up to the front door of the Burrow, I heard Hermione mumble something to Molly that sounded suspiciously like ‘male veela’.
Ron led the way into the living room while Molly headed immediately for the kitchen. Arthur was already chatting with Jazz about mechanics of automobiles, while I stared around at the room. It was quite possibly the best living room ever in terms of comfort and a real home-like feel, and I suddenly understood why Harry loved the Burrow so much after living with the Dursleys.
I turned and met the eyes of one of the twins. He grinned, half-shrugging. “It’s not extravagant, but it’s home.”
“I think it’s amazing,” I replied sincerely, feeling like I was quoting a younger Harry.
The twin beamed. “I’m Fred.” I ignored the sick swooping sensation in my gut and just smiled. “And this is George. Or is it the other way around?”
Ron rolled his eyes. “You got it right, congratulations.” He turned to me and Jazz. “I’m Ron.”
Harry, Ginny, and Hermione introduced themselves as well, just as Mrs. Weasley emerged from the kitchen with a tray of tea. “We have three other boys, they’re just looking for a more up-to-date map, dears.” Mrs. Weasley smiled, passing around steaming teacups. “I’ve been meaning to ask…What part of America are you two from?”
“I’m from Massachusetts, but I’ve been in Nevada recently with Jazz and his friends. We actually got separated from them and lost our communication, which is the main reason we’re lost…” I grinned, glancing over at Jazz mischievously. “And you know how it is with men and asking for directions.”
Apparently a common trait with wizards and Muggles, Molly and Hermione both laughed. Jazz stuck out his tongue, then muttered something that made Fred and George laugh.
“Watch yourself, pretty boy,” I bristled jokingly, my hand gripping the tea spoon. “I know where you sleep.”
Jazz just grinned, clearly ready to come back with some R-rated comment. Thankfully, the sound of two pairs of footsteps on the stairs cut him off.
The two oldest Weasley boys burst into the room mid-conversation, the taller one holding a dog-eared but clearly modern map in one hand.