Rigging Up a Conversation Means
Warning for: reference to past character death
Black Lodge, 1st November 2003
“Hello again. Umm, somebody will be here to help you, tonight. I told my friends already. They’ll let the person in. I can stay with you, till then. If you want, I can stay with you through it, too.”
A blink.
“I’m looking forward to knowing you better. You’re an alien, aren’t you? I hope you can tell me things about your homeworld. It must be exciting! I always wanted to learn about other cultures and societies. I always wanted to travel, too. Things just… fell to the side, for a while.”
Another blink.
“Do you travel by spaceships? Is it why there’s no vehicle where you were found? Hermione told me. Do you know how they’re made? A friend thought I should learn how to make things, and meeting you like this makes me want to learn how to make a spaceship.”
Yet another blink.
I quirk a smile at the large, black-skinned, yet-unnamed man who lies in the bed, grasping my hand through the blanket and patiently listening. “Thought you’d be fed up with my chatter by now,” I admit. “I guess it’s yet another incentive for you to regain your voice and learn English, isn’t it? So you can shut me up whenever you want.”
The man blinks again, and adds a brief squeeze of his hand into the gesture. I send him a rueful look. “Sorry. I can be maudlin sometimes. Andy told me. She’s… my aunt. She died earlier this year. I…. Let’s talk about another thing, okay?”
I cast about desperately for a lighter, brighter topic, but thoughts of Andy – which lead to thoughts of Teddy and their senseless deaths – crowd into my mind, now, jamming it and blurring everything.
I chuckle weakly when he squeezes my hand and shakes it a little. “Sorry. I…. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” I wipe impatiently at my eyes with my other hand, then look back up, straight into his own concerned eyes.
I jolt up when he makes a small, humming noise in his throat. “Whoa! You are not supposed to speak yet,” I plead. “Justin said your throat isn’t healed enough yet.” But how flattered I am secretly, that he makes the noise for me.
I suppose, something of the child that I never was remained, and surfaces now from time to time.
Still, making a noise now can mean a slower healing of his throat, or even permanent damage. I can’t let him break himself further for me.
So, I hesitate only a little before deciding to try to speak with him mind to mind. When our gazes meet again, I motion meaningfully to my temple with my free hand then drag the hand to his own temple, before dragging it back to mine.
He looks confused, but blinks to it, rather uncertainly.
I consider it a permission.
`Legilimence,` I intone in my mind after gathering up my magic and flooding my mind with it, though not to the point of saturation, which might be quite bad for my mental health and even life. I’ve been dilligently practising Occlumency these three years, under Chilla’s tutelage, and Legilimency came easier after that.
Only, I’ve been practising Occlumency lots of time but not yet doing Legilimency to anybody.
`Oh, Merlin, please make it work,` I mutter to myself even as a tendral of my own magic connects with the man’s mind through his eyes, shaped and pushed by the word of the spell and my own will.
I knock mentally on the fringes of his mind, asking for permission.
The man’s eyes widen, and shock not of my own floods my mind.
I grin a little. `Me,` I send to him: a mental awareness of my own self.
`Me,` he sends back, unsurely, fumbling on his presentation, making it too strong but unclear. But he does it.
My grin is full-blown, now. It’s only an exchange of wordless concepts, but we’re talking!
`Pride. Me to you,` I send to him, next.
`Happy. I look. You happy,` he sends in response.
My breath hitches.
He’s too inexperienced in this type of communication to be able to lie, like Snape or Dumbledore. Besides, all the concepts that he’s sent me thus far are blunt, frank and sincere. So….
He is sincerely glad that my mood has lightened.
`I am Honoured. You said, I am Happy,` I tell him through concepts and emotions, while trying to regather my composure. It’s pathetic, to be toppled by a small, simple, unlooked-for piece of positive human interaction, but… well… I don’t care.
Time for business, though. `No using your throat for speaking, now,` I tell him, with pointing to his throat and mouth to aid me. `Not fine now. Maybe later.` Damn. It’s so hard to speak like this, with the “words” so limited and sometimes unclear.
He sends his understanding and mild amusement to me, in response… so maybe the meaning is still clear enough to him… but still!
I mock-glare to him and send him my indignation… with some embarrassment tagging along without permission. Damn.
Well, time to change topics, now that he understands, or he might rib me as my friends – my other friends – do.
`I am Harry,` I tell him, aiding the concept and the word with patting at my own chest with a free hand. Then I motion at him and send him an inquiring look and concept. `You?`
He turns deadly serious, just so. I straighten up in kind, unconsciously.
`No tell others,` I promise him. `You agree, I tell. You not, I not.`
He looks deeply into my eyes for a long moment, as if rifling through my memories, though I don’t feel such in my mind. And then he says one word, `Teal’c.`