AN: So I suppose this will be slow building and drabble-ish without regular updates. Honestly, if you provide prompts, I'm more likely to update. Otherwise, the creative juices have to compete with my need to eat and sleep in my free time. This is more an exercise in cleaning out the plot bunnies nesting in my head. No planned pairings at the moment and all the standard disclaimers apply. Fine, if I must say it: I do not own Harry Potter or Star Trek or any recognizable characters, plots, or rights thereof.


Harriet was at something of a loss. She didn't know where she was or how she got there. She didn't know why a man in a strange uniform was yelling at her. But most of all, she didn't know why he was yelling at her, in English, with a heavy American accent.

And it looked like rain. Her right eye began to twitch.

Not a minute ago, she had been standing inside her favorite bakery fiddling in her bag for an elusive set of keys. Per usual, she had her extra hot 'surprise' tall (as in large) latte, sugar (as in equally large bakery item), and a general inability to manage sipping said beverage while juggling breakfast, keys, and her phone.

At some point she looked down, phone on her ear, narrowly missing the doorpost, to search through her satchel on her way out

… only to look up and find herself in the middle of a deserted intersection.

She dropped her phone, looked right, looked left, and generally stood looking like a fish out of water. The stranger (an officer?) kept yelling, eventually dragging her out of the street, and down the road a few blocks. He pointed to several signs as he passed them, his tirade gradually reducing itself to angry mutters as he realized she wasn't paying attention.

They stopped, he hurried off, muttering several choice words under his breath. Still dazed, her mouth began to work but no sounds came out.

Eventually, she snapped to. 'Where the hell am I!?' She did a small spin, unconsciously bringing her coffee in close to protect it. Belatedly, she began to franticly look around for the stranger. She couldn't remember which way she had come.

And her coffee was getting cold.

She took a long pull on the dark liquid, taking comfort in the taste. 'Peppermint mocha. Not bad.' She took another sip, then parked herself on the curb.

'Where in Merlin's name am I?"