Catalyst

Chapter 41: New Experiences

"Good job, Ginny! Just a bit more flick at the end of that severing charm, and it'll be perfect," Potter said, addressing the female Weasley. Only 5 minutes into the next DA meeting, Luna had another reason to look down on humans. The idea of perfection was a pipe dream, a fantasy, and here was a human claiming they could achieve it with a little extra movement. Almost every sentence out of their mouths was flawed. If Umbridge's class wasn't a dozen times worse, Luna would have been there.

With a dismal sigh, Luna returned her attention to her own wand, gathering her power to cast her own Diffindo. It wasn't a particularly powerful spell. If she did the same thing with her own power, Luna could create a cutting force much more forceful and on a much larger scale. The only advantage the humans had was efficiency, and the Swarm always desired that. So, here she was, flicking her wand three times to the left, lifting it up and clockwise. With a final flick down, she pointed the wand at the target and hissed out "Diffindo!" An intangible cutting force rushed out of the wood and all but bisected the dummy.

"Nice one Luna!" said an unexpected voice. Startled, Luna turned around to see Potter gazing at her, inspecting her wand. "At this rate you might give Hermione a run for her money."

Luna couldn't respond. All she could do was stare silently. This wasn't supposed to happen. Why was anyone, much less the leader of this organization paying attention to her? No one ever had before. Not unless they had to, they were trying to bully her, or... Luna's eyes narrowed. Not unless they wanted something from her. "Thank you," she said cheerfully, with just the slightest bit of detachment. She couldn't let Potter know she was onto him after all.

Potter responded with a nod before moving on to the next person. That was it? No follow up, no questions, no 'suggestions'? What did Potter want with her? He must want something. Perhaps she just had to wait for him to show his hand. With a cautious glare, she resumed her severing charm practice. Potter didn't come back around to her again, although he did nod in her direction as the club wrapped up. Clearly, he was willing to play the long game. That was fine. Luna would remain on her guard as long as necessary. She wouldn't be fooled by the human's kindness. They always had an agenda. Right?

(Transition)

Abathur had never been comfortable with stillness. There was always a pulsing vein, a flexing muscle, an expanding lung, or some other moving part anywhere he looked. Even in death, the little shudders of escaping air or the twitches as rigor mortis took hold kept the corpse moving. There was none of that in the zergling suspended before him. It was frozen, the only movement anywhere a slight shimmer around it's skin. It was completely and utterly still, and Abathur couldn't be happier about it.

The protoss had stasis wards that froze his forces in time. He had now acquired the humans' method of constructing wards. Perhaps only the phrase was the same, but now that he was reunited with the Swarm, he had all the time in the world to experiment in any direction he chose. Naturally, he had began with the weavers, his newest creation, and in all likelihood the only one that he would keep from his time on this planet. The first thing he had done was order them to construct equivalents to the protoss stasis wards. Abathur had expected them to use the better part of the planet's rotation to do so.

They had completed the first version in half an hour, then went through several improved versions for another two before arriving at their final product. The weavers at work were truly a thing of beauty. Every movement was deliberate, each marking entwined with all the others in intricate ways even Abathur could only barely understand. He could only assume that it was how others felt when he was working on his own projects. Even the final ward has surpassed his expectations. Rather than the unstable, indiscriminate burst that the protoss used, the weaver's ward used a delicate touch, capturing only what it wished to and holding them seemingly as long as desired. The zergling in front of Abathur had been locked into its current position for well over a day now with no signs of the ward weakening. Abathur could already think of upwards of a dozen uses for this ward alone, and it was only one of the first design they had produced. The weavers were a work of art. They were all he could have hoped to gain from psionics and then some.