We will adapt.
AN/ i know nothing. own nothing. not this story. not the computer its written on...nothing!
Hermione Granger had a horrible summer. Her best friend Harry Potters mind snapped the summer after sixth year, the nurse on the hospital wing couldn't find any thing wrong with him expt that the diagnostic charms showed over a hundred different minds in his body. Apparently the stress of having He-Who-Must -Not-Be-Named after him as well as his childhood(if you can call it that) got to much and his mind fractured beyond repair.
So...here she was. sitting in her couch reading another book on mind magic while having a old Star Trek: The Next Generation re-run on the TV in the background while trying not to think about harry, knowing that he was a vegetable in his normal bed in the schools hospitalwing. She blink some tears from her eyes and sniffs, she was so tired. most of the summer have been spent going though books...books on magical healing...books on the mind magics...even books on muggle psychology ...but she didn't find anything that could help. There had been cases where somebody have developed a Multible personable disorder after traumatic or stressful events but nothing as bad as this. a hundred minds...she tossed the book across the room before breaking down in tears, not for the first time this summer...or even today...but though the tears she heard something that gave her an idea...
"Are you sure about this miss granger...you did get the idea from muggle fiction after all..." said Madame Pomfrey as she looked down on the comatose student. Hermione nods and respond "yes...yes i am. its the only thing we can do."
"very well..."pomfrey responds and cast the spell...
...And the emerald green eyes of the patient opened.
A few hundred miles away Tom Riddle AKA Voldemort feel his link to that cursed potter boy stabilize again...it looks like his last mental attack failed after all. He hiss and narrow his red eyes before closing them completely and focusing on the link. he feel the normal rush from entering a mind not his own and he open his eyes again...seeing nothing but black and stars. He spins around...there is NOTHING there. growing more and more confused...even a destroyed mind should leave some remains...but there...there is something...in the distance. its getting closer...whats this...its...a cube...its getting closer...suddenly the last thing to ever go though Voldemorts mind, echo though the still, empty space.
"We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."