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Wide Awake

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Chapter One

"You think this will save your precious Autobots, Primus," Unicron's voice echoed through the darkness that was his, red eyes shining steadily out at him. Primus didn't have to see his brother to know that those face plates, so different from his own, were stretched out into a cruel grin. "It will not, and it will weaken you in return. By all means, please do proceed."

Primus would have rolled his eyes if it wasn't beneath a being of his stature. Sometimes being a God was not the easiest thing in the galaxy.

"You will lose, Unicron, just as you always have." Primus let none of his doubt transfer through his voice. This was not like all the other times that the two brothers, and their creations, had fought. This time, they were so much closer to losing. The Fallen had shifted things so much further to the Dark than ever before, and young Megatron, once Lord High Protector, was looking to make things even worse. "My drain of power will be worth ensuring the Cybertronians continue on."

Unicron snarled, the sound reverberating through the mental darkness.

"Continue on? Continue on as they are, contained on a planet when they should be ruling the galaxy! Our creations are the most advanced beings in the universe, and you want them to stay as ants! Ants when they should be Gods!"

The same old argument that would never be decided, and Primus would have sighed but he had wasted enough time here.

"Be at peace Brother."


#4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey, England

October, 31st 1988

Harry James Potter raced down the steps of his Aunt and Uncle's house, panting as he forced his small legs to run faster than a child his age and size should ever have to run, cringing as Uncle Vernon's voice yelled after him, curses and accusations that Harry was all too familiar with following him down the street.

Harry didn't stop running until he came to the park on Wisteria Lane, dodging past the swings and ignoring the disgruntled shouts from parents as he slid into his hidey hole, crawling through the dirt and branches until he was completely obscured by the small grove of trees.

Here, he was safe. Being small had its advantages.

"I shouldn't have done that." Harry hugged his knees to his chest and pressed his cheek against them, rocking slightly back and forth. Why did he keep doing these bad things? He tried, he tried so hard to be good, but no matter how hard he tried he was never able to stay good. He always turned his teachers hair blue, or ended up on the roof, or grew his hair after it had been cut too short.

He was a freak.

He hadn't meant to do it, but Dudley had just made him so mad. Harry had only wanted to try the cake, he had never had the chance and it looked so good. There was half a piece left, crumbs really, and Aunt Petunia said he could have it.

But Dudley hadn't wanted to share, and Harry could still see the mean look in his cousins eyes as he reached forward and grabbed the remnants, stuffing it in his mouth in piggy glee.

Harry didn't know how it had happened, he'd just gotten so mad, and then with a loud pop like a cork coming out of the wine bottles his uncle opened only on Saturday nights he was entertaining clients, the cake had flown out of Dudleys mouth and landed on Aunt Petunia's face, at the same time that Dudleys chair went flying backwards and dumped him on his piggy bottom.

Harry hadn't waited to see what was going to happen, he'd ran as quickly as his legs could take him as Vernon's lumbering steps headed into the kitchen from the living room.

His fault or not, and Harry had the sickening feeling that it was his fault at least this time, Harry wasn't going to stay around to be shoved into his cupboard and yelled at until Vernon was blue in the face.

Not again.

That was how the being found him minutes later, a small blue glow generating from the center of the clearing, growing steadily brighter. Harry reached up and rubbed his eyes behind the glasses, sure that he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing.

But it wouldn't go away,

It only got brighter and Harry moaned lowly, his child's mind automatically accepting a fact that had been drilled into his head until he believed it himself.

"Not again, I didn't mean to do it!" A laugh came from the glow, now vaguely recognizable as human...or human shaped, the glow too bright to be identified as anything other than blue.

"Peace, sparkling, I mean you no harm." The voice was calm, soothing, and Harry found himself calming down against his wishes.

'Never talk to strangers' it was the one rule that Aunt Petunia had drilled into both he and Dudley, the only time that she had shown even the slightest bit of interest in Harry's safety. But did human shaped lights count as strangers?

"Your aunt was very right, youngling. A spark such as yourself should never talk to strangers." Yeah, it was definitely laughing at him and Harry blinked.

"I didn't say anything about my aunt." He hadn't, had he? Harry eyed the being with more fear now, edging backwards into the trunk of the tree that he'd found shelter against, putting as much space between them as he could.

"Peace, Sparkling, peace. I've come to offer you a second chance." The glow came closer, but stopped out of arms reach. It/He was respecting Harry's personal space and clear desire to avoid contact.

No one had ever done that before.

"A second chance? A second chance at what?" Harry was confused, this day was just getting more and more odd to him. First the incident with Dudley, now Harry was talking to a light.

Had he hit his head the last time he was thrown into the cupboard? He must have, because this was beyond crazy.

This looked a lot like...magic, and the M word was one of the worst words you could say.

Harry began backing away slowly, his eyes wide and visions of the punishments that Vernon would be putting him through when he found out.

The glow dimmed for a few minutes, before brightening again, almost seeming to sigh.

"I am sorry, sparkling, but I have no other choice. I need someone, and I do not have enough energy to continue the search. Hopefully, one day you will be able to forgive me."

Before Harry could blink and get enough air into his lungs to scream, no matter how much unwanted attention that would bring to him, the glow brightened to blinding levels and enveloped Harry's body.

As did the Pain. Pain like the eight year old had never encountered and never wanted to again. He was burning, at the same time enveloped with a cold that chilled him to the bone.

Harry couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He just wanted it to stop.

The sensations kept building until his mind couldn't take it anymore, and he knew nothing else.

Iacon, Cybertron

The Grand Institute of Science and Technology

"We should be at a hospital, not a school." Ratchet paced the hallway in a quick circle, giving his partner an aggravated glare when he chuckled, swatting his arm away as Orion tried to calm him down. "If something happens, I'm blaming you. Iacon is not the place for a sparkling to be sparked, Primus damn it!"

The medic was worked up, making another circuit of the hall as he muttered under his breath, giving Orion Pax a deep glare with his optics as he passed him again, keeping one auditory sensor out for the sparkling. Their sparkling. His sparkling.

Primus, what were they getting into? A war was brewing on Cybertron. No one was safe, both Orion and himself were going to be on the front lines when it finally came to a head, they had no right bringing a sparkling into being when none of them might survive to live another five minutes.

"Calm yourself, Ratchet. Everything will work out." Orion Pax, unknowing that he would one day be Optimus Prime, leader of the autobots, stopped his sparkmate from pacing and forced the medic to turn and face him. "Right or wrong, we have made our choice. There is no changing things now."

It was a battle of wills, Orion calm assurance, Ratchet wound up nuts and bolts of energy.

It all came to a halt as the doors behind them whirred open, the slim figure of a medical femme coming through, her face plates stretched into a wide grin that almost looked maniacal.

If Ratchet didn't know better, he would say she was a sister of Arcee, but the Arcee sisters were currently on assignment on the other side of Cybertron, and where one went, all went.

"Orion Pax and Ratchet Pax?" There was a definitely amused cast to the femme's voice, and both mechs fought the urge to hunch down in embarrassment. But that urge was quickly beat out by the urge to find out if their sparkling was alright.

Their sparkling.

Wrong choice or not, his spark fluttered at the thought.

"Is he finished?" It popped out of Ratchets lip plates before he was able to censor his processor, the medic in him at the fore. "There were no problems with his coding? No processor failure?"

A warm servo covered his lip plates before his rambling got too far to reign in, and the Femme laughed, clearly too used to this from prospective creator and carriers to be offended.

Orion pulled away after a few microseconds, smirking to himself at the dazed look on the other mech's faceplates.

"Ratchet, let her speak." The medic did, but grumbled to himself as the femme came closer to them, holding out the form she held in her arms so they could see.

"He's perfect, though I will admit, we were a little surprised at how he came out."

Ratchet and Orion didn't hear her, so focused on the little sparkling.

'Perfect' was the only thing that Ratchet could think, reaching up a shaking servo to run over the top of the sparklings head.


From his delicate faceplates, optics still closed in recharge, to each and ever servo and plate of his protoform, he was perfect.

"He's a Seeker." Ratchet rolled his eyes at his sparkmates rather dull witted, in his mind, remark.

"My creators creator was a seeker, it was always a possibility." Ratchet didn't care if the sparkling wanted to spend every minute off the ground, winging his way through the skies of Cybertron. If he was alive and happy, Ratchet would be content.

Their perfect little sparkling.

"What are you going to name him?" The femme was even more amused than before, handing the sparkling gently into Orion's arms, helping the large mech support his head carefully in the crook of his joint. Ratchet had seen the son of Radimus Prime in many different stages of his life, many different emotions, but he had never seen this one before, such an expression of pure contentment and pleasure. It radiated from his spark to Ratchets and back, and was unblockable.

Ratchet would never want to, and he smiled as he opened his mouth to name their son, the name they had slaved over since they decided a sparkling was in their future.

But before he could, the sparkling's eyes opened sleepily and Ratchets words caught in his vocal processors, dying before he could utter them.


Deep, sparkling Green.

Green optics had never been seen on Cybertron, at least not in...millenia.

They were Green.

Another name spilled from his lips, Orion's confusion and then acceptance flooding him as he handed the little mech over.

"Skybolt. His name is Skybolt."

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore felt every one of his years as he slowly put down the Special Edition of the Daily Prophet, the words splashed across the front page making his heart clench.


Rita Skeeter was, of course, the journalist behind such a private matter being spread to public with as much lurid detail as possible.

A moving black and white picture of Vernon and Petunia Dursley sat underneath the headline, the two muggles wild eyed and screaming as they were lead away by Dementors they couldn't see, their son being shuffled off by the Division of Youth Services to be handed to the muggle child services.

It was too little, too late in Dumbledore's mind.

They were supposed to protect him, he was blood of their blood. It was the only reason Albus had ever even contemplated placing him with the Dursleys in the first place. He needed to be protected, and raised away from the fame and pressure that growing up surrounded by people who worshiped him would have resulted in.

But Albus never wanted this. Never.

There hadn't even been enough left of his body to warrant a coffin. Though the Ministry, it its infinite ignorance and desire to be seen as all knowing and all seeing, had demanded a very public, very long, very spectacle of a funeral to 'honor' the Boy Who Lived. But not one of them had truly cared.

'Harry was our savior.” 'Harry would have been a great wizard one day.' 'The Potters are together now'

Hollow words from very hollow people. Not one of them cared about the little boy they were there to honor. Not one of the cared beyond the title of Boy Who Lived, Defeater of Voldemort.

No one cared about Harry.

“Albus?” Minerva McGonagall's voice was hoarse as she stepped into his office, her eyes still in their red-rimmed state. A handkerchief was still clenched in her fist, and had been since the moment the Tracer went off in Dumbledore's pocket during a staff meeting. “The Students are about to arrive.”

Dumbledore nodded and stood to his feet, his eyes flitting to the picture he had kept on his desk since a beaming James Potter had presented it to him just days after the birth of his pride and joy. Green Eyes, bright even days after his birth, had given him strength over the years to do what he had to do.

Now those same eyes would haunt him for the rest of his days, his last and greatest failure.

He made his way down his spiral staircase, down the hall, and through the staff entrance to the Great Hall without really seeing his surroundings, only coming to himself when he stood up and held his goblet in his hand, the sea of children's faces looking back at him with hopeful, excited faces.

It was wrong, it was all so wrong, and even though he couldn't fix it in the Wizarding World as a whole, he could do something to fix it here and now. Studying the faces who were now looking at him with nerves written all over their faces, Headmaster Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore placed his goblet down on the table and clapped his hands. His magic, tied to the castle of Hogwarts just like his predecessors before him, reached out and the colorful House Banners changed, black fabric replacing them with the Potter House Crest imposed on the fabric.

“Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts.” His voice was grave, and even the Staff found themselves looking at him curiously, Minerva the only one who was catching on to what he was doing. She reached for her tartan handkerchief again, already dabbing at her eyes. “For those of you who have been here before, welcome back, and to those of you who are joining us for the first time, this is the beginning of seven long, magical years of education and wonder.”

That was the last of his normal speech, and he knew that the next words out of his mouth would lead Howlers and recriminations to his door in a matter of hours once the students got to their owls and their parents.

He didn't care.

“By now, I am positive that you have all heard the news. Harry James Potter, scion and last remaining Heir to the Potter family, was murdered by Muggles.” Faces stared up at him, tears in some eyes but none of them showing surprise. It had been the most heavily covered news story in the past 100 years. “This, is a huge loss to all of us. To Hogwarts, to the Wizarding World as a whole. Harry Potter did more for us in a single year of life than any wizard has ever done....” By the end of his speech, there wasn't a dry eye in the Hall, and after draining his glass in a silent salute to the child that never got to live, and left the hall.


A distressed series of whirring, chirping, and clicks pulled Ratchet from a deep recharge. A single blue optic onlined quickly, meeting the sad green ones of his sparkling hanging precariously from the top of the berth and staring down at him with his door wings fluttering with as much movement as the newly formed appendages were capable of. The medic sat up slowly, reaching a large hand up to gently cradle the sparkling that dropped into it, wrapping two thin servos around his carriers larger fingers, and chirping sadly.

'What is it, Skybolt? You should be in recharge little one.' Ratchet sent the thought down their bond, running a large digit over the top the little Mech's head.

At the soft, distracted questioning he received, Ratchet sent a gentle 'I'll handle it' down the link to his sparkmate. Orion had recently received the Matrix of Leadership, along with the name Optimus Prime, and it was a hard job. He needed as little distraction as possible, though he would be inclined to disagree. The War was heating up, Lord High Protector Megatron turning into a monster, decepticons and autobots murdering each other over ideals that they should have been long beyond.

It was a nightmare, that never ended.

'Squishy', Skybolt sent to him, green optics shuttering for a few moments as he shook from whatever had woken him, the fright in the single word coming across the bond loud and clear. Ratchet frowned and brought the sparkling closer to him, letting the little bot curl over his spark chamber and laying back on the berth, his hand still cupped around the small form. 'Hurt Me'

Ratchet crooned down the bond, mind clicking through everything he knew to do for the night terrors that had haunted the sparkling almost from the moment that he was sparked. This was the first time the bot had been able to vocalize what he was seeing in the dreams, and Ratchet hoped that meant he was one step closer to forgetting whatever it was that tormented him so.

'You aren't squishy, skybolt. You are very much a sparkling.' Other than wiping his CPU, there was nothing he could do but comfort him through them and hope they ended, and soon. If they got much worse, he would have to take that final step and hope that they would be able to salvage something of the little bots programming after it was all over. 'There isn't a squishy part of you'

The soft words combined with the rhythmic stroking down his back eventually lulled the small bot back to recharge, but his carrier wasn't that lucky.

Ratchet stayed awake, staring at the berth above him, afraid to stop running his finger over his offspring, waiting for the wake up alarm.

It was a very tired medic and an equally cranky sparkling that stomped into the mess hall the next morning. Ratchet was carrying his trade mark wrench in his left hand, the sparkling perched on his right shoulder, his door wings fluttering. The few bots that were awake during the first energon rush, were smart enough to get themselves and any appendages out of his way until he had at least two grade 4 cubes in him and the sparkling had at least twice that.

Even then, they stayed far far away from the medic's wrench.

It was a silent and still mess that Ironhide walked into, cannons still smoking on his shoulder as he headed for the nearest energon, downing it with relish as he sank down in front of one of his oldest friends, his optics widening as he caught sight of the sparkling sitting in front of his carrier, happily drinking his fill. The two new parents had been very careful with who they allowed near their new offspring, and it wasn't often that they brought him out onto the base.

'Ratchet'. Ironhide kept his sentences short, trying and failing to keep his eyes from falling back to the sparkling against his own will. It wasn't often a sparkling was born in this day and age, and with the war, it was even more rare. 'Skybolt'.

The little bot lifted those strange, green, optics to the weapons specialists' face, but quickly went back to his breakfast. Ironhide just chuckled. A bot after his own CPU, even if he was a seeker.

'Ironhide.' The medic wasn't as obsessed with his food as his offspring, and there was a fission of fear that ran through the grey mech at the look in Ratchets optics. That look always preceded either something sharp and heavy slamming into his head, or something sharp slamming into an energon line. 'I've been looking for you all week. You missed your overhaul appointment.'

Ironhide would deny for the rest of his days that he quailed under that look. He had missed his appointment, and he had planned on avoiding the medic until he forgot about it, but a midnight battle with the slagging Decipticons made him too hungry to wait until the later servings.

“Uhhhhh......” The weapons specialist downed the rest of his energon and moved to stand up, the grit in between his joints sending pain skittering to his CPU, freezing when the wrench was waved in front of his face.

“That's what I thought, you slagging idiot.” Ratchet smirked, Skybolt echoing the look from atop his creator's shoulders.

Chapter Text

So, this is obviously not a chapter, but an update. I recently...rediscovered this fandom, and I'm going to try to get something out for it. I'm not sure if it will follow the original storyline I had intended, but something is better than nothing, right?