One floor up, the giant teenagers walk back and forth down the same stretch of hallway three times and then open a door that was toooootally there the whole time guys, promise.

Inside is--not ruins. It's a cozy sitting room with four chairs, one much smaller than the others and with a Buzz-sized ladder leading up to it. There's a set of cabinets on the wall, some at a reasonable height and size for Buzz and some at a reasonable height for the others.

Intriguing.

"So," says the mildly scarred one as he sets Buzz down in the appropriate chair, "I don't suppose you'll just tell us what you are, who made you, or what you're trying to do?"

(Oh, they’ve got dedicated facilities for hosting aliens; that’s informative.)

"Certainly. I am Buzz Lightyear, Space Ranger, Star Command. Due to a … uh, currently unidentified anomaly … I was diverted off course to your world. My current objectives are to determine my galactic position, establish subspace-relay contact with my command, and secure departure from this world to resume my duties."

There's no way all of those are real words.

"So you're saying you're a space alien. Who looks just like a human but tiny and made of plastic." She turns to the others. "I think he might be like a portrait, but of someone who never existed."

"There's portraits of what people think Merlin looked like. Not many, though; they're all tossers."

"What is Star Command?"

A tiny suspicion, sharpened by years of experience, begins to worm its way into Buzz’s thoughts. So they’ve made interstellar contact, but they supposedly haven’t heard of the Galactic Alliance? How is that possible? Are they pretending—trying to confirm he's a real ranger? Is it a bug with the translator? And on that note—plastics? Seriously?

“Uh, quick correction—I think my translator might be malfunctioning—this covering is not my body. It's a suit which contains and protects my body from the harsh conditions of space and of other worlds. Space ranger suits are engineered for protection and durability from the finest state-of-the-art materials—ancient petrochemical polymers wouldn’t cut it.” Buzz makes a fair attempt at a conciliatory grin.

“As for Star Command, they are my commanding authority. As you may know, we are explorers, scientists, peacekeepers, educators, and diplomats, representing a force for good in the vast emptiness of space. Do you have a hierarchical ruling body around here yourselves, or are you some kind of autonomous collective, decentralized tribe, ascended decision theorists, egalitarian utopia, hive mind, et cetera?”

Privately, Buzz hopes he hasn’t crash-landed in another egalitarian utopia. They’ve all either got a diabolical secret, or else some hegemonizing outsiders that they’re too peaceful or decentralized to fight back against. Such an object lesson. Buzz muses grimly. Really makes you think.

"Your face looks like plastic too but that's beside the point. Hogwarts is run by--"

"Professor Dumbledore, but he's not here right now, so Umbridge is claiming to be Headmistress."

"And the country's run by the Minister of Magic, who's elected and also a git."

"A democracy!" How unexpectedly civilized. "The system that ensures that everyone's complaining, instead of just the chosen few. Well then, according to protocol, I need to speak with someone in charge who can authorize me to stay and possibly grant me temporary resident status. Who is the top government official you can directly put me in contact with?"

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again.

" . . . I need to ask you some more questions first. Can you say some things about your own subjective experiences?"

Buzz blinks. “Ah, of course—I’m a surprise visitor asking to see a government official. Naturally, I intend to cooperate with whatever vetting process your custom demands.”

Some sort of biometric lie detector, he’d bet, glancing around the room. A well hidden one, too, apparently. The caginess of his hosts suggests that he might currently be talking to higher authorities than he first supposed; no wonder they're reluctant to answer before they know more.

“Let's see…externally, my body has four conductive senses and one radiant sense, with the radiant one being predominant for my species. My suit normally extends and filters this sensory range to ecologically typical levels, and I'm able to see and interact with you comfortably in the current ambient conditions. I'm in what appears to be a receiving room with a wall of storage lockers. I see three individuals, seated. Biometrics are currently inaccessible so no exact numbers, but I can tell you my core temperature feels close to the usual five-fifty-eight °R, breathing and pulse slightly elevated above normal due to a recent xenofauna encounter. Finally, in any case, I can assure you I am who I say I am—you can verify my service number and biotag with Star Command—and that my purpose here is exactly as I report.”

"And how would one go about contacting Star Command?"

He struggles to keep his expression neutral. “Uh, I expect you'd use subspace radio to contact headquarters, assuming you don’t have any more local star command presence.”

Another one of those strange questions.

Hmmmm.

“If there's a problem with the galactic registry, I can transfer the diplomatic bands to your console myself and you can handshake after you’ve made contact.”

"So, the thing is, this planet doesn't actually have contact with any other planets. And subspace radio isn't a real thing. I think you were created on Earth, recently, by magic, with fake memories. I'm sorry."

"Also you really shouldn't talk to the government. They're not--whatever you're expecting."

Buzz permits himself a brief moment of silence for the idea that these extraterrestrials might have been straightforwardly helpful: Here's a star-schooner for you, Captain. they’d have said. Nearest Command outpost is a few parsecs over that direction—best of luck to you, and to all who serve. Really, it’s the least we could do.

Instead, it’s ranger business as usual today, apparently. What had they said? We do not speak to other worlds. Oh, we’ve never heard of subspace radio. We must meet in private; we don’t want them finding us here. Don’t speak to our democratically-elected government.

Yep, all straight from the insurrectionist playbook. Time to nod along until the moment comes to spring into action.

"Fair enough. I might be a clone or construct with a lifetime of implanted memories— it happens. Granting that possibility, I must insist that I be treated in any case as a full person, and not as chattel, criminal, subsapient, sacrifice, totem, or science experiment.

So long as that's clear, I'm prepared to honor your request to avoid government contact at this stage. Although announcing myself and complying with local rule of law is standard procedure to avoid an interstellar incident, I can understand that the political situation here is…more complex…and I don't want to act recklessly if I have an opportunity to make a more informed decision instead."

He lets the tacit request for information hang in the air. Let them come to it.

"Harry's right--oh, we never introduced ourselves, did we? I'm Hermione Granger and these are Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. Anyway, if you go to the Ministry they will not treat you as a full person. Especially if you can't use magic. They'd probably obliviate you--wipe your memories--at best, and decide you're a dangerous artifact and destroy you at worst."

"I should explain more about magic. Some people--some humans--are wizards and witches, which means we can do magic." She pulls a stick out of her sleeve and a piece of parchment out of her bag, and waves the one at the other. The parchment turns red, floats into the air, folds itself into a little paper boat, and then undoes those transformations and tucks itself back in the bag. "Wizards and witches nearly always have magic children, but sometimes muggles--that's people without magic--have magic children too. There are various magical beings whose whole species are magic but I don't think any of them have governments per se except the merfolk, and they live underwater and don't like visitors. Any questions so far?" She sounds like a teacher giving an introductory lecture, and also like this and not the earlier conversation is her natural mode of being.

"Well, that's new." he observes.

Everyone has heard stories about ascended utopias—worlds that have eliminated inequality and material scarcity through unfathomable technological prowess. This benighted cloak-and-dagger warzone clearly isn’t that. But nonetheless these people have tools that can reshape matter at will.

... the mysterious and ancient minds that assembled it, only to abandon it to time.

Scavengers, then. Devices with powers beyond mortal imagination, found in the ruins of a sublimed civilization, passed down through some sort of primogeniture and jealously guarded from the unworthy.

Star Command must learn about this—if Buzz can set up camp here and do some covert intel gathering, some gadget from this place may hold the key to defeating the dread Emperor Zurg.

"I think I follow so far. What do you know about the colossal stonework we're in?"