Star Wars + Harry Potter Crossover
A/N: Please see note at the bottom. Review Responses are in my forums as normal.
Chapter Seventeen: There is only the Force
There is no Death, there is only Kyle Katarn
Kyle, Amelia Bones and their unit of twelve aurors and hit wizards arrived at the town of Little Hangleton an hour after sunset. Almost immediately after the magic of the portkey faded away, every one of them was soaked to the bone due to a heavy downpour.
"Well this is nice," the old Jedi grumped.
"It definitely ruins your beard," Amelia said dryly. "It looks clumpy now."
"Shush, before I take you over my knee and spank you."
The youngest of their party, who happened to also be the Dumbledore agent who met them at the remains of their house, whistled. "Something we oughta' know, boss?"
"We'll tell you when you're out of diapers," Amelia snapped back, to the low chuckles of the rest of the team.
The team itself was small, and consisted only of those aurors and hit wizards Amelia herself vetted. The ages ranged from the young trainee Nymphadora Tonks, to the creaky but experienced Hit Wizard Alastor Gumboil. They numbered fourteen altogether—twelve aurors and hit wizards that the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement trusted, out of a staff of almost two hundred, plus Kyle and Amelia herself.
But for their low numbers, Kyle recognized in the older members the casual competence that came with knowledge, skill and experience. While Tonks did not have experience, she came with her own set of unique skills and abilities, not to mention a quiet courage that Kyle couldn't help but admire. She reminded him of Jan Ors, actually.
They all seemed to see in Kyle the same as he saw in them, which was not surprising. Jan always told him that he projected a certain air that made enemies nervous and allies more confident.
He was also pleased that no one made any complaints about the rain but him. Just ahead, through a line of scraggly trees, they could see Voldemort's hideout, a rickety old manor house that had seen better days. If not for a dim light on the upper floor, Kyle would have thought it abandoned.
As they watched, a shadow moved in front of the light, but only for a moment. It seemed compelling proof that their targets were inside. And yet, through the rain-saturated air, Kyle felt a deep sense of foreboding like he'd not felt since he faced Jacen Solo, who unknown to him at the time had fallen wholly to the Dark Side and had become Sith. He barely survived that encounter, but he remembered the warning he received beforehand.
"Amelia," he said quietly to the DMLE director. "I feel that our mission has been compromised. Someone told him we're coming."
Bones froze mid-step, turned and stared at him with one elegantly arched brow. Kyle couldn't help but admire the strength of her gaze. If she were born in the greater galaxy, she would likely be an admiral or better. "Any proof?"
"Only my limited prescience," he said. "You have to admit, the set-up is just too good to be true."
That seemed to shake her, but only because she realized it too, however much she wished to deny it. "I know. But Kyle, we can't let this chance go."
"Then let's simplify matters," he said. He reached into his jacket and removed a black ball roughly twice the size of a cricket ball.
"What's that?"
"Variable-yield Thermal detonator. Like a Muggle grenade, only about twenty-times more powerful when dialed up to full power. This one is even more so—it's a spec made for New Republic special forces during a pretty vicious war. It can level that house."
"So, what, we just blow it up?"
"We surround it," Kyle said. "You people magic-yourselves invisible, hunker down, and wait to see what happens while I blow it up. If after ten minutes nothing happens, we sift through the debris for signs of the enemy. But if it is a trap, maybe we can turn it on our enemies."
Amelia stared long and hard at the grenade. "Do you always carry around powerful explosives?"
Grinning, Kyle said, "Actually, yeah, a lot of the time I do."
With a snort, the director signaled the rest of their team to gather closer. As they gathered around, she filled them in on the new plan. While most cast speculative glances at Kyle, even the youngest there was smart enough to know not rushing into a potential death trap was better than rushing in. So, with their orders set, the aurors and hit wizards disillusioned themselves, reducing themselves to barely visible shimmers in the rain as they spread out around the town. Amelia made herself invisible as well, but remained close to Kyle.
When she gave the signal, Kyle flipped the switch to start the count down, but did not throw it. Instead, he harnessed the Force and levitated the grenade toward the building, accelerated it through the small fan-shaped window above the front door until it levitated just underneath the first floor.
The detonator ignited.
Unlike the Earth grenades that Kyle compared it to, the thermal detonator did not so much explode as it erupted in a limited fusion reaction that created a particle field that would atomize any non-conductive material within the blast radius. In the case of the Voxyn Special grenade Kyle used, that blast radius was one hundred feet.
In a wooden structure, the effects were devastating.
The center of Riddle Manor disappeared in a blinding white flash of expanding energy. While the blast radius was only one hundred feet, the concussive shock wave of air displaced in a hundredth of a nano-second tore the manor apart in a spectacular BOOM that leveled even Kyle. He sat up, chuckling, and said, "Little ball, big boom."
From the seemingly empty air nearby, he could hear shock in Amelia's voice. "And you carry those things around?"
"Where I'm from, a destroyed city is collateral damage. You really only take notice when worlds start to burn."
It was ironic, Kyle would think later, that the world around him would suddenly explode in fire. While this new blast did not have the concussive force of his grenade, it still slammed into Kyle's aged, beaten frame like a hammer blow. The Jedi stumbled and then had to fall into a roll to keep from falling on his face. He glanced up to see a spray of blood and then a shimmer as Donella Murchison appeared nearby, eyes wide and the gash in her neck wider. The shimmering continued until a black-cloaked figure appeared beside her, knelt down and began lapping at the blood.
Vampires.
When Kyle hired Sanguini as his attorney, the two had a long discussion about vampires in England. Most vampires followed a surprisingly comprehensive set of laws governing their interaction with both the Muggle and Magical world. Despite popular perceptions, vampires were not made, but were a separate magical species similar to goblins and centaurs.
But there were, in every ministry, covens of vampires that rejected all laws and regulations and lived as they thought they were meant to live. And it was obvious that Voldemort had decided to ally himself with these creatures.
A scream marked where another auror fell. Kyle forced himself to his feet, pulled his lucky Byar blaster pistol from his jacket and fired at the creature eating Murchison. From his readings, sunlight, stakes and beheadings could kill vampires.
Evidently compressed particles of tibanna gas accelerated to near light speed could also kill them. The vampire's head simply popped. From all around the burning remnants of the manor, Kyle heard angry howls. They came moving faster than humanely possible, visible as smudged shimmers against the flame. Kyle closed his eyes and sank deeply into the Force rather than risking letting the poor visibility mislead him. His blue lightsaber buzzed alive, and the hum of it added a mechanical counterpoint to the demonic howls of the vampires.
Surrendered as he was to the Force, Kyle allowed his body to move as the Force directed it. His arms swirled up and about, slashing at one monster with his blade while firing his pistol at a second. Distantly, he heard shouts and felt the strange distortion in the Force that was the local use of magic, but otherwise the whole of his attention was on the fight at hand.
The vampires were swarming him, having recognized him as the greater threat. He lived up to that recognition, killing six in seconds. Still they came, moving faster than even a Jedi could have moved. Kyle lost his pistol to a vampire who took his shot in its chest and kept coming anyway, seemingly to give its life to disarm him.
Kyle let the weapon go and then unleashed a maelstrom of Force-lightning that caused the vampire to shrivel and burn. Seconds later the charge in the pistol exploded under the barrage as well, giving ample reason why Kyle was one of the few to still carry the old weapon.
His saber moved faster as he fended off the attacks, but though he killed many, he knew that there were simply too many. His thoughts moved to Harry, even as he fought. One of the worst things any padawan could ever feel was the death of a master—especially when the padawan bond ran as deep as what Kyle shared with Harry.
A shadow broke through his guard. Desperately, Kyle allowed himself to roll backward while slashing with his blade. He rolled backward to his feet again, but the vampires pressed even closer. With an acceptance he never thought he would feel, Kyle realized he was going to die.
But he would not ever subject Harry to having to feel it. I'm sorry, Harry. With a steely will, Kyle severed his mental padawan link to Harry. The act distracted him only for a second, but that one second was enough. Hissing with dark glee, a vampire slid through his defenses with a slashing, clawed hand, and then all Kyle saw was darkness.
~~Katarn~~
~~Katarn~~
Harry was aware of voices speaking at him, but he could not distinguish the words. He felt hands guiding him somewhere, but he couldn't understand why, or who they belonged to. All he knew was that the bond around which is life had been built since he was a child was cut away and metaphorically bleeding and raw.
His padawan bond was cut; Kyle was dead.
Something caught his foot; gentle hands caught him before he could fall. More voices spoke, but his mind was throbbing in such pain he could not distinguish who was speaking.
His mentor and teacher was gone; Kyle was dead.
Somewhere, he heard a girl crying. More voices were talking, some rapidly, many over each other: an explosion; Saint Mungos; bodies everywhere. The Ministry was in chaos, Cornelius Fudge fled the country. And what was wrong with Potter?
The only father he had ever known was now absent; Kyle was dead. His soul was bleeding, because he felt his father in all but name die.
A sharp slap brought Harry's mind from the brink of collapse. Searing attention focused in on the face opposite him—a large, crooked nose, lank black hair that gleamed under the torchlight that somehow still illuminated the room as well as any electrical lighting; a perpetual sneer.
Harry did not even think; his thrust into the man's mind was both instinctive and defensive. The mind was powerful and shielded, but his guard was down. And in that instant, Harry knew without any question why his master was dead.
Snape.
He could feel Snape's rage at Kyle's casual dismissal of him as a person, and the humiliation of being kicked in the head. So the potions master let Voldemort know the attack was coming.
The Force surged as a rage within Harry overpowered all sense of right or wrong. With a guttural scream, Harry struck at the potions professor with all the power of the Force, not caring even for a second that the Dark Side tinted the blow.
Snape's scream of pain brought all other noise in the room to an abrupt halt. Dozens of people watched as the potion's professor flew bodily across the Hospital Wing and slammed into the far wall with bone-crushing force. Harry, though, was not content with that. He flew after, submersing himself in his rage, and lashed out with a power familiar to him through Kyle's mastery of it. Blue lightning exploded from his fingers, burning him even as it burned into Snape. It wasn't enough to kill the traitor; Harry wanted him to hurt as much as Harry hurt when Kyle died.
His punishment was interrupted by a rush of stunning energy. Harry spun away from it and ignited his lightsaber, ready to kill anyone in his way. He was not surprised to see Dumbledore rushing forward, wand in hand.
"Did you make him do it?" Harry screamed at the headmaster, far beyond any control. "Did you tell him to give away the attack plan to Voldemort? Was it you?"
The question brought Dumbledore to an abrupt halt. "What did you say?"
"Snape killed them!" the young padawan screamed. "He let Voldemort know the attack was coming! My master is dead because of him! Amelia Bones is dead because of him! And he's your slave!"
"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall sounded aghast, but Harry didn't care.
"You think you're problems are so important?" Harry continued. The words came pouring out before he could even hear what he was saying. "This is an ignorant, primitive backwater of a nation on a stupid, primitive backwater world! As soon as I get my holocom I'm going to call the Empress Mother! You want to know what power is? How about a star destroyer in orbit! They'll vaporize the whole blasted planet! They'll reduce the crust to boiling lava and your seas to vapor! That'll take care of your dark lord, won't it?"
What happened next defied even Harry's understanding. It felt as if a foot slammed into the side of his head, but there was nothing there at all. He stumbled, still clutching his lightsaber, but his eyes lost focus on the stunned faces of those around him.
"Kyle…" he breathed.
I will not lose another student to the Dark Side. It was Kyle's voice, but it rang inside his mind like a bell, so loud it crushed all other thought. A second later, the vision was gone and all that remained was Harry, with his lightsaber, facing half the castle staff and a dozen stunned, bloodied aurors.
Taking a deep breath, Harry turned off his saber and hid it in the folds of his robe. "I'm sorry," he said simply when he could speak at all. "My father in all but named died tonight. I felt him die." He pointed to the still unconscious Snape. "And it is because that man divulged the attack plan to his true master."
With that, Harry turned and walked quickly and stiffly from the hospital room. Once he was out into the hallway, the walk turned into a run. The run turned into a blinding sprint as he drew upon the Force to speed his way. Being late, the halls were deserted, so there were none to comment. He reached the suite he'd shared with Kyle and immediately began gathering his things. He would leave and reach Sanguini, and once he had his holocom he'd call for help and leave this stinking planet once and for….
"Ahhhh!" The sudden, unexpected pain in his stomach and chest brought him to his knees. It took only a moment to recognize it as the same pain that drew him to Earth in the first place—the Force-cursed goblet. He had to finish the Force-damned tournament! "No," he whispered with tears in his eyes. "No, damn it all, it's not fair!"
"Harry?" Hermione stood at the door, staring at him with a shimmering gaze.
He spun away from Hermione's eyes and desperately tried to regain some semblance of control. As soon as he accepted that he could not leave until the tournament was over, the pain stopped. But his mental controls were shredded almost beyond recognition. The gap in his mind from Kyle's death and his brief but horrifying touch with the Dark Side left him reeling and uncertain. He wanted desperately to talk to Kyle about it, like they used to do whenever he encountered something he didn't understand. So many hours, just talking and learning about himself and the world, and now it was…
A gentle hand touched his shoulder, and what little control he had shattered. Great, bowel-shaking sobs tore up from his diaphragm to his throat. Hermione sat down beside him, one arm draped over his shoulder, and said nothing.
The crying fit did not take long. It was almost impossible for a Jedi to revel in grief or self-pity for too long before a life of training and conditioning kicked in. As much as Harry loved Kyle, the ornery old Jedi would have been disgusted with his show of grief and weakness.
"I'm okay," Harry said aloud, though he found he couldn't make himself move away from the embrace.
"Alright." The response sounded subdued.
Harry was grateful for it. With the storm of grief subdued, he realized that he said far too much; revealed far too much in his childish anger. No wonder the Force gave him a Kyle-style kick in the head. "Did I…did I really threaten to burn the earth from orbit?"
"It sounded like it," Hermione said in an equally subdued tone. "I don't think any of the purebloods understood. But it sure sounded like you could call in a space ship to kill everyone."
"Kyle would have kicked me in the head for that," Harry said softly. "That's not how a Jedi is supposed to act. And even if he did get Kyle killed, what I did to Snape was revenge, not justice. It was…wrong."
"I don't know, I'd probably have done something worse," Hermione said carefully. "The aurors arrested him and took him into the Ministry, by the way."
After a long, pregnant minute Hermione said, "Harry, could you really have called a spaceship to come and blow up the Earth?"
His cheeks felt suddenly hot, as did the arm still around his shoulders. "I doubt she would actually blow the planet up, but they might've burned London if they thought I was in danger. I'm kind of an adopted cousin to the woman who rules a third of the galaxy."
"Ossus isn't in Canada, is it?"
Harry couldn't help his wry smile. "No."
The arm dropped away, and Harry felt a surge of sadness from its loss completely apart from the turmoil he was still feeling otherwise. But instead of leaving, Hermione stepped around him and sat down again, facing him from just a foot away. Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying too. "Will you tell me?"
"You know, in some ways you remind me of my first friend," Harry said after a long moment to breathe. "Her name was Anaski. I thought she was very beautiful, but our first meeting went wrong. Kyle had us spar, and I didn't know that the tails on her head contained some of her cerebral matter. I stuck one up her nose."
"Cerebral matter?"
Harry told her. It felt natural and right to tell this girl, whom he'd only known for a matter of weeks, the true story of his life. In a real sense, she was only the second person he'd every told everything to—Ansaki Taan was the first. He and Anikol were best friends, but they didn't just sit and talk like this.
And when at last he trailed off, he realized with a dull surprise that he felt better. Moreover, Hermione was an amazing listener—she leaned forward, fully engaged in what he said in a way only Kyle seemed to be before.
"So what are you going to do now?" Hermione asked.
"I…I have to finish the tournament," Harry admitted, though it still frustrated him to do so. "The magic of it could kill me, no matter where I went, if I don't. We know Voldemort planned to use it to get to me, somehow."
"And then?"
"Then? I call Master Skywalker at the Academy. I'm a Jedi Padawan—I need to complete my training. After being out in the greater galaxy, the idea of being stuck here is just unimaginable."
It was a moment after he said it that he looked up and saw something in her face—a longing and sadness quickly bit back by concern for him. "It's not really a secret, you know," he added. "There are so many worlds, with so many humans already, that no one would care if you came. And it wouldn't have to be now, either. If you wanted to finish your own education, I could leave you the holocom unit."
Her hug surprised him; in fact it almost shocked him. And just as quickly she backed away, blushing furiously. "I…thank you for thinking of me, Harry. I'm so, so sorry about Kyle. If there is anything I can do…" She left it hanging, but when she glanced over Harry's shoulder he knew their conversation was at an end. He could feel Dumbledore standing behind him.
With a sigh, he rose gracefully to his feet before helping Hermione to hers, and turned to face the headmaster. "I'll just let myself out," Hermione said quickly before she quickly slipped out of the room.
Staring now at the headmaster, Harry could see exhaustion. He felt it himself, given how late it was, so it did not surprise him to see Dumbledore visibly tired himself. The old man's eyes looked more rheumy at the moment than sparkly as he surveyed the suite. "You have packed."
"For nothing," Harry said. "I can't leave."
"Oh, trust me, young man, I know," Dumbledore said. His voice sounded oddly similar to Kyle's—the low, gravelly tone of a man who had seen too much. "I gave serious thought to just cancelling the tournament, and the pain was quite unpleasant. It binds the judges and heads of the school just as much as it does the students. Headmaster Karkaroff was quite put out to discover that fact earlier this evening when he, too, attempted to flee."
The old wizard took a step inside, and with a flick of his wrist conjured a chair before sitting down with a low grunt. He met Harry's eyes only for the briefest second before looking down at his aged, spotted hands. "I trusted Severus because he swore to me, using a binding magical oath, to do whatever was necessary to protect you. He swore the oath out of guilt—for a terrible mistake he made as a young man that he could not fix. For him to have done what he did must have taken the most extraordinary lies and self-rationalizing conceivable."
"Where is he?"
"As Miss Granger no doubt told you, I have dismissed Severus from service and remanded him to Ministry Custody. I swear to you, Harry, that I have no knowledge he would ever do such a thing."
With this, the old wizard looked up at Harry and met his eyes squarely.
"So what now?"
"Now, however much we wish it otherwise, we must complete the tournament and divine, as much as possible, what Voldemort is now trying to accomplish. We have uncovered his main plot, but if nothing else is true, Voldemort rarely contents himself with a single plan. And when the tournament is over, and we have divined the truth of what has happened, I will do what I can to assist you in contacting whomever you need."
That surprised Harry, a great deal. "No trials to place me with one of your friends?"
"No, no trials."
Harry tilted his head, studying the wizard. "I know that when you look at me, you see a child. I suppose I am very young. But I am a Jedi. I have skills and abilities that would be useful, and I now have reason to see Voldemort put down totally apart from whatever our history may be. The Jedi do not seek vengeance, but we do require justice. If you want my help, you must help me. I'll need you to tell me the truth, and you must understand that with the Force I will know if you lie or withhold information. And you can start by telling me how my master died."
sp
I specifically address the events in this chapter in my review responses for Chap 16. They are slightly spoilerific, but there for anyone too deeply concerned by this chapter.