Chapter Eighteen: Tasks and Opportunities

Star Wars + Harry Potter Crossover

A/N: Chap 17 review responses are in my forums like normal.

Chapter Eighteen: Tasks and Opportunities

- Death once had a near Kyle Katarn experience. Death was changed forever.

Harry woke from a dream of shadows chasing him. His scar throbbed terribly and his stomach roiled as if he were about to be sick. He sat up in the room he once shared with his master, and the instinctual reach for Kyle's presence once again turned up nothing.

Tired, dark-ringed eyes scoured the room until he arrived at newspapers for the last two days. A surge of bitter resentment overcame the dull ache of grief. Everything that could have gone wrong had since his master died.

Rather than mourning the death of a hero, Amelia Bones was being painted as an incompetent, inexperienced fool with delusions of grandeur. Barty Crouch Jr was dead—kissed by a dementor on the orders of a Cornelius Fudge who evidently regrew his spine and returned to the United Kingdom upon hearing of Amelia's and Kyle's death, only bent badly into delusion. He publically announced that Dumbledore, Augusta Longbottom and Tiberius Ogden were conspiring to use the non-existent threat of Voldemort to try and take over the Ministry.

The idiotic minister was doing everything he could to sweep it all under the rug, and there was nothing Harry could do about it.

Worse yet, Susan Bones blamed Kyle, and indirectly Harry, for her aunt's death. "She wouldn't have been there if it weren't for Katarn!" the redhead snarled at Harry. She didn't slap Harry, for which he was grateful, but she and her Hufflepuff friends glared as if Harry were the one to kill her aunt personally.

But perhaps worst of all, Snape was released. No, not just released. Minister Fudge granted the man a full pardon, and then had the audacity to appoint him Undersecretary of Education. He returned to Hogwarts shortly before the winter holiday flanked by two Aurors. He was met at the door by Dumbledore himself, staring him down with narrow eyes.

"Severus," the headmaster said coolly.

"That's Mr. Undersecretary to you, Albus."

"And that's Headmaster to you," the old wizard responded. "What is it you want, Severus?"

Snape's dark eyes narrowed to mere slits. "I've come to place the Potter brat under arrest. As Undersecretary of Education, I have the authority to expel any student for just cause. Potter attacked and physically assaulted me without provocation. I shall see him expelled and in Azkaban."

Harry, who like the other students stood behind the headmaster, stepped forward without hesitation until he stood even with the headmaster.

Dumbledore did not acknowledge him. "You can certainly try, Severus. But I'm afraid you are proceeding on two mistaken assumptions. The first is that Harry is a student. He is not a student of Hogwarts, and therefore the British Ministry of Magic has no authority to take any action regarding his status as such. And second, you are assuming the Goblet of Fire will not immediately kill you and your colleagues for attempting to interfere with the tournament, as it nearly did me two days ago when I considered cancelling it entirely."

For the first time Snape's oily, confident smile faltered. "You're lying."

"Mr. Potter is right here, you're welcome to prove me wrong," Dumbledore said with a note of dark humor. "Especially given your recent activities. I can tell you from personal experience that the pain will begin in your stomach. It is rather akin to being stabbed with a hot knife." He sobered. "I may give my trust easily at times, Severus, but once that trust is broken it cannot be repaired. Lily would be ashamed of you, just as I am."

Snape's face when utterly blank, but so close to him Harry could feel a deep stab of anger and hatred from the man. "You can't protect him forever, Albus."

"My friend, I've failed to protect him in any capacity. And yet here he stands, whole and strong, if your own experience is any measure." For the first time Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, but the young Jedi did not flinch as he continued to stare flatly at the man who got his master killed.

"Very well," Snape said at last, conceding the battle. "In that case, I shall be returning to my old quarters and conducting a review of the teaching and curriculum of the school as Undersecretary of Education. Any interference on the part of yourself or your staff would be…unwise."

With that last threat hanging in the air, Snape swept past Dumbledore with his two pet aurors in tow. "Well, after such an auspicious start to the day, I would think things can only get better," the headmaster announced. He turned and acted surprised to find the entire student body watching. "I should think there are classes that need attendeding."

With that, the students scattered, until he and Harry were alone in the courtyard. "That was unfortunate," the old wizard muttered. "We don't have much time, Harry. Come, there is much to teach you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean as I say. There is much to teach you. Come."

Harry followed the old wizard through the now mostly empty halls toward the spiral staircase that rotated them up toward his office like a magical escalator. Without Snape or Kyle, it felt odd to be in the office alone with the headmaster. Dumbledore moved about quickly, as well.

"We do not have enough time in a year for you to learn everything of value," he said. "Even taking into account your apparently accelerated learning curve. However, I do not need to teach you everything."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

The wizard paused and stared at Harry over the rim of his glasses. "I have failed you in many ways, Mr. Potter. I cannot expect you to trust me, any more than I can trust Severus. But the fact remains that while the tournament has you trapped here, you are in danger. And the only thing I can do to deal with that is to give you as many tools as possible with which to survive."

"But what about Voldemort?" Harry asked. "Can you afford to spend time teaching me? We need to find him now and destroy him."

"And that, my boy, will be a part of our lessons. It will not be an easy thing to destroy the man once named Tom Riddle, but it can be done with patience and determination. It begins with a diary found by a lonely first year student named Ginny Weasley…"

~~Katarn~~

"You look like shite."

Kyle Katarn struggled to open his eyes, but was unable to do so. His first attempt at talking resulted in a harsh, painful cough. After, he had to swallow spit before he could get words out. "I'll take your word for it. What's wrong with my eyes?"

He felt a feminine hand take his—it was a strong hand, and yet smooth. "You've lost an eye, Kyle, I'm sorry. I was able to save the other, but you'll need to keep the poultice on it for a day."

Kyle accepted it and moved on. "Who else did we lose?"

"Officially, everyone," Amelia Bones said tiredly. "As far as the Ministry is concerned, we were all killed in the blast. Unofficially, we lost Murchison and Flannen. Proudfoot and the rest are all injured to various degrees. If we'd gone in like we'd planned, we would have all been killed. It's almost impossible to fight vampires in close quarters without advanced notice and lots of warding and garlic."

Kyle heard pain in her voice. "How bad are you hurt, Amelia?"

"Nothing old Moody would take note of."

"How bad?"

He heard the slightest hint of a bitter sigh. "My right leg, from the knee. I'm working off of pain potions right now. In a straight fight without preparations, vampires are very hard to take down. The fact you killed almost an even dozen is the only reason we survived."

Kyle did not move, but he couldn't help but agree. "Where are we?"

"A bolt hole I set up after the last war, when I took the office," she said. "An unplottable cottage in Falstone Forest, near the Scottish border. I have the others recuperating as best they can. Tonks was the only one who came out without any injuries. Strange, given how clumsy she is otherwise."

Kyle reached out his hands to test the width of the bed, and then pushed himself over despite the deep, body-wide aching he felt and the pain in his head. "Lay down, Amelia."

"There's too much…"

"Lay down. There's a time to fight, and a time to recuperate. My mind is hurting as much as my body from severing the padawan bond with Harry. I need to rest, and so do you. Lay down."

The head of the DMLE slowly laid down, and Kyle turned on his side and wrapped an arm around her stomach. "When we wake, we'll decide what to do," he promised. "For now, we all need sleep."

~~Katarn~~

"…to destroy the man once named Tom Riddle, but it can be done with patience and determination. It begins with a diary found by a lonely first year student named Ginny Weasley. This diary first possessed, and the utterly destroyed the soul of an innocent little girl to unleash a reborn version of Tom Riddle, as he was when he created the diary at the age of seventeen…"

Kyle Katarn sat next to Amelia at a round table in the living room of their magically-built safe house a few days after the battle at Little Hangleton. Around the heavy wooden table, the survivors of their rout at Riddle Manor leaned forward, listening to the receiver that was dutifully recording and playing back everything that Harry's subdermal transmitter received.

As Dumbledore continued speaking, Kyle turned his one eye to a still pale Amelia. It was odd and disturbing on several levels to have such poor depth perception. Nor did he enjoy the look of shock and even fear on Amelia's face as she listened.

Kyle paused the play back. "Do you know what he's talking about?"

She nodded, grimly. Across from the table, the old hit wizard, Alastor Gumboil also nodded. "Soul jars," the old wizard said. "Ran into one as a curse-breaker in Mexico."

"Also known as a horcrux," Amelia confirmed. "It's an ancient, dark magic dating back thousands of years. You murder someone in a dark fashion, and use the murder to split your very soul. You place that split portion of your soul in a jar or some other magically attuned container, and you achieve a sick, twisted form of immortality."

"Like Sith alchemy," Kyle said, immediately making the connection. "So we need to find these horcruxes and destroy them before we can take out Voldemort."

Amelia nodded and looked around the table. "My friends, the world thinks we're dead. And for the remainder of this mission, we need to let them think it. Your accounts will still be there for you—goblins have their own ways of tracking deaths. We stay under the radar and work from the shadows. We can't let the war escalate to what it was before. If not for Potter, the Ministry would have fallen in 1981. Now, any ideas on where to start?"

~~Katarn~~

Harry's head was spinning, even after his meditation exercises. Though he never enjoyed meditation, he'd never felt he needed it until after his first "lesson" with Dumbledore.

Growing up and seeing the respect and reverence Kyle generated in those who knew him, Harry always had the notion that Kyle was invincible. It wasn't until the attack on their home when he saw his master stumble that Harry realized on any level that Kyle Katarn was not invincible. But even then, he always believed that his master was the best warrior in the galaxy.

Now, though, he wasn't so sure. The things the headmaster showed him were beyond any stretch of possibility he'd ever encountered in the Force. The man's ability to transfigure things into weapons or even minions to attack left Harry numb, and the power he wielded went beyond anything Harry had ever even heard of. The idea of learning that much magic seemed impossible; nor did Dumbledore lead him to believe he would learn it all. But he would learn some.

The book the old man gave to him was not available in any bookstore or library—it was a handwritten tome compiled by Dumbledore himself during the height of his involvement in the Second World War. Nor was it all his work, but rather a compilation of spellcraft and techniques from all the witches and wizards who took part in the fight against Grindelwald. It held spells on how to fight vampires and werewolves, to beating back giants and dragons. The spells themselves were nothing like what was described in any of his texts. According to Dumbledore it was because the book was intended for those who had already mastered the curriculum of magic.

So Harry's first task, before he even got to the tome, was to somehow manage to learn seven years' worth of magic before the end of the tournament. Even for someone raised with Jedi learning techniques, it was a daunting task.

He considered asking Hermione for help, but like himself she was only a Fourth Year, even if she was nearly a year older with her birthday in September. He also considered the Hogwarts champion, Cedric, but knew the Sixth Year was busy preparing for his own tasks.

The staff were friendly enough, but technically speaking Harry was not their student, and like the others they were all exceptionally busy. He needed a magically proficient adult who actually had the time to help him catch-up to the point where he could actually take advantage of what Dumbledore offered.

Harry couldn't be sure if it was just serendipity or the Force, but regardless a knock came seconds before it opened to admit Sirius Black. The dark-haired wizard studied Harry somberly for a moment before offering a thing smile. "How are you doing?"

Harry stood to great his unexpected guest. "Well enough, I suppose. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you, if you had the time." Sirius sounded apologetic. He glanced around the Spartan room until he located a rolling desk chair which he pulled out to sit on, facing Harry. Harry in turn sat on the edge of his bed. "I know this has been hard for you. All of us are reeling—Amelia Bones was one of our most stalwart supporters in the Ministry, and a damned fine auror. Without her, we're floundering a bit."

"That isn't what you wanted to talk about."

Sirius's shoulders sagged and he ran a hand over his closely-trimmed beard. "No, I suppose not. Harry, with Katarn gone...what do you want to do?"

The soulful look pulled at Harry's chest, but he felt no desire to waiver. "I have to finish this tournament," Harry said. "After that, I must return to the Jedi Praxeum to complete my training. Beyond that, the Force will guide me."

"You don't think maybe—just maybe—you could stay here? With me?"

The man was on the verge of tears, Harry realized with a start. "Sirius, did Dumbledore tell you what I did to Snape?"

"Yeah, the pillock deserved it."

"Maybe," Harry allowed, still unable to forgive the former professor. "The point is, Sirius, that when I did that, I drew on the Dark Side."

"What? You mean, you got angry with him?"

Harry sighed, struggling to explain it. "The power Jedi use is called the Force. It can guide us and give us fantastic abilities, but it also can amplify our emotions. When a Jedi loves, it is with every ounce of our soul. And when a Jedi hates, the Force magnifies that hate into something beyond a normal emotion, until it becomes a darkness that can overwhelm us. The history of the order is filled with otherwise good Jedi who fell into hate, and thus into darkness. They became Dark Lords of the Sith, and time after time brought nothing but destruction in their wake. I touched that darkness, Sirius. It was so easy; I could have killed him without a second thought."

"So why didn't you?"

"All of Kyle's teachings sort of…kicked me in the head. I realized what I'd done, and what I'd said, and realized it was my hate and anger controlling me." Harry sighed again. "Sirius, this stage of my training is the most dangerous. I've learned many of the skills, but I'm lacking in the mental controls and techniques Jedi require. I have to finish my training, for the sake of myself and all those I care about."

Sirius stared at him with an intense, dark gaze before finally he looked down. "I understand, Harry. Do you think maybe you could visit once in a while, though?"

Harry couldn't help his smile. "It's only week away. I could probably visit once in a while."

His godfather bobbed his head. "That's good. You know, none of this is right. It shouldn't even be me here, talking to you. It should be James, or Lily. I just…I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me."

"Maybe you can be here for me now." Harry explained his quandary and how he was looking for someone to guide him quickly through all seven years of the Hogwarts curriculum.

Sirius sat up and listened attentively before saying, "You don't want me."

"I don't?"

"I was pants at school," Sirius admitted. "Did just enough to pass and nothing more. Lily would have been the best to do it, but since she can't, your best option is Remus. He was the most studious of us all, and even if he was never very strong magically, he knew more than all the rest of us except your mum."

"Do you think he would help me?"

"Harry, I can say for certain that he would be delighted to help you."

~~Katarn~~

Remus Lupin looked like a man on the verge of collapse. His skin was not just pale, but an unhealthy, sallow color. Limp, thinning hair framed a long, sad face with dark eyes that stared at Harry with the same intensity that Sirius had.

"Harry Potter," he said in a soft, phlegmatic voice. "You look just like your father, but…"

"With his mother's eyes," Sirius continued. "Harry, this is Remus Lupin. Like myself, he was one of your father's best friends. He also served as a professor here last year. If anyone can get you through the Hogwarts curriculum, it would be him."

"Do you have time?" Harry asked, worrying about how he would compensate his parent's friend. Lupin, though, laughed without humor.

"I have nothing but time, Harry. Albus has said I can stay in the castle, so the room and board alone is sufficient. And since you're not a student, I see no reason why we can't go as fast as you need. So, to business. Where are you on your curriculum?"

~~Katarn~~

Just days before the holiday break, Harry sat in the library studying the theory behind a series of sixth-year transfiguration spells. He felt both exhausted, and if he admitted it to himself, exhilarated by all he had learned. Once Lupin accepted the fact that Harry could absorb and store information faster than a typical student because of how he was raised, they began to fly through the Hogwarts curriculum.

But it all started with the theory—once Harry understood the hows and whys, the practical proceeded much faster. So here he was, studying some of the more esoteric volumes on theory. Around him, most of the rest of the students were winding down from end-of-term exams and waiting anxiously for the Hogwarts Express to take them all home.

For his part, he turned down Sirius's invitation to spend the holiday with him and instead stayed to continue his studies. He'd had two more lessons with Dumbledore, but rather than focus on practical magic they focused on Voldemort's history in the hopes of finding clues. So far, they were stalled with where Voldemort even learned about Horcruxes.

"Harry?"

He blinked himself out of his meandering thoughts to see Hermione sitting across from him at his table. She had ink stains on her fingers, and a little smudge of it by her nose where she obviously scratched an inch.

"How are you?" she asked, once she had his attention.

"I'm okay," he said. "Why?"

"Well, there's been a lot of speculation over why you haven't asked anyone yet."

He blinked again, and then frowned. "Asked what?"

Hermione stared at his blank expression with a touch of concern. "Harry, didn't anyone tell you about the Yule Ball? The one you and the other champions are required to attend?"

His stomach dropped. "Ball? After all that's happened?"

She offered a somber nod.

"I don't know anything about this," he admitted.

"Professor McGonagall told us. I know she's just finished up her sixth year tests, if you want to go talk to her."

"Can you show me where she is?"

When they found her, McGonagall clucked her tongue in dismay. "Master Katarn never once mentioned it to you?"

"He had other things on his mind," Harry said flatly.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, you are indeed expected not just to attend, but to have the opening dance with the other champions. Oh dear, you likely don't even have dress robes, do you?"

"There's a Gladrags in Hogsmeade, Professor," Hermione offered helpfully.

The professor eyed Hermione a moment before looking at Harry. "Mr. Potter, perhaps Miss Granger could assist you as I'm sure she's familiar with Hogsmeade. Since you're not a student, you may visit Hogsmeade anytime you wish. Ms. Granger, having finished her exams, may accompany you on my authority."

Harry didn't bother to hide his sigh of relief. "Thank you, Professor. That would be greatly appreciated."

"Our pleasure, I'm sure," McGonagall said. As Harry had turned toward the door, he missed the witch's wink to Hermione.

As they walked away, Harry had another thought. "What about money? Kyle didn't give me that much."

"Mr. Potter, you have a trust vault your parents set aside for your education that you've not touched in four years," McGonagall said. "I daresay you have more than sufficient funds to pay for dress robes. I'll contact the headmaster to ensure you have your vault key before you go."

That very afternoon, using the Headmaster's floo, Harry and Hermione found themselves in the Three Broomsticks, the primary floo for entry into Hogsmeade. "Ordinarily we take carriages or sleighs," Hermione told Harry as the two stepped out into a cold, snowy winter's day. "But for just the two if us, I suppose that wouldn't make sense. It is quite cold."

Harry nodded—he and Kyle did not have time to do a lot of clothes shopping when they arrived—as a consequence he wore only his heavy Jedi robes and warming charms. Hermione took one of his cold hands in her mittens and simply held it there. "Come on, it's just down the block."

Down the block evidently meant the entire length of the village, but eventually they managed to trudge through the snow under dark, lowering skies to reach the shop. They were the only ones inside save the tailor—a tall, gaunt man with a sallow complexion and limp brown hair. His shoulders were narrow and hunched over a lightly curved spine.

"How may I help you?" the man asked in a shockingly high-pitched voice.

"Er, right, I need dress robes a ball," Harry said.

"When do you need them by?"

"He needs them in a week," Hermione said.

"Hmmm, doable, certainly," the man said. "And you, young miss?"

"Er, well, you see, no one's asked me so I…"

"She'll need one too," Harry blurted. "I mean, if you want to…"

"Oh." Her cheeks turned a rosy red. "Well, yes, that would be fine."

"If you will be accompanying each other, then it would be appropriate for the young miss to choose her dress first, and then the young gentleman to select his colors accordingly," the tailor said. He reached under the shelf that separated the entry room from the back of the shop and pulled out a tome that looked as thick as a toddler stood tall. It slammed onto the shelf with a resounding, solid thud.

It creaked like door in a haunted house when he opened it to reveal…

"Oh my," Hermione whispered.

Harry sighed. This was going to take a while.

A/N: So, there comes a point in every story where the author needs to make a decision. When I first wrote Chap 17, Kyle was dead. It would have been in perfect line with the SW mythos and I'm sure the story would have continued on in an expected fashion. But as I started writing this chapter, I realized that Kyle's story just wasn't done yet. I didn't want him dead. And so despite what I felt were the requirements of the story, I chose to let Kyle live. It might be jarring, and I'll be the first to admit this isn't my best chapter, but really, what's the point of writing fanfiction if you can't do what you want to do?

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