Chapter Nineteen: Yuletide

Star Wars + Harry Potter Crossover

A/N: As always, Chap 18 review responses are in my forums. Though I don't respond to every review, I do read and appreciate them. If I missed yours and you'd like a response, please post in the forums dedicated to that purpose.

Chapter Nineteen: Yuletide

Fear of spiders is called arachnophobia, fear of tight spaces is called claustrophobia, and fear of Kyle Katarn is called common sense.

When Kyle woke three days before Christmas, it was because of Tonks. "Boss," she was whispering, over and over again, like a nattering child trying to wake her mummy for breakfast. "Boss."

"Tonks, I will kick you in the head if you don't shut up," Kyle muttered.

"What he said," Amelia echoed.

"But we got a hit on our records search!"

Kyle cracked one eye open and stared blearily at the excited younger witch. "Give us ten minutes, please."

"Right," Tonks said. "Er…never mind." She turned and left the room Kyle and Amelia had shared since they arrived at the safe house.

"I imagine we're the source of a lot of conversations right now," Amelia muttered as she too sat up.

"I don't know about you, but at my age I just don't care," Kyle said.

"Well, you wouldn't, cradle robber."

Kyle laughed before leaning over to kiss her neck. "No cradle could ever have held you."

Ten minutes later, the two made their way into the kitchen where the rest of their unit—mostly recovered by now—sat around a table eating breakfast. "Ah, the lovebirds are awake," Myra Pilliwick announced with a grin.

"Respect your elders, or I'll spank you," Kyle said.

"Is that a promise?" the other witch said.

"No," Amelia said. "So, what's this about a records hit?"

"From what Dumbledore said to Potter in our recordings, we know he was originally named Riddle," Alastor Gumboil explained. "That opened up a lot of doors for us, since we never knew his real identity. He was born in a Muggle orphanage on New Year's Eve in 1926. The orphanage has been destroyed, but we did find some records of his living there in the Muggle census records. He was a student at Hogwarts when the Chamber of Secrets was opened the first time—the only death was a Ravenclaw fourth year named Myrtle Bartleby."

"Moaning Myrtle," Tonks said.

"Who was on staff at the time?" Amelia asked.

"Dippet was still headmaster," Gumboil said. "Dumbledore taught Transfiguration. Binns was still alive at the time, teaching history. There were no Muggle Studies classes, instead old Ivor Bissoni taught alchemy. Candelaria Chantra taught charms. She was a looker, let me tell you. Even into her eighties that witch could charm the robes off you. Kettleburn was just starting then with Creatures, Slughorn taught potions and…"

"I remember Slughorn," Amelia said. "He was head of Slytherin House. A bit of a slime ball—I remember he kept trying to look down my dress during one of his Christmas parties."

"They are all either dead or in retirement," Gumboil said. "And I wish to state now for the record that we are all aware of the irony behind the fact the most feared Dark Lord in history was raised in a Muggle orphanage."

"Noted. We start with Slughorn," Amelia said resolutely. "The man knew everybody. If anyone can give us hints about Riddle, it'll be him. Any idea where he is?"

"I have a pretty good idea," Robards said. "My sister was in his Slugclub. She works for the Prophet and still gets invitations to his Christmas parties."

"So we make an unannounced visit," Amelia said with a grim smile.

~~Katarn~~

Harry stood nervously near a painting of a frighteningly large woman draped in a gaudy Roman-era dress with a Dionysian crown of grape vines intermixed with laurel branches. She glared right back at him, as if daring him to get any closer.

Occasionally the seven-foot tall portrait would swing open to release small pockets of other students in extravagant dresses that often fit poorly on the young, still-growing witches and wizards. The older students wore their robes and dresses more comfortably, but the fourth and fifth years looked awkward.

Which is exactly how Harry felt in all the frippery. The most formal thing he'd ever worn were his formal Jedi robes, and then only to the banquet on Bastion to celebrate his and Anikol's saving of the young Emperor. The top of the robes looked suspiciously like a tuxedo, but instead of the tails of a traditional tuxedo jacket, it just kept going down into formal robes that hung to his heals. Under it he wore a matching black pinstripe vest and pleated, pinstriped slacks with black boots. The shirt underneath was white and starched, with gold buttons instead of the normal ones. Around his neck he wore a periwinkle-colored bow-tie that itched incessantly. He was grateful for the ever-present chill in the air, since otherwise he would have been uncomfortably warm.

The painting opened and for a brief moment, Harry forgot about his discomfort and nervousness and simply stared. Hermione looked as if she were wearing a cascade of periwinkle flowers from the waist down—a slim, elegant fall of ruffles that accentuated her waist without puffing out too much.

The top hugged her body tightly, showing just the merest hint of cleavage. But most remarkable was her hair—she'd done something to it that controlled the frizz. Instead, it was combed back into a tasteful knot at the back of her head, save for a loose few strands that hung like a beautiful frame for her face, until it cascaded back down the back of her neck in a shower of perfect curls.

"Oh, is there a stain?" she asked upon seeing his expression. "Is there something on my face? Lavender said I looked fine, but…"

"You look beautiful," Harry managed to get out before his voice caught.

"Even better than your alien friend?" she asked with a wry smile.

"Well, as good as you can without head tails," Harry said.

Inside, he cringed at the joke until Hermione laughed. "Are you nervous?"

"Jedi aren't nervous."

"What about apprentices?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe."

"I'm terrified," Hermione admitted as she hooked her arm through his. "I was afraid no one was going to ask me to go."

"You couldn't have gone on your own?"

"Oh, no! That's just not done in wizarding society. Or at least that's what my roommate Faye said. And I believe her—there were girls crying in their dorms because nobody asked them. I don't think it dawned on anyone they can go on their own, and I'm not sure they would be allowed in, to be honest."

"Oh. Strange." Harry was immensely aware of the fact that, because of the way their arms were hooked together, his elbow hovered just centimeters from her breast. He didn't stare, but instead remembered Kyle's admonishing regarding respecting women. Instead, he went over the captured image of her in his mind.

"Thank you for asking me, Harry," she said softly as they approached the Great Hall.

He blinked and looked over at her again—she was actually as tall as he was. And looking into his face, he let the image in his mind fade into the background. She wasn't an object to be desired. She was a person, just like him, and he could feel nervousness, excitement and fear emanating from her in the Force as she looked back at him. Just as she was an utter mystery to him, he realized that on some level he must be to her as well.

"Thank you for saying yes," he managed to say. "And…well, for everything. You really helped me when I first arrived, and you didn't do it for any better reason than because you're a generous person. So, I guess it's me who should be thanking you."

Her answering smile lost its nervousness and changed somehow. He couldn't identify it if was in the curve of the corners of her mouth or the slanting of her brows, but somehow it changed. She didn't say anything, but she did lean her head against his arm, and Harry understood that he'd said something right.

~~Katarn~~

Horace Slughorn laughed loudly at a joke his friend Sanguini made while trying not to stare at the buxom witch with the low-cut robes who the vampire had brought as his companion. She stood near the food tray, laughing gaily at something another guest said.

"And who is your companion, old friend?" the wizard asked.

"A wealthy client from the Americas," Sanguini said. "She is visiting to review her European holdings. Her name is Virginia Madsen."

"Oh, what a charming name," Slughorn said as his eyes widened. She happened to glance at him as he said it and gave the old potions professor a searing smile before she continued her conversation.

Slughorn's parties were famous throughout the United Kingdom. Cornelius was there, talking loudly to anyone who would listen how he realized Amelia Bones had become unstable as a result of her affair with that horrible Katarn man, who was obviously a tool of Dumbledore's to destabilize the Ministry.

The French ambassador was there, doing his best to pretend not to understand English while obviously laughing inside at the idiocy he saw around him. All in all, it was a successful party, but Horace just could not take his eyes off the lovely Virginia Madsen with her low-cut dress. Nor did she seem to mind his attention, smiling coyly at him every time they made eye-contact. Finally, after several glasses of brandy, he drew up the courage to approach her.

"My dear, how are you enjoying the party so far?"

"Oh, it's been a blast," she said in what had to be an American accent, though not one he'd heard before. "Sanguini said it was the social happening of the seasons. You make an excellent host, Professor. But what I'm really interested in is potions. Madame Deroy at Salem's said you were a brilliant potioneer."

"Did she, now?" Horace said. "And how is Maurine?"

"You mean Mable, right?" Virginia said with a coquettish smile.

Horace returned her smile. "Indeed, Mable Deroy. She retired ten years ago if I recall. I'm surprised you know her."

"She was my favorite professor at Salems," Virginia said with a sigh. "As a young girl, she taught me quite a bit. But then, I'm not a girl anymore."

"No, no you most definitely are not," Horace said. He was unable to stop a glance at her generous, creamy cleavage. "Perhaps, if you had the time, I could give you a tour of my laboratory after the party."

She sidled up next to him, brushing his arm with her breasts. "I think that would just be lovely, Professor."

"Oh, please, call me Horace."

Her grin sent a thrill up Horace's spine.

After eleven, guests began to leave, and for once Horace was not sorry to see them go. Normally, being alone after a party left the older professor depressed and lonely—a state he'd had many decades to grow accustomed to. But now, the lovely Virginia Madsen hung nearby, giving him a smoldering stare that excited him a way he hadn't experienced since the night Dominia Lestrange graduated and came back to thank him for his recommendation into a master program.

Sanguini was the last to go, and seemed hesitant to leave without his client. It was Virginia herself who solved that problem. "Go on, now, Sanguine," she said with that sultry smile and a mispronunciation of the vampire's name that made Horace quiver inside. "After all, what you don't know can't be used against you."

"Indeed," the vampire said with one elegant nod. "Then I wish you both an enjoyable evening."

"Oh, no doubt about it," the American witch said.

The floo gave a green flare as the vampire disappeared. Slughorn smiled at Virginia. "So, my dear, what shall we do now?"

"Well, I was thinking I could slip into something more comfortable."

Slughorn's heart thudded in his chest. "Of course, whatever you'd like."

Before his eyes, she suddenly changed. Her long blonde hair shortened, darkened to first a brown and then flared into a shocking, bright pink. Her breasts shrank too, though not overly so. But more important, the shape of her face changed. Her long, pointed and distinguishing features softened to a gentle oval shape that reminded Slughorn of one of the Black sisters he taught a few years before he retired.

"Remarkable," he said, more fascinated than afraid. "It couldn't have been polyjuice—I was watching you for more than an hour and you drank only the house punch. There might be a few other explanations, but I'd bet metamorph magic, and the only young woman I know of with that particular talent was Andromeda Black's daughter."

"It's Andromeda Tonks now," Tonks said with a grin. "And if you think that was impressive, what until you see what other tricks I have up my sleeve."

Slughorns fireplace flared green, since it was still open for the party, and eleven more people stepped out, one after the other in quick succession. Everyone wore red auror robes, save two. The man looked like an old piece of wrought iron—weathered, aged, and still tough. The woman was a striking witch who had entered middle age with a grace and beauty few could hope to match, though that grace was tempered by a clearly conjured artificial right leg.

"Amelia Bones," Slughorn gasped. "You're alive! How…how…wonderful!"

"I'm glad you think so, Horace," the witch said. "Because I need your help."

"Of course, of course!" Horace said.

"Tell us about Tom Riddle."

All trace of welcome or happiness evaporated. "Tom Riddle? Who's that?"

The older man moved forward, but Amelia said, "Kyle, please don't kick him. Horace might be a bit spineless and definitely a creep to witches, but I don't believe he's a bad person. We can work this out without violence."

Slughorn gulped loudly. "Violence?" He realized then that this was the very Kyle Katarn that Minister Fudge spoke so badly about. The man met Horace's eyes with a sense of veiled danger that made Horace quite nervous.

"Have a seat, Horace," Amelia said calmly.

Horace sat on his sofa, hands between his knees and wishing desperately for his wand. Moments later he found a tumbler of brandy in his hands, which he accepted gratefully. Around him, the red-robed aurors and blue-robed hit wizards began searching through his house.

"If you tell me what you're looking for…" he began weakly.

"We want to know where Riddle got the idea for horcruxes," Katarn said bluntly.

Horace paled and felt as if somehow had struck him in the stomach. "What…what…makes you think I know anything about that?"

"I didn't, until just now," Kyle said. He waved a hand, and even without a wand summoned a chair to sit in from across the room. A second came on the first, and Amelia joined him.

Kyle sat in his backward to rest his arms on the upholstered back.

Amelia sat daintily, one leg held stiffly out. "You see, Horace, we're facing a bit of a crises. We know for a fact that Voldemort is not dead. We also know for a fact that he is actively seeking a new body. And we know for a fact that he avoided true death through the use of horcuxes. What we don't know is how many he might have made, and what they might be."

"I can't help you," Horace said desperately. "You don't understand…"

Amelia leaned forward, and he could virtually feel the heat from her angry gaze. "What you don't understand, Horace Slughorn, is how it feels to watch your husband and daughter burning alive in your home. I will not let that happen to anyone else. I want your cooperation, but I swear to Morgana that I will compel you if I must."

In the face of true, righteous fury, Slughorn's will collapsed. "Seven," he whispered. "He was obsessed with the number seven."

Amelia reared back as if struck. "So many?"

~~Katarn~~

The head table during the dinner was chilly. Harry felt Snape staring at him, but he used every

ounce of control Kyle ever distilled into him to ignore the man. Instead, he and Hermione talked about his studies. He was on the equivalent of sixth year studies now with Remus's help, but Harry was surprised to find that Hermione was already familiar with a lot of the subjects he'd studied, having read far ahead herself.

She also told him about what Muggle school was like, since Harry missed much of that experience as well. He found himself listening not so much to her words, but to the tone of her voice as she spoke. Fond memories lifted the timbre, while less than fond memories lowered it. Her smile was naturally understated from a lifetime of trying to hide over-sized teeth which she had corrected the previous year. On anyone else, her smile might have been considered a smirk, but on her it was natural, warm and quite lovely.

Before he knew it, having hardly eaten, the meal was over, the tables were banished, and the champions were expected to dance. Shaking inside, Harry offered Hermione his arm, which she took with an adorable blush, and the two stepped out onto the dance floor.

"Hermione, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For stepping on your toes."

She looked confused for a moment. "But you haven't."

"Not yet. But I will, promise."

With a put-upon sigh, she said, "Well, the things we girls have to put up with! As long as you're sorry, though, I'm sure it will be fine."

No longer able to hide his nervous shaking, Harry put his right hand on her waist just above the line of flower-like lace on her dress, and took her other hand in his left. Staring into her soft brown eyes, they began the formal opening dance of the evening.

~~Katarn~~

"I…I…" The potions processor sobbed. "Tell me this, my man. Please. The boy—Lily's boy—when you took him, was he at least happy?"

Kyle frowned, and the expression made Slughorn actually sink further back into his sofa. "I wouldn't have had to take him if he were happy. He was abused and undernourished."

The old wizard gaped, as if kicked in the head again, before he said, "Oh Lily, I'm so sorry."

"You mean Lily Potter?" Amelia demanded.

Slughorn nodded. "She'd made me a gift, you know. I daresay, I was her favorite professor. She was certainly one of my favorite students—talented and smart, remarkably so for a Muggleborn. On the day she graduated, she made me a gift. A little bowl of water with a petal on it from a lily. The first time I saw it, the petal sank into the water and became a fish. It was beautiful magic, subtle as Lily always was. And one day, I walked down stairs, and the fish was simply gone. And I learned later that so was she, taken by the very student I helped. I retired after that. I just couldn't do it anymore."

One of the aurors interrupted. "We found something, boss," Aura Devereaux announced. The dark-skinned witch with violet eyes pulled out an old news-paper clipping from a manila folder.

"What is this?" Amelia asked.

Slughorn, though, answered. "My punishments," he said. "And all the clues I should have had before I helped Tom."

Frowning, Amelia stared at the clipping. "Strange Events At Kent Sea Caves," she read aloud. "This is dated 1934!"

"Yes, yes," Slughorn said. "Albus and I researched him a little before Abus fetched him to school. The signs were there, but Albus was so sure we could make the boy good. So sure. From what I understand, he tortured some of his fellow orphans at that cave, years back."

"Was there anyone he trusted above the others?" Kyle asked.

"Trust?" Slughorn laughed without humor. "Oh, that boy did not trust anyone. But there were those who were with him from the start. Antonin Dolohov, Evan Rosier, Mulciber. Only a handful, really."

"Rosier's dead and the other two are in Azkaban," Amelia noted. She paused when Devereaux handed her another newspaper clipping. "Who's Hepzibah Smith?"

Horace felt ice in his veins again. "Oh, well…" Katarn was looking at him with that thinly veiled threat of violence. "She…she was the last direct descendent of Helga Hufflepuff. Lovely lady, made the most delicious scones. After Mr. Smith died, well, she was quite…generous with her affections with lonely professors, you might say."

"She died in 1946," Amelia read from the article.

"Yes, right before Tom disappeared," Horace admitted. "He was working with Borgin and Burkes, and it's not a surprise that old Mr. Burke would send Tom to her. She was fabulously wealthy, and had a weak spot for a pretty face like Tom's."

"You think he killed her," Kyle said.

"The article said it was the elf," Amelia pointed out.

"Posh, no one believes that," Horace said. "The elves adored her because she was quite lonely, and treated them like friends. She treated everyone like a friend. But she couldn't help bragging, you see. She showed me her two prized possessions, and I have no doubt she showed Tom."

"Showed him what?" Kyle asked.

~~Katarn~~

It was a tired but happy Harry who walked Hermione back to her dorm rooms. She hummed one of the songs from the dance quietly and wore a soft, contented smile on her face. They walked with their arms linked and moved much, much slower than necessary, as if both dreaded the end of the evening.

"I noticed Viktor Krum staring at you half the night," Harry said.

Hermione blinked herself out of her daze. "What was that? Krum? Are you sure?"

"Well, you were much more attractive than his companion. I think the girl had a mustache."

She giggled—something he rarely heard from her. "Poor girl, she really did, didn't she? Still, I don't like sports and have little interest in those who do. Ron Weasley used to drone on and on about Quidditch, and that was quite enough for me, thank you."

"I hear regret."

She sighed and let her eyes gaze into something only she could see. "I so wanted a friend when I arrived, and I thought he could be one. I was wrong."

"Do you have friends now?"

"Acquaintances, certainly," Hermione said. "Neville, I would consider a friend. Susan Bones and I are friends—although she's still upset. She and her aunt were very close."

Harry nodded and viciously bit down on the anger and pain that threatened the evening. "I can appreciate that."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry I didn't think…"

"It's okay. For one evening, at least, I didn't even think about it. As much as I miss him, and will miss him, with you, tonight, it was okay. So, thank you."

She stared at him, lips slightly parted and a light blush on her cheeks, and before Harry even knew what he was doing their lips met. It was his first kiss, and he was surprised how very soft her lips were against his, and how he could not just smell, but taste the evening's punch.

They parted, and what had been a mild pink blue had blossomed into a rosy red on her cheeks. But she did not look upset, and her feelings were wildly happy and confused. And Harry understood because he was confused himself—he didn't know what to do next. And so, he decided on a tactical retreat.

"I had a wonderful time with you, Hermione. Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for inviting me, Harry," she said breathlessly. "I had a wonderful time too."

"Good night."

The smile returned. "Good night."

With one last happy smile over her shoulder, Hermione walked to the Fat Lady and disappeared. Harry himself turned to go when he noticed one of the castle ghosts staring intently at him. He stumbled as he stared, because he recognized her. Not from books or from anything recent, but he knew for sure he had seen her face. "Who are you?"

The ghost blinked, as if alive, and floated further into the halls. She must have been beautiful in life, because there was about her an ethereal, almost angelic quality. "I am nobody," she said in a hollow voice that sounded like wind through the trees. "I am lost."

With that, she sank through a wall, leaving Harry to wonder where he had seen her before. Before he could ponder the thought, however, the Force swelled with a sudden sense of danger. Harry, as accomplished as he was as a padawan, was still not fast enough to avoid the knife that slashed across his back.

He spun around to defend himself, but already the black-clad figure was backing away from him with the bloodied knife in hand. With a sudden, inexplicable pop, the figure disappeared.

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