Chapter Twenty-One: The Caves of Kent

Star Wars + Harry Potter Crossover

A/N: Chap 20 review responses are in my forums like normal. Also, if I know I'm going to miss a posting, I always try to put a note about it on my profile. Feel free to take a look if I don't post to see why.

Chapter Twenty-One: The Caves of Kent

When a zombie bites Kyle Katarn, Kyle does not become a zombie.

The zombie becomes Kyle Katarn.

"Something's in there," Kyle said as he and Amelia stared at the dark, dank cave. Around them, bitterly cold wind blew sheets of rain across the large rock the two stood on. Ahead, the white cliffs of Dover looked muted and gray under the gloom. It was mid-day, and yet felt as if night were about to fall.

"How can you tell?"

"I can sense the Dark Side," Kyle said as he pulled his heavy coat and hood up tighter. "Evil. The cave is saturated in it."

"Sounds like our place then," she said. "Hold on."

The head of the DMLE took Kyle's arm, and just like the two instances that led them to standing on the rocky outcropping, the world twisted around him and he found himself standing at the mouth of the cave itself, inches away from the splashing cold water of the English Channel. "Have I mentioned how much I hate that?" he said.

Amelia merely smiled. "Adversity is good for the soul."

"But it's hell on the stomach."

Amelia rolled her eyes before limping up the narrow, treacherous path into the ever-darkening cave. Kyle held onto her elbow to help her in her continuing adjustments with her newly fitted, magical prosthetic leg. With a flick of her wand, Amelia summoned a magical light that cast a fey silver gleam over everything. "Handy trick to have," Kyle noted.

"Magic has its uses."

They walked for another five minutes before the sense of Dark Side energy grew so intense it made Kyle's knees ache. "We're here," he said, pointing in an innocuous section of the wall.

Amelia did not question him—rather she began casting an entire fusillade of spells. The results made her nod grimly. "Sacrificial blood wards," she said. "And not the good kind. You must make a blood sacrifice to open them."

Kyle lifted one brow. "Really?" With one smooth motion, he lit his fuchsia lightsaber and plunged it into the rock, only for it to spark and short out.

"Really," Amelia noted dryly.

Kyle pulled the saber back. He activated the blade, which worked again. "Damn," he muttered. "Just like cortosis. That's the first time I've seen magic defeat a lightsaber."

"It's powerful magic, Kyle. Let me try something instead." Slipping her wand behind her ear, she removed a small penknife from within her robes and cut across the heal of her palm without even wincing. She watched the blood well-up until she wiped it along the wall.

With a grating sound of rock scraping on rock, the wall slid open to reveal a massive lake under the domed rock. Amelia cast another, stronger light that flew into the air over the lake and revealed a small island set in the center of it.

"Oh, that's not a trap at all," Kyle muttered darkly. "Beasties in the water, you think?"

Amelia walked to the water's edge and looked down, paling as she did so. "Oh Merlin," she whispered. "Kyle, there are inferi in the lake!"

"Which are?"

"Reanimated corpses," she said. "The most vile, despicable and dark magic imaginable. This is necromancy. Inferi swarm in impossible numbers and don't feel pain or fear, only hunger. I ran into them in Austria as an ICW enforcer a few years ago."

Kyle could sense the potential danger in the water. Nearby, he saw a small boat. "So, we get out into the island, do something that triggers the beasties in the water, and die."

"Looks like."

"Well, that's just not a good plan at all." He paced along the edge of the water, thinking furiously. "Is there any magic that would keep that water from freezing?"

"You mean aside from the heavy salt content and controlled temperature in the cavern? Not that I can tell."

"Fine," he said. He sat down cross-legged just inches from the still, black waters. He rested his hands on his knees and took long, deep breaths.

"What are you doing?"

"My own bit of magic," he said. He continued to breathe deeply until he felt himself centered in the Force. He reached out both hands and with the Force began to pull. He did not pull the water, though. Instead, he pulled at the heat within the water.

Beside him, Amelia sat down with a humph of effort and let her artificial leg stretch out as, just inches above the underground lake, the air shimmered with the release of heat energy. She did not speak at all, but simply sat and watched. She could have converted some of the water to ice with magic, but what Kyle was doing was on a scale beyond any mere spell.

Gradually, at first, and then in large patches, ice began to appear across the surface of the lake. In minutes, it covered the entire lake, but Kyle did not stop. The air above the ice continued to shimmer until, almost twenty minutes after he began, Kyle released his pent of breath and sighed.

"That was hard," he admitted.

"How thick?"

"I got it to about four feet," he said. "That should be enough. Are you up for walking on ice?"

With a flick of her wand, she conjured a set of crampons on his boots before doing the same for her own shoe and the magically flexible wooden foot that replaced what she lost. With a shake of his head, Kyle stood and helped her back up. "Pretty nifty."

"I do try."

Together, the couple began walking across the ice. In the distance, they heard a sharp crack, but could see no sign of the ice breaking up. Still, it was a long, nerve-wracking walk to reach the small island. Amelia had to recast her light twice along the way.

What they found was a pedestal topped with what at first looked like an old fountain filled with a black fluid. Kyle started to reach inside but paused when he felt a surge of warning in the Force. "Poison, you think?"

Amelia cast her magic again. "It's definitely not water," she said quickly. "I can't identify what it is. But there's a cup at the base of the pedestal. What do you want to bet we have to drink it?"

"Not going to happen. Step behind me."

"Your laser sword again?"

He shrugged. "Nothing that fancy." He faced the pedestal, and then using the Force to strengthen his limbs, he kicked the whole contraption over. The fountain fell intact and began pouring black ichor out over the rock of the small island. But within its midst, they saw a locket.

"Bingo," Kyle said. He summoned it with the Force and slipped the locket into his pocket. "Alright, ready to go?"

"Kyle, look!"

He followed her finger and saw that where the ichor had run into the ice, it melted it faster than boiling water. And in the tiny hole the ichor already made, a shriveled finger was wigging.

"Well, to use the Earth vernacular, bugger," he muttered. "Can you run?"

"No, but I can make myself as light as a feather." Nor was she joking as she cast a feather-weight charm on herself.

"That makes saving the damsel in distress much easier," he admitted as she climbed onto his back. With his conjured crampons for grip, Kyle began running across the ice. The cracks they heard sounded closer and louder, and in much greater numbers.

"Some have broken through by the island," Amelia noted with a professional calm that Kyle could not help but admire.

He kept running, knowing that time was quickly running out. Danger hung heavily in the air, punctuated by the breaking, quickly melting ice. Nearby, he saw a desiccated arm somehow punch through the ice sheet.

They hit rock, and Kyle had to stop before the crampons tripped him. Slipping them off, he turned to see an army of hundreds of grotesque, withered bodies breaking through the ice. He let Amelia slip off his back and reached into his jacket to remove the last of his thermal detonators. Using the Force, he guided the weapon into the top-most dome of the cavern. "Get the door open," he said tersely.

"Done," she said behind him.

He set the charge, turned, and ran.

They just managed to close the cave wall when the explosion rocked the entire cliff-side around them. They moved as quickly as they could until they once again faced the grim, cold, overcast day. Then, Kyle turned, took Amelia's face in his hands, and kissed her. "You are one hell of a lady," he declared.

"And I'll thank you to remember that," she said archly.

~~Katarn~~

~~Katarn~~

Harry wasn't sure why, specifically, he asked Hermione Granger to come with him to the Room of Lost Things. Remus would have been a better choice if he needed back-up, but there was the risk he would tell Dumbledore, and right now neither Harry nor his master trusted the old wizard.

However, over the course of weeks and months that he had known Hermione Granger, he discovered that she, too, did not entirely trust the headmaster. She rarely voiced it explicitly, but it was more in what she didn't say. That is, until he cornered her on the subject.

"You know I was hurt very badly my first year," Hermione told him after classes one day. "A troll got in and broke my back. He never told my parents, or let me go to St. Mungos for treatment. He treated me very well, don't mistake me. The best healers came here, and my back hasn't bothered me since then. But he never told my parents, and no word of it ever got out. He should have at least notified my parents. Instead, he kept the whole thing a secret and told me not to say anything about it to anyone."

And so, despite the potential danger, Harry found himself pacing in front of a section of wall in the left corridor of the seventh floor of the castle opposite a tapestry depicting a ludicrous wizard trying to teach trolls ballet with a fifteen-year-old witch instead of an experienced, thirty-six year old wizard.

"I don't suppose the Grey Lady told you how to actually find the room," Hermione said, obviously trying to be helpful as he paced.

He stopped after his third lap of pacing and stepped back, surprised despite himself, when a door magically appeared from the wall. "She mentioned something about pacing," he said dryly.

Hermione playfully slapped his shoulder. "Shush, you."

Harry stepped forward to open the door. "Shall we?"

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said with a little courtesy before leading the way into the room. She stopped just inside, causing Harry to accidently bump into her. Immediately, he saw why she stopped.

"By the Force," he whispered.

There were piles of junk at haphazard intervals reaching forty feet high or higher in some cases, stretching as far back into the bowls of the room as they could see. By now, Harry simply accepted that there would be a room on the seventh floor of the castle that was larger than the whole castle itself.

Hermione stepped to the base of one of the massive piles. They saw furniture, books, clothes and other knickknacks of all descriptions in a pile so precarious it could only have been held together by magic.

"Oh, Harry, how are we ever going to find anything in here?" Hermione whispered in awe as if she were standing in St. Paul's Cathedral. She turned to look at him and frowned when she did. "Harry, are you alright?"

Harry knew well why she looked concerned. The moment he'd stepped into the room a pressure began to build in his skull behind his scar—a pressure that quickly began to burn like dry ice to the skin. "It's close," he gasped.

He'd never told Hermione what the diadem was, only that it was something the Grey Lady told him about. "Harry, what's happening?" she asked, truly concerned now as she came to his side.

"I'm not sure," he said. "But we need to hurry." He closed his eyes and opened himself not just to the Force, but to the pain. Doing so, he felt a pull on the scar itself and followed it instinctively. Though aware of the pull, Harry was equally aware of Hermione's hand on his arm as he led them deeper into the piles of lost objects.

"Harry, look!"

She pointed to a pedestal with a black velvet bust on top of it. On the bust they saw a simple golden diadem set with a larger sapphire in the center piece, and two large diamonds hanging underneath it, with small diamonds set along the delicate gold arms. Instinctively, she reached out for it, but Harry grabbed her arms.

"Don't!" he said.

"But…but…it's Ravenclaw's diadem!" she said, eyes alight. "Harry, that's the most precious magical artifact in the world. I need to have it."

Her sudden fervor shocked him, even more so when she tried to twist away from him and dive for it. He grabbed her and pulled her close, but blinked in surprise when she slapped him. "Let me go! I have to have the diadem!"

He'd never seen her act this way, but when he considered the pain in his forehead and the sheer dark energy that surrounded the diadem, he began to understand. He grabbed her again, spun her into his arms, and then took a risk that he would never have taken otherwise.

He kissed her. Not an innocent peck on the cheeks, but a real, lingering kiss on the lips. At first her eyes bulged in surprise and she fought him, but he didn't let go until he could feel some of the fervor leave her. Finally, their lips parted.

"Harry, what…" she whispered, a finger rising to touch her own lips.

"The same dark magic that killed Ginny Weasley is in that diadem," he told her urgently, keeping both hands on her cheeks. "Do you understand, Hermione? If you put that diadem on, it will possess and kill you just like Ginny Weasley."

"But…why did you kiss me?"

Harry winced at a fresh wave of pain. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he said. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," Hermione said, her cheeks blushing a bright red. "It was rather nice. But…I don't understand. If the diadem is cursed, why are you after it?"

"To destroy it," Harry said.

Her eyes widened again. "Oh, Harry, you can't! It's…"

"A priceless artifact of the Hogwarts Founders," he finished. "I know. That's why Voldemort cursed it."

The name of the Dark Lord got Hermione's attention even better than Harry's impromptu snog, and he wasn't quite sure what to think of that fact. She turned and stared at the diadem with an expression of horror and outrage. "He didn't!"

"The Grey Lady wasn't thrilled with him either," Harry said. "But we have to destroy it."

"Why you, though?"

"Because it…" Harry paused and looked around. Slowly, he leaned forward until he was an inch away. "Kyle survived the attack. It was a trap, Hermione. Snape gave Voldemort the information, but there's a chance Dumbledore either let him, or told him to, to remove Kyle from the running. Voldemort left these…things around, and we cannot defeat him until we destroy them. Kyle's working on it outside of the castle in secret, but this is one I have to handle. We can't trust anyone else."

"But you trust me? Why?"

Harry started to spout off a quick, trite answer, but paused as he studied her. "Because you've always helped me, and anyone else who asked, without a thought to yourself. I think you are the only person on this whole world I trust as much as Kyle."

She stared at him, her blush fading and her lips parted. "You keep saying things like that," she said softly. "But Harry, I'm not any different from any other witch. There's nothing special about me."

"The fact that you came here without any hesitation proves otherwise," Harry said. With a deep breath to try and keep the pain in his scar at bay, he added: "But we're here now, and we need to destroy that thing. Please stand back. I'm not sure how easy this will be."

She didn't look happy, but obeyed as Harry ignited his lightsaber. He keyed the focusing crystal, and the blade extended by another six inches. Carefully, he stepped toward the diadem, when suddenly the air above it seemed to explode in a cloud of black smoke. From within the smoke, he saw Ossus.

Only, it was not like the Ossus he knew. The once barren world now teemed with life of such abundance it seemed a miracle had occurred. But rising from within it was the same Praxeum he had trained at. As he watched, an army of storm troopers and red-saber wielding Sith swarmed over the compound, while the air above sizzled with turbolaser bolts striking shields.

Harry watched in horror as the Jedi were slaughtered and the temple razed to the ground. This is what your future holds, Harry Potter, the clouds seemed to say. There is no hope. Only with the diadem can you ever hope to save those you love!

Harry distantly felt his saber drop from his hands as he watched the death of the Jedi unfold. Younglings screamed as they fled toward shuttles, only to be viciously gunned down by storm troopers. Knights fought valiantly, often against a whole battalion of troopers and four of five Sith each, but there were simply too many of the enemy.

Their screams rang in Harry's ears. Their pain permeated the Force and his very soul. He could not do this—he could not permit the Jedi to die. He rushed forward to save his people, when suddenly Hermione was there, kissing him just like he kissed her.

The pain and anguish of the lost Jedi suddenly disappeared, doused by the heat of her lips on his. He blinked in surprise and saw her looking right into his eyes—they were of a height. "Harry," she said. "It's trying to trick you. Just like it tried to trick me."

With the heat from their kiss came sanity. "Thank you."

And suddenly the diadem attacked from a different direction. Harry's scar exploded in agony more intense than even what the Triwizard Cup did to him. He cried out and stumbled away, clutching the scar. "Harry!" Hermione cried. "Harry, what's wrong!"

"It's hurting my scar!" Harry screamed.

Hermione looked from Harry, writhing on the floor now in agony, to the diadem. She then looked down at where his saber fell. With a grim determination, she reached down and lifted the blade, surprised at how heavy it was. She flicked the switch just as she'd seen Harry do, and walked toward the diadem with the dark purple blade lit.

A foot away, the air was rent by a great roar and in the black cloud over the diadem a mountain troll rushed toward her with a raised club. Hermione screamed, not in fear, though, but in anger. With a wild, over-handed swing, she slashed the blade down on the diadem.

The massive burst of magical energy blew her back, as if she'd been struck by a giant hand. All around them, the massive piles of junk exploded out and away from the shattered diadem as if blown apart by the concussive shock-wave of a Muggle bomb. She had a brief sensation of flying through the air before arms caught her.

She and Harry tumbled together into a broken pile of debris, some of which spilled over her. It took both of them a few moments to catch their breath. When the initial shock wore off, Hermione realized she was laying on top of Harry. More troubling, though, was that a pair of very old, dirty boy's pants was laying on his face.

"Eww, I don't want to touch that," she declared.

With effort, Harry pulled the pants off. "They didn't smell any better than they looked," he muttered in disgust.

"Harry, your scar, it's bleeding."

He reached up and touched it, and then studied the blood on his fingers. "I don't understand what happened," he admitted. "It…it attacked me through my scar, but I don't understand how."

"Well, it doesn't matter now. It's thoroughly destroyed."

"Thanks to you," he said. "What was that you said, about not being special?"

"Well, special or not, it feels as if I have a chair poking my bum, so if you don't mind?"

With effort, they managed to extricate themselves from the pile of debris. Around them, the other piles had been blown away, leaving a clearing in the center of the impossibly huge room. And in the middle of that clearing was the broken diadem, and Harry's lightsaber. He summoned it to his hand and flicked the switch, but nothing happened.

"Oh no," he whispered.

"I…did I…?"

"It wasn't you, I think it was the magic," he said. "I'll have to look at it later. Right now, we need to get out of here. Are you okay?"

"A bit bruised, but I'm sure I'll be fine," Hermione said. "Do you think we should just leave it here?"

Harry frowned. "Good point." With the Force, he pulled the two pieces of the severed artifact to his hand. The metal felt cold and inert—the darkness within it was gone. He shoved them into his robe and took one more look around.

"Am I the only one who wishes I could just go through all of this? Just imagine the treasures buried in this room."

"And the books," Hermione said with wide eyes.

Grinning, he took her hand. "I'm glad you came, Hermione. I couldn't have done this without you."

"And I'll thank you for remembering that," she said with a mischievous smile.

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Thanks for reading.