Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own Star Wars.

Chapter 1: To Greet the Great Beyond

On the 5th anniversary of my wife's disappearance, I was smiling; smiling and zooming through the blackness of space, intent upon my goal. My heart beat fast. My hands gripped the TIE fighter controls.

After weeks, months, years of searching, I was close. I could feel it. It was in the currents of the air, which whispered as I flew. In the gradient of blackness that stretched on before me like deepest nights on Tatooine. In the vibrations of the lightsaber tucked against my hip.

"Padme," I breathed, my metallic voice echoing around the cockpit. "I will find you. And when I have..." My mind snapped back, to the days before the Empire. When Padme and I had spent several weeks on Naboo, cavorting about in the pastures, playing in fields by day, and playing in pillows by night. Despite everything that had been going on at the time—the Clone Wars, the Senate power plays—things had been so peaceful. Padme and I had lived in a tiny little bubble that we had made for ourselves, a tiny little bubble of love, one that grew and grew with each moment spent together.

Was it too late to go back? Five years ago, I had been certain that I could. But as the years progressed, that certainty began to wane. I started to wonder if Padme wasn't coming back. If maybe she'd found a younger, more handsome man, who was significantly more nimble than I, and wasn't permanently confined to a black plastic suit. Who had more than 25% of his limbs, and didn't sleep with a horseshoe crab on his face. These doubts crept in, and as the days passed, my heart began to feel colder, and the pit in my stomach grew wider…

Until exactly 72 hours ago, when everything had changed. I had been visited in the middle of the night by a Force being, who was blue, and looked like the old pictures of Qui-Gon Jin, my Master's Master (or, as I used to affectionately call him, my Grandmaster). Qui-Gon had told me that I could find my wife. He had told me that I could reclaim the happiness of my old life. But only if I proceeded to a particular set of coordinates in space, at a particular time, and flew as fast as I possibly could

I had questioned Qui-Gon, and he'd refused to say much more.

"I need to think about this," I had said. "What if it's a trap?"

"Know this, Lord Vader," he had responded. "Happiness is a rare thing. Only one man in a thousand gets anything beyond a fleeting glimpse of it. It would be foolish to squander the opportunities that you are presented with." He'd bowed his head. "Think on it. And, if you find that you are ready, take the leap." Then he'd faded into the empty air, leaving me with nothing but a shocked expression and a list of the necessary coordinates. Oh, and one more thing: a feeling that I hadn't encountered in months, burning away in my chest…

A feeling of hope.


Qui-Gon had given me three days to think, but I needed three seconds. If there was even the smallest chance that I could find Padme, after I had spent so many years wasting away in the Imperial Palace, then I had to take it. I owed it to myself. I owed it to her. We had created that tiny little bubble of love, and it had floated away, but now I saw the chance to bring it back into my grasp, unharmed...Easiest choice in the world.

So I'd cleared my schedule, I'd packed my personal TIE fighter with enough food to last two weeks, and then I'd set off. The coordinates that Qui-Gon had given me weren't far from the Imperial Palace, but there were several places I had needed to see first. Coruscant, where Padme and I had lived together in secret. Naboo, where Padme and I had gotten married. And Tatooine, where Padme and I had first met. Normally, a TIE fighter was meant for short-range flight, but I had upgraded mine over the years, adding a hyperdrive, twenty-two additional engines, and several extra fuel tanks. This allowed me to hit all these places in just 64 hours, leaving 8 hours to get to the coordinates. I was almost there. I was feeling better than I ever had.

The control panel beeped at me. "Sixty seconds to destination," it said.

I squinted ahead. The viewscreen showed nothing unusual, just a patch of empty space. But like I said, I could feel that something was different about this particular patch of space. And in a similar way, I knew—yes, I knew—that my world was about to change. The same way that I had known, all those years ago, that my mother was being tortured by the Sand People. The same way that I had known that something bad was going to happen to Padme while in childbirth. Except this time, I felt that things were going to get so much better…

"Fifty seconds to destination."

I clenched the controls, hard. I would need to activate my two dozen engines at exactly the right time for maximum thrust. Qui-Gon had said to fly as fast as I could, but had expressly forbidden me to use the hyperdrive. That would be cheating, he had said. Okay by me; I didn't need hyperspace to hit mind-blowing speeds. Remember Tatooine? Remember the Clone Wars? I could pilot like nobody else.

"Forty seconds to destination."

Slowly, I moved my hand over to the throttle. I began to apply pressure, pushing gently, gently...

"Thirty seconds to destination."

My lightsaber was still vibrating, but it wasn't just the lightsaber, now. The whole ship started to shake. I could it feel it around me, pulsing, in the grip of something stronger than my own hands, though I still held the throttle. Outside, I could see the stars, once dots in the distance, now white streaks.

"Twenty seconds to destination."

My ship was encased in a glowing nimbus of light, but I didn't care. In fact, I didn't even notice; all that I could focus on was the vacuum before me, which was starting to...to open up, a vast sea of light and dark, ripping apart, like a gaping maw, like the throat of a giant fish—

"Ten seconds to destination."

There was a force on my body, tightening around my chest—

"Five.

I was being constricted by the air—

"Four. Three. Two. One"

Despite everything, despite the forces that were threatening to draw me into unconsciousness, I slammed my hand forward, giving everything I had, pushing the ship to full throttle. A roaring sound echoed around the cockpit, and it took me a second to realize that I was responsible, screaming through my mask—

Together, the ship and I spiralled into blackness.


In another galaxy, one many light years away, someone else was spiralling, but for very different reasons. Albus Dumbledore was old and grey, with a beard that passed his waistline. Robes of a somber black, to express his current mood. And eyes deep and dark, like a bottomless well, or the emptiness of space.

Years of reading had greatly dulled his vision, inducing a need for glasses, and he had impressive ones indeed; half moon frames, golden, perched upon his nose like a steamrolled canary. It was through these glasses that he now peered, as he looked out across the hall. Over the little faces, so eager, despite the near certain doom that was coming for them all…

Harry Potter was out there somewhere. He was standing with the new crop of students, ready to learn magic, not realizing, not knowing the future that was ahead of him. Of course, Harry probably wouldn't survive. He was only eleven, and Voldemort was rising. Albus's sources had suggested that in a year, maybe two, the Dark Lord would be at full strength once more. That is, if he didn't manage to steal the Philosopher's Stone first, which was at present sitting behind a trapdoor, three floors above them all.

Yes, the future was looking bleak. So bleak that he really needed a drink...

Albus waved his wand, and a glass of wine blurred off the table and into his hand. Of course, it was empty, but he could fix that; a quick Refilling Charm brought liquid to the brim, and he drank it all, in long gulps. Then he wiped his mouth, and tried to smile out at the students.

"Welcome, everyone," Albus murmured. "I am your Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. In a moment, Minerva will begin the Sorting Ceremony, but before that happens, I would like to say a few words. And they are: the world is bleak, and you will probably be murdered.

"Thank you."

Albus sat down, as a low mutter arose from the audience. He noticed Severus giving him a look, but ignored it. He helped himself to another bottle of wine, and found himself lost in thought, ruminating on Voldemort, and Harry Potter, and that blasted prophecy. If only Trelawney had never existed. If only he had given Voldemort that DADA teaching position...

He was so focused on his own problems that he hardly noticed that the Sorting Ceremony was in progress, and that Minerva was now calling, "Potter, Harry!"

Albus's head jerked up, along with most of the audience's. They had been sleeping in their seats, but now, at the name of their Savior, their eyes opened, peered around.

"Potter, Harry?"

Well, where was he? Where was Harry Potter, the Chosen One, who would either defeat Voldemort or find himself killed? Albus found himself scanning the students, his eyes passing over a Weasley and an Underwood and a Zabini, but not seeing a Potter.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Still no Harry.

Now some of the teachers were looking worried. Minerva was staring around, and Hagrid had gotten out of his seat, was moving towards the group of remaining first years, bowling people out of his way. Could Harry Potter have gotten lost? Maybe fallen in the lake? That did happen on occasion, but the giant squid pushed them back out 75% of the time, and the other 25% of the time the kids were irritating and nobody cared. Except, people would care about Harry. Albus would care about Harry, because the prophecy had said—

That is, the prophecy had said—

In that moment, a great flaming orb fell out of the sky, and landed smack dab in the middle of the Hufflepuff table.

The orb smoked for a bit, and the fires burned for even longer, but once everyone had calmed down and stopped screaming, Albus was able to move forward to inspect the wreckage. To see that it wasn't an orb at all, but a cockpit, partially reduced to ash. And in the center, dressed in all black, gripping the remains of a control panel—

"Ah-hah!" Dumbledore crowed. "I believe we've found our missing student!"

Then the insanity set in, and never really stopped.