AN: First of all, a thank you must go to my beta, Marie9, who worked long and hard on this chapter, even on Thanksgiving, so a round of applause to her!
Secondly, Blah left a review that's answer I think will explain a few things to people: The reason Harry doesn't just blab out all of his magical secrets is for a couple reasons: the biggest one is that according to the book he was assigned by Dumbledore, which you see in chapter seven, tells that with enough technology, muggles could eradicate magic. On a more personal note, Harry has already gotten in trouble for doing magic outside of school, even if he knows that he is on a different planet, he will still worry about the consequences of exposing magic, regardless of where he is. For the part about Harry not finding out where he is, Harry is on a different planet, to him, it doesn't make a difference whether he is on the next planet over or an entire galaxy away. Plus, let's face it, Harry wasn't the most studious kid in his class, he probably wouldn't be able to chart out where he was through the stars.
AN2: On another note, this chapter contains graphic violence and death, this is not meant to offend anyone, and is only included to further the story.
Chapter Fourteen
"No! Move your left foot, there you go!" Harry's master instructed him as two bars of energy flew around them.
The two of them were in the training hall once more, but this time instead of working on his magic skills Harry was practicing lightsaber combat. He was standing in a small padded square near the entrance with his Master. Now that he was over here instead of watching from the side as he usually was, he could see that small markings had been marked off to create squares that allotted the amount of space a Jedi had to practice. The markings were no more than a small yellow line, but the color clashed in vivid contrast to the blue matting that made up the majority of the training hall's floor.
Harry had started his practical lessons in the art of lightsaber combat only a few weeks beforehand, and had caught on quickly. His natural agility combined with his newly trained physique had allowed Harry to excel in lightsaber combat, though from the first day of sparring he had found that experience trumped natural skill every time. His weapon was a blue colored blur in front of him weaving around in intricate patterns that seemed to leave a trail of light behind it. The weapon struck his master's own lightsaber repeatedly, letting out loud hisses and emitting even more light as it impacted.
Mundi countered Harry's offensive and struck back with quick and powerful strikes, almost too fast for the average human eye to see. Harry was no average human, however, and brought his weapon up to deflect the whip-like strikes. His parries were efficient, using the energy from the strikes he blocked to whip into his next move. Per usual, however, his master triumphed once more as he whipped his weapon to the right one last time before bringing it back down to Harry's right knee. With the slight hiss that accompanies a slight burn on human flesh, Ki-Adi struck Harry's lower thigh with his lightsaber before bringing it up to mock-stab him in the stomach. Harry sighed in disappointment; over the last few weeks of training with a lightsaber, Harry had improved vastly beyond any expectations, except his own.
"Do not be upset Padawan," his master said gently and with understanding. "You have improved beyond even the skill level I was at during your stage of training."
Harry huffed and looked slightly away. "I should have seen that Master! You've hit me with that a hundred times over now, I should be able to block it, I should be better than this!" Frustration bubbled within Harry as he said this; he knew he was better than this.
"Then let's do it again. This time, draw yourself out of the battle and allow the Force to guide you, to flow through you; to allow it to use you as an extension of itself."
Harry nodded absentmindedly; he had been slightly confused as to how he was supposed to do that as he had no idea how to immerse himself in his own magic. While he had not been able to allow his magic to "guide" his movements in combat, as these Jedi wanted him to, he had found a way to allow the magic in his blood to increase his speed enough that his surroundings seemed to slow down.
Mundi walked back to his starting position, Harry following to the corresponding position before they faced each other and dropped into their preferred fighting stances. Ki-Adi's fighting stance showed his cool and collective side as he stood in a simple balanced stance with his lightsaber humming softly as he held it straight up next to his body. Harry's fighting stance unveiled his aggressive side, with about eighty percent of his weight on his back leg his body curled forward while he held his lightsaber like a sword above his head, poised to stab his opponent as soon as the match started.
Harry allowed his magic to flow from his blood into his muscles and organs, speeding up nearly all of his body processes. His brain sent messages along neurons at nearly twice its normal speed and his heart started to beat in a frenzy, pounding against his ribcage in a desperate attempt to break free of its bindings, in turn sending more of his magic throughout his body. His master announced the start of the sparring match in what seemed to be a ridiculously low voice. With his master's signal Harry shot forward in a frenzy of strikes, trying to drive his master onto the defensive. Mundi met every one of his strikes calmly, taking a few steps back to compensate for Harry's momentum as he easily blocked the incoming blade.
Light flashed and sparks flew as Harry repeatedly struck at his opponent with his lightsaber, finally producing a reaction from his master, bypassing his guard and making Ki-Adi rush to block the strike. Moving even faster now, Harry became a whirl of light, spinning, jumping, stabbing and slashing. Slowly, Ki-Adi was put more and more on the defensive as his Padawan continued to move faster and strike harder.
Immersing himself in the Force, Mundi struck out using his full skill and struck Harry on the back of the palm. The minor burn caused Harry to gasp in pain and drop his lightsaber to the ground, where it sputtered out. "Good job Harry." Mundi said, pride shining in his eyes, "We are done for the day; you may spend the rest of the day as you wish." Harry nodded in acceptance, though inside he was frustrated at yet another loss in his sparring matches with his master. Bowing one last time to his master, Harry picked up his deactivated lightsaber and turned on his heel and strode from the training hall, stopping to place his lightsaber on the training rack before leaving the hall.
Mundi watched his apprentice leave the hall with a small frown on his face. He was extremely proud of his student; he had never heard of any other Jedi Padawan learner that had progressed as far as his student had. It was this that worried him as well though- Ki-Adi had seen too many people fall to the dark side of the Force because they became too engrossed in gaining power quickly. He could sense the frustration in Harry when he lost sparring matches, and it lingered on him after his lessons (if they could be called that) with the mercenary Hugo. He knew he would have to address this problem, but Mundi decided that it could wait until the next day. Harry was exhausted and his ears wouldn't be open to that type of criticism at this point. Nodding in affirmation to himself, the Jedi Master strode from the training halls to his own personal quarters, where he intended to have a warm dinner, and a long sleep afterwards.
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A flash of light, nearly immediately followed by the familiar crack of thunder accompanied the scene that Ron Weasley looked upon. Dirt flew everywhere as misaimed spells hit the ground, gouging craters into the hard earth and sending the soil upwards, where it would shower down to the people underneath. Men in black robes with silver masks swarmed among the grounds firing curses that could easily crush cars and destroy buildings towards the opposing group, who wore a mixture of red and blue robes.
The other side fought back valiantly, blocking or parrying curses before sending back their own lethal combinations.
No grass remained on the ground, long burnt away by cursed fire and explosive spells near the beginning of the fight. Boulders and fallen trees provided temporary cover for both sides, allowing a few witches and wizards to take a small break from the constant fighting to rest. The forest outskirts of the city of Carlisle had been ravaged by the fight; what used to be a forest now was decimated to the point where nothing would be able to live there for at least fifty years, the dark magic at use acting similar to cartons of salt sprinkled on the ground.
The red robed men and women retaliating were the Order of the Phoenix among the blue robed British Ministry of Magic Aurors. It was an even fight as far as numbers were concerned, but the Death Eater's willingness to kill was allowing them to slowly gain ground on the Phoenix-Ministry alliance. The Order of the Phoenix however was not as opposed to killing as the Ministry of Magic was, and they brought down Death Eaters just as fast as Death Eaters brought down them. Even so, the dark robed wizards were on the path to victory, it's time.
Ron turned around to the wizards and witches behind him. After the news that Harry had disappeared, the remnants of Dumbledore's Army from fifth year came together and started to train intensively, readying themselves for the fight they knew was coming. They had changed their name however, preferring the name of Potter's Army, in memoriam of their lost comrade (though not one of them believed him to be lost forever). When Harry had disappeared, Voldemort had struck out with all of his force, using the chance to attack without fear of the danger that Chosen One presented to him. It had been very fast; the dark lord had taken city after city, refusing to pause even as he cut down half of the national Auror Force.
In desperation, Dumbledore had started to recruit from other countries, though he was met with little success. Continental countries did not want their people to become involved with a conflict that could potentially start an international war. With only a few resources available to him, the headmaster had tried to wage a war with only a few hundred wizards at his disposal. Hogwarts became a fortress rather than a school, where the only learning was subjects that could be useful in combat. Potter's Army had immediately volunteered their services both as teachers and soldiers; with no other choice left, Dumbledore had agreed that the oldest and most experienced in the group would be allowed to participate in defensive battles and small raids.
The choice turned out to be a good one, as the combative portion of Potter's army, known among the citizens of Hogwarts as Potter's Legion, became famous for its raiding prowess. The wizards and witches among it lacked the skill they needed to compete with their foes head on, so they made up for it in stealth and cunning, striking from behind, or sabotaging equipment and resources. In fact, Potter's Legion had become one of the most successful groups in the war in putting a stop to Voldemort's Forces. This would be their first full scale battle, however, and they were nervous of the outcome. Potter's Legion, while successful when it came to subterfuge, was lacking in the combat arts. Nevertheless, the commanders of the small group volunteered their services in the fight at the first opportunity.
Ron Weasley looked over at his second in command, who happened to be his best friend as well, Hermione Granger. When the group of young men and women had volunteered their services to the fight, the two of them had been elected leaders of the legion. "Give the signal" Ron said, dropping into his soldier mode.
Hermione nodded and raised her wand, which shot sparks high into the air from the end, signaling their group to enter the battle. Instantly, jets of red, blue, and yellow light shot forward from the trees behind, in front, and to the sides of the Death Eaters, flanking them with spellfire and surrounding them with enemies. The surprise attack took down a good amount of the black robed wizards, but not enough to produce a large change in the battle. As the back and sidelines of the Death Eaters turned to face these new threats, Ron raised his wand and sent blue sparks into the air this time. While the wizards in the trees kept firing curses towards the dark wizards, a group of Order members, known as Phoenix soldiers, charged forward from the trees.
More Death Eaters turned to face the new threat, which gave Ron the chance he had been waiting for. Looking back at the small group of young adults behind him he nodded once before turning back and charging, his comrades only a few steps behind him. Curses flew from their wands and impacted against the unsuspecting Death Eaters, creating a small hole in their line which the Aurors from the British Ministry of Magic jumped at and began exploiting. They widened the gap and pushed through, separating the dark wizards and creating confusion in the Death Eater Forces. With the newly supplied fresh soldiers, the battle turned in the favor of the Light. Death Eaters were being cut down by the tens, with only a few of the Aurors and Phoenix warriors being fatally struck.
As Ron's group kept moving towards the Death Eaters, they finally encountered resistance as the dark wizards who took the place of their fallen comrades stepped forward and retaliated with a wave of dark curses. A small distance behind Ron, just out of his peripheral vision, Dean Thomas was hit with a bone-breaking curse to his shoulder, snapping his clavicle and the top of his humerus in a clean break. With a pained cry, the young man fell to the ground, where he lifted his wand and fired off a few more curses before trying to move backwards, away from the firefight. The pain in his arm proved too much though, and he raised his wand to fire yellow sparks into the air for a distress signal, waiting for a medi-witch or wizard to come to his aid. The rest of the group kept their momentum and finally collided with their foes, the front few soldiers taking out small daggers and cutting down a few enemies that were too close to fire spells at.
With their lines broken, the Death Eaters stood no chance of winning the battle; apparently their commander thought along those lines as well, and seconds later they could hear calls from officers to retreat. Numerous flashes of blue light quickly followed this order as emergency portkeys activated at the sound of their activation word –retreat.
There were a few final curses thrown by each side, trying to hit the opposing forces one last time before they parted ways, but nobody was hit. Now that the pandemonium of the battle had ceased, the moans of the wounded could be heard and soon after the wails of despair as some of the fighters found long-time friends lying on the ground dead.
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Minerva McGonagall looked over the remains of the battleground with a tightlipped expression, her facial muscles straining with the effort of not revealing her true emotions of despair and frustration. She watched as her former students, children to her eyes, carried their comrades in body bags and stretchers alike with grim faces while a few just knelt on the ground weeping openly. McGonagall knew from experience that these would become some of their most dedicated soldiers, as they would attempt to avenge their fallen comrades. Walking forward, McGonagall waved her wand and levitated a corpse that she recognized as one of the Phoenix Warriors that she commanded. Swallowing forcefully, McGonagall directed the body over to the medical marquee, where she knew that the man would be tagged and put into a bodybag before being sent to his home.
McGonagall had become field commander of the Order of the Phoenix when Voldemort had launched his war on magical Britain. While Albus Dumbledore was still the true leader of the Order of the Phoenix, he only emerged in battles when Lord Voldemort was present; otherwise he was happy to plan the battles and manage everything else in the order. That wasn't to say that she didn't still hold great respect for the man; somehow he was able to manage an entire army, take care of students, and remain a beacon of hope for everyone that was living in fear of the Dark Lord. On top of all that, he seemed to stay sane, though she had no idea how he made time to sleep or eat with all of his work.
The leader of the Order of the Phoenix had become even more burdened when he was Forced to allow Potter's army to participate in the war effort. Despite their success, McGonagall knew that his worry for their safety overrode any victories they gained. He viewed them as his children, and in some ways they were. Dumbledore had overseen their education for the better part of a decade, watching them grow from small eleven year olds with no knowledge of the world around them to young adults with a confidence in themselves and an eagerness to prove themselves. Finally, McGonagall reached the medical area that had been set up during the battle and placed the corpse down, leaving the body next to the other numerous stiff corpses.
Looking over the gathered bodies, a tear was shed as she saw that some of Potter's Legion had been slain. Seamus Finnegan apparently had been hit with to the killing curse, while Dean Thomas, who she had seen fall to a cutting curse, had apparently bled out before the healers could repair the damage. No child should have to fight in a war, regardless of the enemy! Her mind snarled in anger at the death of such youth. From her graduation, Minerva McGonagall had always attempted to help the next generation, becoming a professor of Transfiguration and eventually becoming an officer in the Order of the Phoenix during the first war with Voldemort. Now as she stood over the bodies of students she had berated for coming late to class not one week ago she felt a sense of failure. These were her children as much hers as their own parents, she loved every single one of the students that passed through her halls, though she did not always show it.
Well, not all McGonagall conceded mentally; shortly after the war had broken out over the British Wizarding World, many of the children of Death Eaters had defected to the dark side, leaving the hallowed halls of Hogwarts for the dreary and dank dungeons of Voldemort's base of operations. Betrayal had stung at her heart as students that she had imparted her knowledge to had left to join the dark. Since then, nobody had seen or heard of them, leaving the transfiguration master to believe that they were in training to become the next generation of Death Eaters. Tearing her gaze from her fallen comrades, the commander moved over to where the medical staff was hard at work trying to prevent anybody else from joining the dead. There was blood everywhere as volunteers from St. Mungo's, along with Madam Pomphrey and a few of her interns worked on injured soldiers.
There was a crowd of white coats around one of the bodies where moans and screams were emanating from a body. This was how McGonagall had to view them; it was too difficult to think of anybody as somebody anymore. They weren't people anymore, they didn't have hopes, dreams, or memories that they could share over butterbeer, they were piles of human flesh coincidentally stacked together in a form that could fight and die. It was how she stayed sane in these trying times. As McGonagall stood to the side, inwardly focusing on her memories of the past few months, the doctors finally relaxed, someone said in a relieved voice, "Finally, the bleeding's stopped. You're going to be okay mate."
There was a weak chuckle of relief from the patient who was now revealed to be Frank Hillman, a thirty year old who had volunteered as a Pheonix Warrior. From what McGonagall could remember, he was a homeschooled wizard who had learned what he knew from his parents in London. When he had passed his O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, he had taken a job as a clerk in Diagon Alley, while raising a small family in his hometown of London. Hillman had a wife, Mary-Anne, who was twenty-nine and had been homeschooled as well. They had one child who was going to turn two in a month named Brian. Minerva sighed in relief, allowing a rare smile to adorn her face as she saw the father of one hold onto life for his family. It slipped off as she saw the next events unfold before here however.
As Hillman laid his head back down on his pillow, he allowed another small chuckle of relief to escape from his lips before his eyes widened in pain. A gag was heard from his throat and blood started to pool in his mouth before leaking out of his lips from the corner of his lips and through his nose. Medi-wizards and witches rushed back to the patient and tried to diagnose what the problem was. Suddenly Hillman took another turn for the worse before Minerva's stunned eyes; his body started to convulse as it tried to hang onto the last threads of life valiantly. Blood poured out of different orifices, his face was soaked in it, and the rest of his body was becoming paler by the second. Shouts could be heard from the medical staff around him as they called for different people to carry out different tasks.
Just as it came, it ended; Hillman stopped convulsing and bleeding altogether all of a sudden. For a few glorious moments McGonagall thought that the medi-wizards and witches had succeded in re-stabilizing their patient, but then she saw a medi-wizard throw one of the blood-soaked rags onto the body before him in frustration before putting his hands on his head, interlocking his fingers through his hair, not caring about the blood that soaked them and stained his hair. The medical staff slowly left the body to attend to the other victims, allowing themselves to look back as they walked away. Once they had all left, Minerva got her first good look at the now-dead Hillman. His mouth was open in everlasting agony, while blood stained his entire face, pooling in his mouth and open eyes. His eyes; they were difficult to look at, but Minerva Forced herself to look into the now-red orbs.
She could barely see the irises under the pooled blood; reaching for a rag, she wiped the liquid from Hillman's eyes and with her other hand reached to his eyelids to close them. Now that the blood had been smeared off of his face and his eyelids closed, he almost looked asleep, but even Minerva couldn't convince herself of that. The violence of Hillman's death had imprinted onto his body, causing anybody that turned their eyes to his corpse to not see the physical body, but instead his death, complete with blood flying and his gagged screams as his body betrayed him for the last time, his limbs flying uncontrollably while he seized.
"It was a well-aimed percussion curse," a sad voice said from behind McGonagall. Spinning around, she spotted Nymphadora Tonks standing there, an emotionless mask present on her face though regret could be seen in her eyes. Nymphadora Tonks, known as Tonks to anyone that knew her, was an Auror for the British Ministry of Magic but fought in battles in the garb of a Pheonix Warrior. Tonks had proven herself early on as an amazing agent of the Order of the Pheonix when it came to missions that required subtlety and stealth thanks to her unique ability. What separated the Auror from the rest of the soldiers on the side of the light was her rare ability to shapeshift to change her looks according to her preference without the influence of outside magic. Tonks was one of the few metamorphaguses on Earth from her generation; in fact the amount of people with the same ability numbered in the triple digits worldwide.
Being a metamorph wasn't Tonks' only skill that she brought to the fight; she was an excellent soldier, in fact one of the best in her company. Her power paled in comparison to many of the other soldiers because most of it was dedicated to her skill of shape shifting, but she more than made up for it with sheer speed and spell knowledge. In battle, it was not uncommon to see a steady stream of curses fly from her wand, as if it were a hose spraying multicolored water towards her enemies. Her drive to memorize spells to help her where power could not allowed her to see what spells she could block or parry, and what spells she need to get out of the way for. It was for that reason that McGonagall didn't doubt Tonks' diagnosis.
"Hit him right in the heart; he went down like a sack of potatoes. We were able to get him out of there pretty quickly, but we all knew that it was unlikely he would survive." Tonks embellished, she had been part of the Hillman's fighting group during the battle and had become fast friends with him in the weeks preceding this fateful day. Minerva knew that while Tonks showed no emotion on her face, she was dying on the inside with grief. Tonks had been one of the few Phoenix Warriors that actually knew Hillman's family, having been over to his house a few times to enjoy dinner.
"If you want, you may-" McGonagall started but was cut off quickly.
"I'm not going to take a leave of absence commander." Tonks said forcefully, staring at the dead body in front of her. "I'll be fine, but can you grant me permission to be the one to inform the family?"
"You know we have people to do that for you Tonks, you don't have to take that responsibility onto your shoulders" Minerva said soothingly, but the Auror shrugged it off.
"Let me do it ma'am, I owe it to Frank." Tonks said, letting her voice quiet down as she said his name.
Minerva nodded sadly, not in agreement but in resignation. "You may do so, but my offer still stands if you realize you don't want to do this."
"Thank you commander." Tonks said, not sounding thankful at all.
Minerva turned away towards where the soldiers who did not have duties to attend to elsewhere had started a fire and had set up camp for the rest of the Aurors and Phoenix Warriors with a clinical ease. For them, it was just another day in the office.
AN: All right! So another chapter in the bag and we have made contact with Earth once more! Please review! It's what keeps me going!