Sipping at the acrid taste of a cup of caf, Harry nursed it for a few more moments before placing it back on the table, letting a sigh blow through his lips.

He'd never been a fan of the taste, much to the bewilderment of the others in his class while they were not yet Padawans. That had been a favourite pass time, stealing caf from the machine in the cafeteria before any Knight or Temple Guard could tell them off, retreating to their quarters to take hurried gulps of their victory.

It had always been too bitter for him to partake though, maybe he should have, he thought. It would have gotten him acquainted with bitterness far sooner.

The Vanguard limped through space, unable to jump for more than minutes at a time, desperate to avoid pursuers. With each entry to hyperspace the vessel shook and creaked and every time he thought it would be its death rattle, falling to pieces before they'd make it anywhere near their destination.

The rest of the fleet or rather, what was left, trailed behind them in similar states. There had been simple terms for what had happened—they'd been beaten. He'd only seen the beginning, the arrival of Grievous, but he knew it well enough. They'd been overwhelmed, this conglomerate fleet of all the Republic could muster for this operation had been but an impediment to the full might of the Separatist war machine. More than half was little more than smouldering scrap and hypermatter over the planet.

The Battle of Islakon had been lost before it ever truly began. The Clones would hold for as long as they could but, given the situation, he wasn't sure it was as long as anyone would hope.

For all his dislike of the liquid, it was preferable to the alternative.

Sleep might make him remember things he didn't wish to remember, feel things he didn't wish to feel. It was unlike a Jedi to not confront the truth, in all its stinging ways, but after the third cup, such fragile concepts as honesty seemed trivial.

When he took his next sip, he placed it back and instead picked his lightsaber off his belt with a flick of his hand, sending it sailing gently into his grasp.

It was no ostentatious piece, he'd seen Masters and Knights, even some Padawans, wear their lightsaber at their hip as a statement as much as their sacred weapon. Covered in ornate carvings, bedecked in Bronzium and gilded with Corellian gold. They'd brag about their kyber crystals, of being a shade all its own, signifying something or other, some even gave them names—he never quite listened.

By contrast, his was but a cylinder of Duralium, carrying the blue twinge the metal tended to do. The emitter was angled, the hilt spartan save for a few bevels and textures to keep it in his hand when he swung. From within spewed the blue blade, a meter long cascade of energy. A crystal procured from Ilum, the last of his gathering class to retrieve it.

It had made him dive through the icy water and scale the mountainous caverns before he broke it from the cluster and kept it close. That had been nearly a decade ago, he had made his lightsaber at nine. He could never imagine parting from it.

He could also never had imagined, although he has always known, that it would be used to take a life but it had. Part of him, no matter how far-fetched, wondered if the crystal might bleed red now.

Before his thoughts could construct any greater story, the door slid open with a slight hiss, allowing his Master to enter wordlessly, gently tossing her hood back. She peered at him with her faded eyes that looked like, soon enough, would become cataract-ridden, and then to his lightsaber.

"I take it you're contemplating your martial studies?" She asked as if it was such a casual question it barely even warranted her attention for the follow-up, busying herself with taking off her outer robe.

It was a distraction. He knew it, she knew it, it didn't make it any less effective.

"Something like that," Harry tried a weak smile.

"I had assumed so," she said. "You've always been quite gifted, by no means a second-coming of our Order's greatest swordsmen, but I distinctly remember a young boy tossing children over his shoulder during sparring practice."

"I was a boy then, we've all grown."

"Some things have a habit of staying the same," she said though didn't bother elaborating. "I trust you've kept your mind on your training then, have you come to a decision?"

"On?"

Harry could appreciate her attempts at normalcy, acting as if the galaxy hadn't just gone the way it did.

"If you wish to make Knight, you best be proficient enough with one of the forms available to you," she said. "The Trial of Skill is not passed with ease and should you lack mastery of one of the forms, I'm afraid the chances of passing remain slim."

He frowned, "I'm aware of that."

"And?"

Shrugging, "I suppose I'm adept at Ataru but nothing feels… right, I don't know how to describe it."

"Then perhaps, for all your prowess, your destiny lies not in the blade, but another pursuit. Or perhaps your martial ability might manifest itself somewhere else, a different blade, a different style."

"Is it really that simple?"

Volme nodded at him with that quality of eternal reassurance that came with her age, "It can be, sometimes the puzzle is missing nothing but a single piece."

Smiling at her, this time a little more firmly, he rolled the saber back and forth in his hand, feeling the weight—it was time to end the facade. "Are… are we really not going to talk about what happened?"

He wouldn't mind if they weren't but he knew well enough that it was time for the facade to end.

Her back stood a little straighter as she summoned a meditation stool and sat down, "Would you prefer to keep it private?"

"I mean, if the alternative is talking about it, then I'd probably prefer not to."

"Very well," she nodded. "But I must warn you, the Council will wish to hear your version of events, if not a Senate committee."

Letting the lightsaber roll from his hand completely, "is it really so serious?"

"Our fleet was decimated by Grievous, whose boarding party was led by an anomaly, or so you call him," Volme said. "War is an arms race and I cannot recall ever having heard of such a use of the force. If they have found an advantage, somewhere, it is best we try and understand it in full."

As much as he wished he didn't, he'd have to confront it all, this first taste of war he now wished he had the good sense to avoid.

"Alright then," Harry said. "How long will it be before we get back to Coruscant?"

"We're still searching for the safest transit out of Separatist-occupied space, the Vanguard won't make it back to Coruscant on its own, we'll have to source additional transport."

Letting out a long sigh, "I bet that'll be fun."

"It can be a trouble for another day. What can't wait, however, is you."

"Me?"

He already knew the conversation that was coming—she knew he knew, but staving it off for as long as possible was the only option he could think of.

"Taking…" Volme paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "Taking a life of anything harms us, changes us. It is a lesson they do not teach in the Temple and we find ourselves, for some time, weaker for it."

He could certainly agree that he felt weaker for it.

A hand, old and gnarled with wrinkled flesh, fell on his shoulder as she looked at him, "So I ask, how are you?"

A breath caught in his throat and his fingers, as if controlled by a mind of their own, toyed with the cool steel of his lightsaber. "I… I don't think I know."

"It can be like that," she said in her whispery voice. "Death makes you feel a great many things, changes you from the very roots of the Force. It has a power over us very few care to admit, to feel someone slip away from us, friend or foe."

"I just… thought it would be different, more heroic maybe," his free hand came up to try and rub the tension from his forehead. "It seems childish now, it all does. It just felt like it should have been more than it was, better maybe, simpler."

"Death mirrors life, it's rarely ever simple."

"I can see that now," Harry said. "I won't weep for him, I won't keep myself up at night wondering if I might've changed history already written."

His hand clutched his lightsaber fully and observed it. "I made this when I was nine, I didn't want to add anything to it—anything more than I needed. I thought I might add things to it as I went, to show me where I've been and what I did. The first memento I picked up was blood. I'm… I'm starting to wonder if it's going to show me where I'm going instead."

"And where would that be?"

"Somewhere I don't want to go."

The words didn't need to be spoken, they both knew full well what he meant—the call to the Dark Side was never stronger than when the very peace of the Galaxy was at risk.

Pursing her lips, "Then you needn't worry, Padawan, for I feel as though your feelings on the matter make it more than clear you're not approaching a fall."

The words made him frown, "you and I both know many Jedi don't have a choice in the matter, even if they wish against it."

"We all have a choice, large or small."

"I don't know about that," his frown deepened.

"The Dark side isn't a call as you might hear us refer to it—that is an attempt at reductionism on the part of the Order. It's an expectation. It's an anticipation that finds disappointment, a hunger that finds starvation. It does not overpower you the way you might assume, you fall into it, wondering if the easy way was always the right way in the end. Then you look into yourself, remember the halls of history, of fallen Jedi and men gone mad, and you come to understand what happened to them all too well. You just care little, for life is easier and power is cheap. If you care, if you feel, you are doing all that you can."

"And if I find that anticipation in me?"

"You will not."

Harry pushed still, "But if I do?"

"That I cannot answer," she said. "There are some questions to which only we can be the answer."

Nodding, he wasn't sure what else he could possibly add to her conversation, he merely turned back to his cup of caf though her hand never left his shoulder.

"It isn't easy," she said again. "It never is, but if I can give you any advice, advice I wish I had once heard; be wary a life taken doesn't become justification for another, that is the lullaby of a murderer. We are Jedi, we carry lives taken in our souls just as much as we do lives saved. You will feel it less, feel more sure in your judgement, but never be callous enough to think that even an enemy's life matters so little that you can take it without care."

Swallowing hard he met her eyes, doing his best to try and make his will as hard as Mandalorian Iron, "I'll do everything I can, I promise."

Removing the hand from his shoulder, she flicked it and with the force, snatched the saber from his hands and studied it carefully for a moment, "You are the best of the students I've trained, when I look in you I see an axis of the galaxy, a point in which the universe might change. It is why I chose a half-blind boy over any other opportunity that had arisen and I," she said, rolling the saber slightly, "do believe this truly will show you where you'll go."

"Where is that?"

Grabbing his hand and then the other, she put the saber between the two and clasped her hands around his, "On your way to becoming a true Knight."


The Vanguard had tumbled through space for the better part of three days. Holes in the Hypermatter containers vented the precious resource with every jump through hyperspace, leaving them but momentary jumps to evade pursuers while engineers worked tirelessly to repair them. Even when the fix came, it only allowed them a short jump to the nearest Republic-allied world they could find.

And so, Harry found himself on Ord Pardron.

The planet was a generous use of the word, or so he thought. It was an asteroid body, cities carved out in the rock, dotted with mining platforms that sent minerals and ores towards the war effort. It also held a skeleton crew of Republic soldiers, Clones were too much of a rarity to assign to such a trivial location. Instead, it was a group of lightly armed, poorly trained soldiers from the mid-rim, ready to do their part for the Republic, even if the part wasn't huge.

But, even on an allied planet, with no fleet tenders or dry docks, the Vanguard was static and would be until it could be retrieved. With such a small garrison being transported on base by patrolling ships, they had no transports save for a detachment of Z-95s.

As if they hadn't waited long enough, it took another two days for a luxury passenger liner to arrive and be warded away from entering Separatist space.

The Jewel of Ithor was a cruiser of Mon Calamari design, stretching some four hundred meters in a sleek design that promised them a swift journey to Courscant. The Ithorian crew welcomed them as if they were some great heroes, traversing the ship with some inherent reverence for the Jedi.

Harry didn't have the heart to explain to them that his one battle so far had been a loss, not when he could hear them whisper about the hopes of a quick war, the elation when they realised the Jedi were real. That these mystical figures to much of the galaxy were flesh and bone and the Confederacy couldn't hope to stand against them.

Instead, he gave them smiles and retired to his quarters, showing the children aboard the ship idle tricks of the force, summoning objects and making their toys bounce uncontrollably to their delight. Then, when he retired to his quarters, he finally let sleep take him willingly as the ship bounded through space.

After all this time, Coruscant finally called him home.


If there was a place he hated more than any, it was the Coruscant spaceport.

The crowds had their own pace that they stuck to rigorously, despite the hurry, every advance towards the speeder was met with straight arms and errant elbows. Leaving both Harry and Volme to the whims of the crowd's wants, followed by a consistent barrage of not-so-friendly assessments of their attire and pace.

It was forever loud, the thoughts and speech of thousands of individuals all echoing in his mind at once. He had never been more thankful than when he spotted a Senate Guard, tall and clad in their ceremonial blue armour, brandishing his rifle and part the crowd, leading them to a speeder.

He had never seen anyone be escorted by them that weren't Senators or Aides, but he supposed the situation warranted it—they were no mere Jedi, now they were founts of information.

Tossing his few personal effects bundled into his back in the cargo slot, he swung into the back seat beside Volme and let the driver take off, the Senate Guard dictating directions as they crossed lanes at high speed.

"What are we doing?" Harry asked, observing the lower city fly by in a mirage of neon lights and speeders flying low to avoid the speed limit.

"I had hoped we might have some time to settle in before we were called to testify," she said. "My liaisons with the Council have been brief at best but, to the best of my knowledge, I believe we've been spared an audience with a Senate Committee at Master Yoda's behest."

When he turned back to her face, he sensed the 'but…' that was coming.

"However, the Council will want your report, would that I could shield you from such scrutiny so soon but their wishes supersede any desires to the contrary. It is best we merely get it out of the way."

His hands toyed with the fabric of his pants, "I had always assumed my first meeting with the Council would've been under better circumstances."

"As had I," she nodded. "Had the Force not interdicted as it has and led you down a different path, I had imagined your first interaction with them might've been after your trials. A blade hovering over either shoulder and my final student a Knight of the Jedi Order."

"And now?" Harry asked, unable to hide the more than the substantial tone of eagerness in his voice despite the situation.

It was a rare gesture from her, but she merely shrugged, "now I am unsure. You must find the Jedi you wish to be, the one that might change the galaxy as I said, and then we might know what the Force has in store for you."

"I shall do my best to make you proud," he said. "However I might accomplish that."

"You have already made me a proud Master," Volme shook her head. "Now it is time for you to make yourself a man you can be proud of."

With that, the rest of their journey passed in the brand of uneasy silence that only great expectations could forge—the Jedi Council awaited.


It had been a solemn affair returning to the temple after the months he'd spent away.

He hadn't been since he left in the earliest stages of the war. It was empty and he knew within him it'd only get emptier. The Room of a Thousand Fountains had fallen still for the first time in millennia in reverence to the Jedi the war had taken and the ones it would take yet. The gardens had been deserted of members of the Order in quiet contemplation, the Temple steps devoid of Padawans and Younglings making fun for themselves between lessons.

The whispers in the Temple when the war erupted had been right—this was an end of an age, an epoch of terror had come. One so great that even the most mundane of acts had been foregone to make preparations for the war.

Though his contemplation of the war was soon cut short, his Master had led him through the Temple up until they found the south-eastern spire and ascended, an area of the temple he was wholly unfamiliar with. It was not uncommon for Padawans to ascend the spire while the Council was out of session, a test of mettle in avoiding the Temple Guards and sitting where the High Council sat, staking a claim that, one day, they might sit among them.

How he had wished he dared to ascend with the likes of Anakin and Ferus, for any preparation was better than the unknown.

When they finally surmounted the stairs, they met a familiar face, one Harry hadn't seen in some time.

"Erin," Master Obi-wan Kenobi smiled at her, then turned to him, "Harry, I trust the journey was uneventful?"

His master answered while Harry inclined his waist in a bow, "Relatively so," Volme said. "The Battle for Islakon notwithstanding."

"I apologise for that," the man said. "Had we known the true threat, or that Grievous had only left a token force at Mon Cala, the Council might have been able to divert more resources. The fault is ours."

"The past has been written," she said. "We can no sooner rewrite it than change the will of the Force itself, we shall be better prepared for the next."

He could hear it in her voice that she didn't blame the man—she was too fond of him for that. In the early days, when he was only just a Padawan, he remembered his Master visiting him often, carrying the concern that Qui-Gon might have for the man. She never spoke of the old Master often enough for him to know, but he got the distinct sense that perhaps a deal had been struck between the old Masters—to watch over the student of the other had the worse come to pass.

Even as a Knight and now Master, Obi-wan hadn't been able to escape such concern.

The man smiled at her slightly before turning to him, "It may be intimidating at first, the best way to get through it is to answer the questions as clearly and as accurately as you can. Can you do that?"

"I'll do my best," Harry nodded.

"Very well then," Obi-wan said before ushering him forward and into the High Council Chamber.

It was not an easy thing being exposed to the highest echelons of the Order—Masters he'd only heard stories about, of their wisdom, their prowess and all their deeds that shaped the Galaxy. One might have assumed, as he did, that they could see right through him, for all that he was or wasn't, and that he might not meet their expectations. Attempting to control his anxiety with steady breaths, he stepped through the wide doors that Obi-wan had opened, his master trailing languidly behind him.

The bronzium inlay on the floor, a motif forged by a long-since past age of Jedi, is a sign of harmony amongst all Jedi and what they stood for. Now, it was scuffed with boot marks, darkened up until the point that it was almost unrecognisable.

Of the twelve members that were supposed to be present, Harry found some missing, doing his best to survey the room without looking as if he was. He felt the unbearable weight of all their eyes upon him as Obi-wan took his seat. In some places, holograms sat in the places they would otherwise occupy and, in the case of the seat next to Master Yoda, which he could only assume belonged to Master Windu, was unoccupied.

Master Yoda leant forward a small amount in his chair, observing him closely. "Understand your purpose here today, I imagine you do."

Stepping forward a half step with the encouraging presence of his Master's force, "I do, the… individual I fought aboard the Vanguard."

"Indeed," a voice spoke to the left of Master Yoda, a flickering hologram of a Cerean that Harry could only assume was Master Mundi. "Your Master was quite thorough on her version of events. We are equally as adamant that we're thorough with your version."

Nodding at the man, "Islakon, we were defending it from invasion, supposed to be anyway. We were attacked by a Separatist fleet, at least the same size as ours."

"Grievous, I take it?" Obi-wan asked.

"I believe so, yes," Harry answered though it seemed more an exercise of figuring out whether or not they could trust his story rather than a confirmation of what they no doubt already knew. "I was in the battle when he arrived so I didn't hear the broadcast he supposedly made to the bridge but I could sense him, whatever he is."

"And what did he feel like in the Force?" A voice wavered from behind him, forcing him to search for the tiny eyes hidden amongst the shroud of hair on Master Oppo Rancisis's face. "I find myself interested in how this beast of Dooku's came to be."

Harry wasn't sure he had an answer for him, "It felt there wasn't much of him left, like no part of him could even feel. If the ship hadn't been so distinctive, larger than the others, I don't know that I would have made the connection."

"And this infiltrator came aboard from aboard Grievous's flagship?" A voice warbled through a mask, coming from Master Plo Koon.

"That is our understanding of events," Master Volme stepped in from behind him, breaking her silence. "I was coordinating the battle while my Padawan provided cover for our advance in his starfighter. An interceptor left the craft before engaging some form of cloaking device, rendering our systems unable to track it until it landed aboard our vessel."

"Come to encounter this individual, you did?" Master Yoda asked, his three-fingered hand waving towards the floor, letting a small holoprojector arise.

Harry took a step backwards as the security footage of the Vanguard blinked into existence, a blue construct of the same hallway he'd fought in.

"I did," Harry confirmed and waited until they both appeared in the recording, ready to do battle.

"You had not sensed him?" The hologram of Master Kit Fisto asked as he leaned forward as Harry ignited his saber in the recording

Shaking his head, "I didn't and I don't know why, but I think it has something to do with something that happened in the duel."

In the low-fidelity version of the crackling holographic scene, it was admittedly difficult to see what he had meant until he had tossed a hand forward and the man had seldom moved save for the glowing tattoos along his jaw. Before he sought to re-engage, the recording paused.

The entire Council sat in silence, all held in their own poses of contemplation as they watched what had been for all of them an anomaly. Part of him was at least thankful that the enigma hadn't alluded just him, it had bested the brightest and wisest members of the Order.

"Peculiar, this situation appears to be," Master Yoda broke the silence. "The reason you were unable to sense him, you might have found."

"I knew he was there once I found him," Harry tried to explain. "He just… he felt like nothing, like the Force couldn't touch him, he was an absence in it. A… A wound, maybe."

Then silence fell again but he needn't be a Jedi to know that this time, it was different.

Yoda was the first to speak again, "From this, no conclusion can be drawn."

"The possibility remains," Master Saesee Tiin disagreed. "We have heard the echoes in the stars, we know of the planets that Grievous tests his armada against. Islakon is but the next. It is possible he has created these wounds in the force, subjected the galaxy to such trauma that even the force is no defense."

Master Shaak Ti's face held a severe look, lips pursed, "we know well enough the stories of the Exile Surik and what the destruction of Malachor V did to the Revanchists that fought in the battle. It was almost the end of the age of Jedi, we must ensure we do not face such crisis again."

"Might you meditate on the matter, Master Yoda?" Ki-Adi Mundi asked. Harry had long since heard tales of the Grand Master and how people whispered that his wisdom came from being able to see into the force itself.

It took a moment before he shook his head, "clouded are my eyes, darkness falls upon the galaxy. Show only suffering and the rise of a long, long night, the Force does."

Seeing that line of questioning was likely to go nowhere, Mundi turned back to Harry. "This force technique he used, manipulating the Force through his…"

"Staff, perhaps," Master Adi Gallia suggested. "Or a wand, they remind me of the tools of Dathomirian healers and sages. Consulting with Madame Nu might shed some light on the matter."

"Wand then," Mundi corrected. "Did it feel any different to the normal use of the Force?"

"I couldn't feel anything from it," Harry said. "I just felt… dull."

"Know of any technique that wields the force as such, I do not," Yoda added. "Peculiar, it is, as to why risk discovery being sent aboard when the battle was already won. Something aboard the Vanguard, they must have sought."

Volme shook her head, "I know of no such thing. Our presence above Islakon, as you well know Master, was solely a military one. We had nothing aboard worth capturing."

"Unknown, their reasons remain. Searching for something unknown to us, their reason may be, yes?"

Harry's Master bowed, "I shall take your wisdom under consideration, Master Yoda."

"And of the assailant?" Kit Fisto asked as his hologram began wavering, nodding to the recording currently playing out before them. "We were told you slew him in single combat."

Harry didn't feel the need to answer, merely nodded at the Nautolan master before turning his attention to the recording. As clear as it had been to live it, they watched with emphatic interest as the struggle continued until, finally, his blade struck true and ran the life from the unknown foe. When he fell, the recording went silent—a silence that saturated the room so thoroughly as eyes darted to and fro that he was sure he had done something wrong.

Volme took a step forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Some form of reassurance that, despite it all, it would be alright.

Ki Adi Mundi's eyes flickered around the scene rapidly, leaning forward to take as much of the scene in as he could before he turned to them, "tell me, when he passed into the force, did you feel anything different?"

"I—" Harry tried although his Master spoke for him.

"My Padawan has never taken a life before, I am afraid he has little point of reference for how it should feel."

Mundi nodded, "I believe that's a fair point," he said. "How is your Padawan fairing? From his mouth this time, if you'd please."

With the hand on his shoulder, he felt the woman bristle at the perceived insult. Although this was his first time meeting the Cerean Master, he'd heard enough about him from his Master. Another remnant of an old friendship with Qui-Gon Jinn, Harry had heard more than his fair share of disparaging stories of Mundi's pride and ill-fated, strong-handed judgements that she never failed to critique.

"I am doing well, Master Mundi," Harry said. "I was shaken, but I'm better now."

"And your feelings on the matter?"

"He…" A breath caught in his throat, "I believe he threatened the security and peace of the Republic, and he became one with the force as any man would."

Breaking back into the conversation, Yoda had been content with seeming contemplative for the past few moments. "Little to gain from continuing this inquest, I fear we now have. On Coruscant, you shall stay until a decision is made."

Harry wasn't exactly sure what their decision was supposed to be but, all the same, he bowed and followed his Master, gently sweeping from the room to leave the Council in their silent reverence of sudden events.


Atop the Jedi Temple was a quiet place.

It was a place one did tend to dwell long, for nights like these where the WeatherNet operators decided light rain and strong winds were the optimal conditions, no place was quite as loud, nor quite as cold.

Perhaps, that's why he had come to admire it.

When he meditated, he needn't clear his mind; it was already full of the thrums of sub-light thrusters and city traffic. He could not think of other things, of the ill-tidings of the war and what lay ahead because, in those very moments, every sense was dulled into nothingness by the dull cry of a suburbia so crowded that it almost made it difficult to breathe. For that very reason, the gentle footsteps on a fast approach went entirely unnoticed.

"Is this a private pity party or am I allowed in?" A voice broke through his meditation, forcing a gentle sigh from his lips.

He didn't even bother cracking his eyes open, "Pity?"

"Well," the voice said. "This is your hiding place, I don't imagine you're here because you're feeling particularly well-adjusted."

"This isn't my hiding place," he argued with a scoff.

"Real convincing, Scarhead."

That made him finally open his eyes, glaring sharply at the woman. "Whatever you say, Headtails."

It was said without malice, arguments over a decade old had quickly lost any hope of a biting sting. Instead, the Twi'lek girl—no, woman, she'd changed much since he had last seen her, let out a harrumph.

"I had heard from Ferus you were back," she explained. "I knew you'd come here, I hadn't expect you back from your Campaign so soon though."

"Well, we lost," Harry shrugged, trying to keep the engine noises in his mind to block out the untoward thoughts. "No use staying out there."

She offered him an apologetic smile, the sincerity of which broke through his barrier of the cityscape's engines, and made him return it, even if slightly less than hers. Wrapping her robe around her body a little tighter, she made to sit down across from him. When she did so, it allowed him a glance at her, of how she'd changed since he'd been absent.

This was Rianna Amersu, though not as he'd known her; she was taller now, never destined to be as tall as him but she had begun to bridge the gap faster than she had any right to. Her red skin had almost seemed to have become lighter, it was already such a rarity among the Twi'leks that he'd seen her be called a rare beauty near as many times as she'd been called an eyesore.

"Have I got something on my face?" She mocked, reaching into her robes.

"Tails," Harry returned.

"Those are on my head, but points for trying," she said before finally pulling what she wanted out of her pocket. "I bought them, you know, just in case."

Then, on the duracrete in front of them, she laid a set of Pazaak cards.

Harry raised an eyebrow, "So eager to lose?"

"I'm more eager for you to play Sabaac like a regular person," she groaned.

"This is easier," he defended. "Besides, the cards were a gift—"

"From who?" She mimicked a conversation they'd had time and time again. "Well, if I knew that, I'd tell you."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Rianna snorted at him before her dull, crimson eyes softened. "I thought it would be nice. I… well, I heard you had a meeting with the Council today."

His lips formed a thin line and his eyes flicked from the cards to her, "Yeah… Yeah, I did. How'd you find out?"

"One guess."

"Well, I saw Obi-wan was back so I don't think it's a difficult mystery to solve."

"Yep," she said, popping the 'p'. "Anakin couldn't keep his mouth closed to save his life where the Council is concerned and he's quite interested in talking with you about it."

"I haven't seen him in months, I should've known that'd be the first thing he wanted to hear about."

"What's that?"

"The war," Harry shrugged, shuffling the cards. "He's always been a fan."

"Some things never change," Rianna smiled, organising her deck. "By the way I hear it, they might be looking at having him undergo his trials soon."

"It makes sense. What with the war and all, they need Jedi who can operate on their own and he's one of the best."

"I agree," she said. "But I didn't come here to talk about Anakin. How was it? The meeting?"

He chewed on the potential words for a moment before deciding on one, "frightening."

"I bet you're glad Master Windu wasn't there," she said. "I can't imagine he would've defused the tension."

Recoiling his head back slightly, he looked at her curiously, "how'd you know he was absent?"

"Everyone's been talking about it, even if the council are trying to keep it quiet. He's on Harrun Kal, fighting in one of their wars. I don't know the specifics though."

"When did you become the Temple gossip?"

Placing her first card down, "Somewhere around the time when my Master informed me we'd be staying at the Temple for the 'foreseeable' future."

"That can change," Harry shrugged.

"Foreseeable takes on a different meaning when you can meditate on the future," she complained before her voice became gentler. "But not what I was trying to ask, I was going to ask if you're doing okay."

Swallowing the anxiety in his throat, the city sounds were now a distant memory as thoughts rushed in, "Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome. You don't have to explain anything, I just hope you're okay."

"And if I'm not," his voice cracked slightly.

He was sure he was, sure he'd get passed it. But he couldn't help but wonder if everyone was wrong, if he was wrong.

"Well then, I'll always be here," she said, placing another card. "We'll just have to play some more Pazaak."


He had tiptoed into his quarters, adjacent to his Master's so as not to wake her. When his head met the pillow, sleep came quick, fuelled by the familiarity of his surroundings and the fatigue that had saturated him for days now.

When he did, on this night of nights, it marked a stepping stone in the galaxy to come.

When he slept, he saw again, through eyes that weren't his own.

Harry Potter dreamt of red blades flashing in the darkness, he dreamt of water worlds that quaked with the terrifying fire of colossal guns. He dreamt of tidal waves, of an armoured beast who breathed in wheezes and spoke with wavering threats.

Then he dreamt of a woman with silver hair and red eyes, catching glimpses of her through broken mirrors and flashes of light coming from a similar wooden stick to the one he'd seen.

And when he awoke, it was with a scream and a sensation he'd never felt in all his life.

His scar ached with a terrible pain.