Chapter 6 – The Most Dangerous Game

I'm going to kill Snape.

That became Vader's mantra throughout the night and next morning as his body painfully shifted from animal form back to human form. Dumbledore could preach all he wanted about Snape and Vader laying down their wands and establishing a relationship, but Snape had eliminated any hope of such a cease-fire existing. War had been declared, and war Vader would wage with the low-life. Snape would pay for the indignity Vader had suffered.

He spent that long and miserable night in a cot in the hospital wing, enduring periodic transfusions of some potion to restore him to his proper form. On one side of his bed lay a bored Hufflepuff second year suffering from some skin complaint that made her look like she was covered in furry green mold, who entertained herself by blasting flies on the ceiling with her wand. On his other side, a stormtrooper read a copy of the Daily Prophet, his leg propped up in a cast from a mishap with one of the castle's trick staircases. The three of them had maintained an unofficial vow of silence the entire night, though they did seem to sympathize with each other's respective plights.

It wasn't until nearly seven in the morning that Madam Pomfrey declared Vader good as new. "Though you'll still be a little sluggish for a few days until your internal chemistry settles down," she informed him. "You can go anytime… oh, and Dumbledore would like to talk to you before you leave."

He rolled his eyes. What did he want to discuss now?

"Hi, Headmaster," the Hufflepuff girl said brightly as Dumbledore walked in.

"Good morning, Miss Applebee," Dumbledore replied. "Clearing up at all this morning?"

"No," she grumbled. "Malfoy hexed me, Headmaster, and all because he's a prefect and my mother's a Muggle…"

"Malfoy has been dealt with," Dumbledore replied. "Madam Pomfrey, why don't you take this young lady to the courtyard? No one will see her there, and the fresh air will do her no harm."

Pomfrey helped Applebee out of bed and escorted her out.

"Now Vader," Dumbledore went on, taking a seat beside Vader. "I'd hoped to talk to you about last night."

"Last night is entirely Snape's fault," Vader informed him. "He provoked the duel and maliciously attacked me when the duel was over…"

"I'm aware of the details of the duel," Dumbledore replied. "Sir Nicholas and Harry Potter were both very helpful on that front." He shook his head. "I did warn you, Vader, that Snape was a man not to be crossed."

Vader gave a snarl of rage. "Snape turned me into a tortoise, and it's MY fault for crossing him?"

"If Harry's testimony is to be believed – and I believe he has no reason to lie – you attacked Snape first."

"Only because he goaded me into…"

"You are an adult, Professor Vader," Dumbedore interrupted. "Thus, I expect you to take responsibility for your own actions. I understand that you find that concept difficult, but if you are to maintain your post here, I suggest you try a little harder."

He fumed silently. This wasn't his fault! If Snape had not provoked the duel…

Everything's someone else's fault, isn't it? a small voice in the back of his head cut in. It's Obi-wan's fault you became a Sith, it's the Jedi's fault your mother died… can you not take responsibility for anything in your life?

He thrust those thoughts violently out of his mind.

"But I did not come here merely to discuss your battle with Snape," Dumbledore continued. "Though it did cost me a fifty-Galleon bet… the Astronomy Professor maintains that since Snape got in the last shot, he was the true winner… but that's beside the point. What I also came here to discuss is your loyalties."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You told me at one point that you were loyal only to the Empire," Dumbledore replied. "But you also told me that you would do all you could to ensure that the Ministry of Magic would not perpetuate their cover-up of Voldemort's return. Unfortunately, I believe that very soon – within months at the most – your allegiances will no longer be compatible. You will be forced to choose between the two."

Vader stared at Dumbledore incredulously. Where in the galaxy did the Headmaster get this idea? The Empire had nothing to do with the Ministry of Magic. How could they possibly be abetting their conspiracy regarding Voldemort?

"I suppose you wonder what I'm talking about," Dumbledore said as if reading his mind. He raised his wand and pointed it at the stormtrooper, who was now dozing with the Daily Prophet draped over his chest like a tent. "Accio Newspaper."

The paper fluttered like an oversized moth into Dumbledore's hands, and he folded it neatly so the front page was visible and handed it to Vader. "It's made the front pages, I'm afraid."

The headline alone was enough to stun Vader:

GALACTIC EMPIRE PROPOSES TREATY OF ALLIANCE WITH MINISTRY OF MAGIC

In a surprise political move this past Wednesday, representatives of the Galactic Empire proposed an alliance of power with the magical community.

"We're very excited about ushering in this next great stage of the wizarding world's progress," Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge told the Prophet. "This treaty can only benefit wizards and witches all over the world – not to mention the people of the Empire."

Imperial Grand Admiral Thrawn and Imperial Grand Moff Argon, the representatives that visited the Minister of Magic, were also optimistic regarding the potential alliance.

"Our societies have mistrusted each other for years," Thrawn said. "By allying and taking on a common cause in defending ourselves from those who would destroy our societies – whether from within or from without – perhaps we can make amends for those years of restrained hostilities."

"Perhaps it is time our worlds came to accept each other," Argon added. "Perhaps it is time the Empire came to accept magic, just as the wizards are overdue in accepting technology."

The treaty negotiations are scheduled to begin October 30th. It is not known how long they will continue before an agreement is reached, though local Seers predict it will take approximately twenty-six years for any sort of compromise to be made.

"To be perfectly realistic, we expect a decision to be made within the year," a confident Imperial leader who asked to remain anonymous told the Prophet.

Emperor Palpatine, the reclusive leader of the Galactic Empire, and Lord Darth Vader, his imposing second-in-command, could not be reached for comment.

Ha. They hadn't even tried to reach him for comment. Then again, if they had, they would have received their comment in the form of a dead reporter. He read on.

It is not known why the Empire, formerly aloof from the magical community, has chosen to propose a merger of power with the Ministry, though some officials suspect the recent hiring of Lord Darth Vader as a teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts classes at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry may have been a sign of the Empire's growing interest in the wizarding world. The recruitment, which stirred nationwide controversy at first, may have only been a first step in warming relations between the two communities.

"As a concerned parent, I'm still not very enthusiastic about having a Dark Lord of the Sith instructing my child and being responsible for his welfare," Lucius Malfoy told the Prophet. "But as a concerned member of the wizarding community, I can see many benefits of the wizards joining the Empire – the opportunity to visit other worlds, more employment offers, access to better medical and educational facilities."

"Lord Vader has been a great success at Hogwarts, despite some shaky first impressions," Care of Magical Creatures Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank said. "Not familiar with his teaching style, but it seems to be working well."

The proposal has not been embraced by the entire wizarding community. Ministry employees Nymphadora Tonks and Arthur Weasley, among a handful of others, have filed letters of protest with the Ministry at the news.

"It's absolutely disgraceful," Weasley told reporters last Wednesday. "The Empire is a dictatorship. It'll be a dark day when any wizard throws his lot in with a dictatorship." (To read about Weasley's suspected ties to Muggle terrorist cells, see page 16A.)

Beneath the headline was a photo of the plump, rather dim-looking Minister of Magic, grinning broadly from beneath the brim of his bowler hat, his arms draped around the shoulders of the two Imperial representatives. Thrawn wore a small confident smile on his sapphire features, ruby eyes gleaming eagerly. Argon's flabby pale face was expressionless, but then, Argon had never been one to exhibit any emotion besides boredom.

"Perhaps now you see what I mean," Dumbledore said quietly.

Vader shook his head. "Something isn't right. I should have heard something about this. A treaty of alliance is a serious matter."

"I suspect the Emperor didn't want you to discover this," Dumbledore replied.

"What do you mean?" Vader demanded. "I am a Dark Lord of the Sith, second only to the Emperor, Palpatine's right-hand-man and most trusted confidant. Why would he keep this from me?!"

Dumbledore gave a sad smile, as if he sympathized with his plight but chose to do nothing about it. "I have no desire to put myself in your Emperor's shoes and try to think like him – it would no doubt scare me out of my wits – but I have a theory… and no more than that… that the Emperor sent you away for a year because he was planning something that didn't require your scrutiny."

Vader couldn't accept that. "I would not have protested such a treaty…"

"Vader, you are a man of honor," Dumbledore cut in. "A man of honor is rare indeed, and rarer still in the Empire. Could it be that your Emperor does not share this sense of honor, and that he wanted you out of the way so your sense of honor would not interfere with his plan?"

Grabbing the Prophet in both hands, Vader tore the paper in half. "Enough with your conspiracy theories, Dumbledore! I am a man loyal to the Empire! And that is not bound to change anytime soon, treaty or no!"

Dumbledore sighed and stood. "Very well. Though I pray you will reconsider your words." He held out his hand. "Miss Hermione Granger informs me that you still have possession of her wand. May I?"

He unclipped the wand from his belt and returned it. "Now leave me. I've had enough with your suspicions and presumptions for today."

"Oh, there's one more thing," Dumbledore said suddenly, and he dropped a book on the bedside table. The title was printed in gold and read Quidditch Through the Ages.

"What's this?" he demanded.

"Reading material. I suggest you study up, Professor Vader. You're refereeing over the Quidditch match this coming Saturday."

-------

"Ready, Ron?" asked Harry, pulling on his Quidditch gloves.

"No," Ron replied. His face was as pale as this morning's porridge, with his freckles standing out against his skin like currants.

"Get ready, then," Angelina informed him crisply. "Now listen up, Gryffindors, we'll have to play fast and hard to beat Slytherin today. Professor Vader's refereeing – that's one advantage we have, since he dislikes Slytherin. The ground'll still be pretty hard from last night's frost, so try not to crash or fall off. Grass'll be slick, so watch your takeoffs. Oh, and Slytherin just replaced their Beaters, so Fred, George, keep a sharp eye out to figure out their tactics."

"It's Crabbe and Goyle," Fred replied with a huge smile. "We know their style – take a swing, miss the Bludger, and fall off the broom."

"Won't hurt them too badly if they only land on their heads," George added.

"Glad you're taking this seriously," Angelina replied, rolling her eyes. "And Ron, please don't fly away from the Quaffle! It won't bite you, I swear! Guard the goalposts if you have to block the Quaffle with your head!"

"He's not that bad, Angelina," Harry protested.

"Gryffindor!" barked Vader, striding toward them, a Nimbus 2001 in one hand. "Are you ready yet?"

"Ready," replied Angelina.

"Then get out on the pitch!" he ordered.

"Bossy, isn't he?" muttered Alicia Spinnet.

"He's a military leader, he's used to people jumping at his orders," Harry replied.

"Doesn't seem very happy about being referee," noted Ron.

"Ah, he'll have a good time," Fred assured him.

"Anything to whack points off Slytherin," George added.

The Slytherin team stood in a row on the pitch, awaiting the arrival of their opponents. The new team captain, Montague, reminded Harry painfully of Dudley. Crabbe and Goyle stood just beside him, glaring dully at the Gryffindor team. Mafloy smirked at Harry and Ron, giving an evil wink.

"Mount your brooms," Vader commanded, following suit by climbing astride his Nimbus 2001. Harry had expected him to be clumsy with the broom, but he seemed perfectly at ease aboard it.

"Take positions!" shouted Angelina, just as Vader kicked the trunk containing the balls open and went airborne. The Quaffle shot straight up, the Bludgers spiraled away eagerly, and the Snitch vanished in a blur of gold.

"And they're off!" shouted Lee Jordan, the game announcer. "There goes Angelina Johnson, Gryffindor captain and Chaser, isn't she grand? She's got the Quaffle and is going… Montague steals it… Bludger to the chest and he loses it to Katie Bell… Katie passes to Spinnet, Spinnet goes for the goal…"

Harry circled the edges of the pitch, keeping an eye out for any flicker of gold that could mean the Snitch. On the other end of the field, Malfoy did the same. Vader hovered ominously to the side like a dark bird of prey, watching the action. Harry wondered how familiar he was with the game and whether or not he appreciated the sport.

"Back in Slytherin's possession… nice Beater work by the Weasleys! Angelina's got the Quaffle and is going for the goal… you dirty rat you! Pucey has the ball – that was a definite foul, Pucey!"

"Jordan, if you cannot commentate in an unbiased fashion…" McGonagall snapped.

There was a shout from Vader's direction, and he made a time-out gesture with his hands like an American football referee. "Penalty shot for Gryffindor for unprovoked attack on a Chaser!" he announced.

Gryffindors cheered, and Luna Lovegood's ridiculous lion-shaped hat – she had modeled it for Harry at breakfast that morning – gave an approving bellow.

"Spinnet takes the Quaffle… score one for Gryffindor! Montague has the ball and is going down the pitch… passes to Pucey… passes back to Montague… Gryffindor Keeper moves to block… score for Slytherin! Teams are tied ten-ten, and the crowd's going wild…"

Ron had frozen in midair as the ball had gone for him, and it had whizzed past his shoulder and into the scoring hoop.

"Ron Weasley, move a few inches next time!" cried Angelina.

"Sorry," he mumbled, flushing red.

Malfoy sneered from nearby. "What's the matter, Weasel? Aw, you afwaid of de ball?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry ordered.

"Who made you Royal Highness?" Malfoy retorted.

"Malfoy, look for the Snitch, you idiot!" Montague bellowed. "Don't waste time gabbing!"

Harry started at that moment – Montague was heading right for Ron, Quaffle in hand! Ron seemed to petrify at that moment, too terrified to twitch, let alone block.

"Poor Wonny Weasley's too afwaid of de ball," said Malfoy in a mocking, babyish voice. "His poor fat mommy's gonna cwy when her widdle baby misses de Quaffle again…"

The Quaffle's impact in Malfoy's sneering face cut off the rest of his insult. Ron, his arms still raised from catching and throwing the ball, looked positively stunned at what he'd done.

"Great save from Weasely!" cried Jordan. "But it doesn't look like Vader's too happy with it, he's called a time out…"

Vader brought his Nimbus to a halt nearby, glowering at the three boys. "Mr. Weasley, explain your actions."

"He's a prat!" Ron snarled. "He deserved it!"

"Malfoy provoked it," Harry said in Ron's defense. "He was making ugly remarks, and Ron… well…"

"I didn't do anything!" Malfoy growled, rubbing his soon-to-be-black eye.

"I see," Vader replied, clearly amused. He raised his voice. "Penalty shot to Gryffindor for deliberate distraction of their Keeper! Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to their Seeker!"

Katie landed the shot neatly, but Montague was so angry he missed Slytherin's shot. Gryffindor was back in possession of the Quaffle.

"There goes Bell, off down the field… close call with that Bludger… Weasley's hit it back at Goyle, but Goyle's hit it back at Weasley… what is this, tennis?"

For Goyle and Fred were now smacking the Bludger back and forth between them, Fred with a huge grin as he was clearly enjoying himself, Goyle with an expression that made him look like an infuriated gorilla. It did indeed look like a tennis match played on brooms.

"Break it up, Fred!" Angelina shouted. "Go help George!"

"Busy," Fred called back sweetly, casually batting the Bludger back at Goyle.

"Goyle, this is no time for games!" Montague screeched.

"I'll get him if it's the last thing I do!" Goyle growled, smashing the Bludger back at Fred.

Vader swooped over at that moment. "Enough of this," he ordered. "If you have issues with one another, settle them off the pitch!"

Fred slammed the Bludger back at Goyle, who batted it savagely at Vader with an infuriated cry.

Vader's hands came up, and he caught the Bludger in midair with no apparent damage or discomfort. Fred and Goyle gaped.

"Did you see that?!" screamed Jordan. "DID YOU SEE THAT?! Ladies and gentleman, that was a spectacular move by our referee! If only England could recruit him for the World Cup…"

Vader released the Bludger, letting it zip away in the general direction of the Slytherin goalposts. "I'm pulling Goyle from the game!" he announced.

"You can't do that!" Montague protested.

"I most assuredly can," Vader retorted. "And Goyle, kindly put your wand back in its pocket, or I'll be forced to issue a detention as well. You will land your broom and retire to the bench for the remainder of the game."

Goyle spat a long list of obscenities as he drifted toward the pitch, stomping sulkily toward the dressing rooms with his broom in tow.

"Slytherin's down a Beater now… Pucey takes the Quaffle… Bludger to the nose! Ouch! Bell's got the Quaffle, going for the goal… nice save by Johnson, just barely missed Montague… what in the world is THAT?"

"That" was an object that arced toward the pitch from the direction of the Forbidden Forest, an object far too big to be a Bludger, an object that seemed to trail fire as it streaked forward…

An object heading right for Harry.

Only the fact that he was riding a Firebolt, the fastest broom ever designed, saved Harry from being clobbered, and even then he could just feel the thing brush his robes as it tore past. He brought himself around to get a good look at his attacker.

It was a man! Sheathed in battered metal armor like an exceptionally dingy stormtrooper, he wore a helmet reminiscent of an ancient Trojan soldier's, only without the feathered crest. What he'd taken for trailing flames was actually the glowing exhaust of a jet pack. The man spun to face Harry and leveled a sawed-off blaster rifle at him.

"Protego!" he cried, aiming his wand at the intruder.

The blast ricocheted off an invisible shield and struck the pitch, shooting chunks of turf in the air. The crowd was no longer cheering on the players but was instead gawking and screaming in horror.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a definite first!" Jordan went on, still in announcer mode. "Never had someone crash a Quidditch game before… let's see if Potter can take him on…"

"Shut up, Lee!" someone in the audience screamed.

The man continued to fire at Harry, who had to renew the Shield Charm with every blast he took.

"Protego! Protego! Protego!" He wasn't sure how long his voice could stand up.

A blur of black streaked toward the duelists, and Harry's attacker found himself staring blankly at the inoperable, smoking stump of his weapon. Vader made a tight turn and streaked forward again, saber at the ready.

"Harry, head for cover!" Vader ordered. "I'll handle Boba Fett!"

"Who's Boba Fett?" Harry demanded.

"No time for that! Go!"

The rest of the Quidditch players buzzed madly about the field, not sure whether to come to Harry's defense, flee, or keep playing the game. Only Fred and George seemed to have taken a definite course of action – they were herding a Bludger in the direction of Boba Fett, and with a furious combined blow they sent it streaking toward the attacker.

But the man was too quick for them. He rolled in midair, the Bludger missed him by inches…

There was an awful THWAK, and metallic fragments filled the air.

"Professor!" Harry forgot all about protecting himself.

Vader was gripping his right arm, which had gone limp and was bent horribly out of shape. From rents in his leather armor wires and jagged metal protruded, as if that arm had belonged to a robot. The Nimbus 2001 rocked unsteadily and spiraled toward the ground, Vader struggling to control the broom one-handed.

Something flitted past Harry at that moment, and he unconsciously grabbed at it. The Snitch! The ball must have gotten disoriented in the chaos. He stuffed it into his robes to deal with at a later time. Right now the game was the last thing on everyone's mind.

"Harry, look out!" screamed Ron.

A finger-thin cord, seemingly made of metal, wrapped around Harry from shoulders to waist, pinning his arms to his sides. Fett blasted away, evidently hoping to yank Harry from his broom. He gripped the Firebolt tightly with his legs and tried to steer it in the opposite direction, but he only ended up in a bizarre tug-of-war match with Fett as each struggled to drag the other away.

Other teachers were mounting brooms now, and the Quidditch pitch was now swarming with wizards and witches. McGonagall aimed a wand at the taut cord and fired a blast of purple light that severed the cord. Fett went spinning in one direction, Harry shot in the other direction. He shrugged off the cord and delved into his pocket for his wand.

It was gone.

"Looking for something?" taunted Malfoy.

Terror and rage both roiled within Harry as the Slytherin Seeker proudly displayed Harry's wand. He must have dropped it when Fett tied him up!

"Give that back!" Harry shouted. "He'll kill me!"

"The mighty Potter can't take on a common Muggle?" sneered Malfoy.

Teachers were forming a protective ring around the Quidditch players now, wands at the ready. Vader soared upward to join them, steering one-handed, his other arm dangling limply to one side. Fett circled the wizards warily, like a prowling tiger.

"Give my wand back, Malfoy," Harry demanded.

"What's the matter, Potter? Scared of a flying Muggle?"

"This isn't a joke, Malfoy!"

"Watch out!" screamed Montague.

Snape's broom careened madly to the pitch. The Potions professor crashed into the frosty grass and lay there motionless. Before the other teachers could move in to close the gap, Fett charged through, intent on Harry. Malfoy, realizing he was in the line of fire, dove for the pitch.

One does not require a charm, hex, jinx, curse, or even a wand to use magic, Harry recalled. The Jedi and Sith are able to draw on the Force without the aid of a wand.

But he was no Jedi or Sith! How could he fend off Fett without his wand?

He lurched out of the way, but Fett grabbed his robes. He jerked free with a loud rip, leaving a good chunk of his robes in the man's hands. Sprout and Flitwick attempted a joint attack, but Fett kicked Sprout's broom awry, sending it spiraling toward the stands, while Flitwick's broom streaked away with a flaming brush end.

Stay calm, Harry told himself. Think of a way out of this…

A great wave of peace washed over him at that moment. The chaos of the pitch – screaming students, careening brooms, the Bludgers still rocketing about and attacking people indiscriminately – faded out of his perception. His only focus was Fett. Unconsciously he reached out toward him, into his mind…

Stop, he ordered. Stop where you are.

Fett halted in midair, shaking his head as if puzzled.

Vader attacked at that moment. He leaped from his broom and tackled Fett in midair. Both men fell in a tangle to the ground.

Now it was Harry's turn to shake his head. What had he just done? The only thing he could figure was that he'd just put the Imperious Curse on Fett. But how could he have done that without his wand?

Everyone was landing now, both players and teachers. The Gryffindor team was pumping spells into the fallen Fett with great enthusiasm, and only Dumbledore's intervention stopped their attacks.

"That's enough," he ordered. "He's no more danger now."

Vader staggered to his feet, clamping his left hand over his right shoulder, as if his arm would fall off if he wasn't holding it in place. Dumbledore whispered something Harry couldn't catch, and Vader murmured a reply.

"That was so scary," Ron murmured.

"You all right, Harry?" asked Angelina.

"I think so," he replied.

"Who put the Jelly-Legs Curse on him?" asked George, pointing at Fett.

"That would be me," Katie Bell replied.

"Hmmm," Fred mused, regarding the fallen man with a smile. "I used the Giggle Charm – doesn't look like the two are supposed to mix… looks like he's gone slightly mad…"

Students clustered around Fett's prone form, gaping. No one had ever seen anything like this man – an armored, flying Muggle! This was certainly something they'd all be writing home about.

"Everyone back away," Dumbledore ordered. "We're taking this man to the hospital wing. Vader, you'd better head that way yourself."

Vader gave an obedient nod and walked away, still clutching his damaged arm.

McGonagall strode by, Snape lying on a floating stretcher and trailing after her. The students stared after their least favorite professor with a sort of guilty pleasure – few of them liked him, but at the same time they felt guilty wishing harm upon him.

"Professor Snape has been hit with a drugged dart," Dumbledore told everyone. "He'll awaken soon with no ill effects."

"Pity," grumbled Fred.

"Hah, hah, hah, hah… Dad, can I fly the ship this time?" murmured Fett in a dreamy sort of voice, chuckling uncontrollably all the while.

"Come with me, sir," Dumbledore told him gently, hauling him up by one arm. The man's legs refused to hold him up and folded up like rubber beneath him. Madam Hooch grabbed his other arm and helped the Headmaster drag him away.

"Yes, I'll take more gravy… heh, heh," Fett mumbled, head lolling to one side. "Heh, heh, heh… watch out, TIE fighters off starboard side…"

"I guess a rematch is in order," said Angelina, watching the three men depart to the hospital wing.

"Don't think so," Harry replied, pulling the Snitch out of his robes.

"And Gryffindor's won!" Lee shouted. "One-hundred seventy to ten!"

But the victory was the farthest thing from Harry's mind at the moment. Who exactly was that man? Why was he after him? Was he a Death Eater or otherwise working for Voldemort?

He decided to go visit Vader in the hospital wing that night. He'd recognized the man. Perhaps he could explain just who this man was and why he was here.