Chapter 19 – Somewhere Between Death and Dreams
The Imperial menace had been routed at last. Led by Headmaster Dumbledore and Professors McGonagall and Snape, the Rebel army had captured or destroyed Voldemort's followers and the Empire's best troops. Members of the Order of the Phoinex miraculously pulled off the almost-impossible feat of extracting Palpatine's minions from the Ministry of Magic without attracting the attention of the Muggle world, which still wasn't ready to deal with the double whammy of magic and space. Other factions of the Rebellion would handle the dirty work of reconstructing a workable government from the ashes of the Empire, but even that task seemed incredibly simple compared to what they had just faced.
To the wizard's world and the galaxy in general, the war was over.
But to those close to Harry Potter and Darth Vader, another battle was being waged, this one against, not the forces of darkness, but against death itself.
It was fortunate that safe travel outside of Hogwarts was again possible, for the two Chosen Ones required the expertise of the Healers at St. Mungo's to recover from their ordeal. Harry would no doubt bear the scars of Voldemort's saber for the rest of his life. And Vader… for hours he hovered at the edge of death, requiring the constant presence of a Healer to keep from slipping into the void of the beyond.
A room adjacent to Harry and Vader's room had been converted into a temporary guest suite for their well-wishers – of which there were many. Dumbledore was there, of course, and Hermione and Hagrid. The entire Weasley family occupied one corner, spending most of their energies trying to comfort a sobbing Mrs. Weasley. Luke, Leia, Han, and Sirius watched the door for someone, anyone, to give some sort of news on the two men's condition. Fett stood beside Dumbledore's chair, as still as a sentinal, giving no sign of emotion. Dudley Dursley looked extremely uncomfortable in his corner of the room, but he tried not to show it. If anything, he looked as concerned as anyone else.
Dumbledore sighed gustily. He should have known it would end something like this. Voldemort had been evil and powerful enough alone; to give him an ally just as strong and ruthless and calculating as he had been… even he couldn't have predicted the outcome of that. Harry and Vader had been lucky to come out of that fight alive. Whether they would ever recover fully from the wounds of that battle was another question, one he didn't even try to answer.
"When's Mum and Dad gonna get here?" Dudley asked at last.
"Mon Mothma has sent a shuttle to Corusant to pick them up," Dumbledore told him. "They'll be here soon."
As if on cue the door burst open, and Vernon Dursley shouldered his way toward Dudley, bellowing fit to wake the dead.
"Dudley, what are you doing here!" he demanded. "They didn't try any of their fool magic on you, did they? What's going on?"
"Oh, Duddykins, are you okay?" sobbed Petunia, throwing her arms around Dudley.
"Mu-um," he groaned. "I'm fine."
Dumbledore stood. "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, I'm afraid you have been mislead by the agents of the Galactic Empire."
"Don't go playing your mind games on me, you old crackpot," snarled Vernon. "I know all about your plot to overthrow the British Empire…"
"If there was any such plot, it was all the scheme of Emperor Palpatine and Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore replied softly. "I'm sorry to say that the Empire manipulated your family in order to gain your son as a soldier in its army."
Vernon's eyes bulged. "Lord Voldy… whoever… he was involved in this? That… that wizard who's been trying to snuff Harry?"
Petunia gave a little shriek.
"The Empire arranged a takeover of the magical world," Dumbledore told them. "They used their position there to wage war on Hogwarts, in an effort to pave the way for Voldemort's absolute reign over our world and to establish his own School of Dark Arts. It was only thanks to Harry's efforts and Lord Vader's change in allegiances that we were able to defeat their plot."
The Dursleys wore identical expressions of shock.
"I told you…" Petunia said at last, her voice trembling. "Something didn't seem right about this at the very beginning…"
Dudley sniffed loudly. "Harry killed Voldemort, Mum. But… he got carved up real bad…"
Petunia turned to stare at Dudley. "Harry's not…"
"We haven't been updated on his condition yet," Hermione said quietly, her eyes red.
Vernon sank into a chair, stunned. Dumbledore wondered if it had finally hit home that his charge wasn't just a liability, but flesh and blood, his nephew and family. He knew that Petunia had finally taken that fully into account this summer after his little… forceful reminder, and Dudley seemed to realize that back in Gryffindor Tower. And now, Vernon had finally realized that it was not Harry Potter, the weird wizard boy, that lay injured and fighting for his life in the next room, but Harry Potter, his nephew.
Or so Dumbledore hoped. Vernon was just as stubborn as Harry…
A green-robed Healer stepped into the room.
"Harry's all right, isn't he?" asked Hermione and Ron at the same time.
"Did you fix his arm?" demanded Dudley.
"What about Father?" Luke cut in.
"When're ye gonna tell us how 'arry's doin' 'steada leavin' us in th' dark?" Hagrid demanded.
This Healer, a wiry white-haired man with silvery-green eyes and a mouth that seemed perpetually fixed in a half-smile, had spent many years dealing with half-hysterical relatives of patients, and he waited patiently for the loud inquiries to die away before he spoke.
"That's much better," he said once things had quieted down. "I can here myself think clearly for a change now. I'm here to tell you that I believe young Potter will recover completely from his burns. We've just developed a new potion meant exclusively for energy burns, such as those caused by blasters and lightsabers, and he's been responding to it quite well. I doubt he'll even have a scar once we've discharged him."
Much of the tension in the room evaporated instantly.
"What about my father?" asked Luke.
"You're father? Oh, Professor Vader, of course." His smile took on a sad sort of crook. "He's… fighting… is all I can say. Fighting with all the strength he has, which I find quite admirable. But he was hurt very badly – not just in this fight of course, but before. He's an absolute mess, all mixed-up machinery and scars." He gazed at Luke and Leia sympathetically, then turned to Dumbledore. "I don't know if we can save him. I don't even know if we SHOULD save him… he's so broken apart… maybe it would just be kinder to let him go… ease along the inevitable…"
"No, sir," Dumbledore said firmly. "You will do all you can for him. I have Mon Mothma's assurances that a few well-programmed medical droids are on their way from Chandrila, and they'll know exactly how to repair Vader's mechanical components. You concentrate on healing his wounds and keeping his vital functions operating smoothly until they arrive."
"Yes sir." The Healer nodded and left the room.
Luke held his head in his hands. "Thank you, Dumbledore, for helping my father."
"Don't get your hopes too high," Dumbledore replied in all honesty. "Vader's still in a great deal of danger. I can't guarantee that even the medical droids will be able to repair him fully. But if he's fought this long, perhaps he'll fight his way back to health."
The door opened again, and Fudge entered the room. To everyone's disbelief, he wore an enormous smile, as if it had been entirely his efforts that had saved the day.
"Jolly good show, Dumbledore!" he exclaimed. "We won! We saved our world from the Imperial scourge once and for all!"
"Whaddaya mean 'we?'" demanded Hagrid. "What'd you do, Minister? B'sides bungle everythin' up, I mean."
"Oh come now, no hard feelings," Fudge said hastily, holding up his hands as if to placate the half-giant. "I'm on your side now, you know."
"Ah," Dumbledore said in an enlightened tone. "Fascinating, Minister, on how your loyalties can shift with the popular vote."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Fudge retorted.
"Was it not you who declared, not six months ago, that the Empire was an open-armed and generous ally?" Dumbledore inquired. "Was it not you who led a campaign to discredit Hogwarts with just as much determination as the Empire showed in their battle to destroy the school? Was it not you who placed us directly in this situation?"
"How was I supposed to know the Emperor had this up his sleeve all this time!" squealed Fudge.
"You could have simply asked Professor Vader," Dumbledore replied. "Or Boba Fett. Or any of our Muggle students. Or even the Muggle families." He gestured toward the Dursleys.
"Don't tell me that this man – your Minister – FELL for that folderol!" Vernon exclaimed.
"May I remind you, Mr. Dursley, that you fell for it as well," Sirius retorted.
"Sirius," Dumbledore said sternly.
Sirius fell silent, but not before Vernon shot him a fiery look.
"Don't be ridiculous," Fudge said, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I don't speak with Muggles. I couldn't know what the Empire was like. I couldn't have predicted that You-Know-Who was in league with them…"
"Oh, give over," snarled Fett, speaking for the first time. "Admit you were wrong."
"You can't blame me for this!" Fudge declared loudly. "I didn't lead the attack on Hogwarts…"
"But you placed the wizard's world in a position that rendered them powerless to halt such an attack," Dumbledore replied evenly. "You refused to heed my warnings regarding the Empire and Lord Voldemort – and because of that, countless lives have been lost."
Fudge stared, open-mouthed, at the Headmaster.
"If you had but listened to me last year at the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Dumbledore went on, "or this year at Fett's capture, this battle would never have needed to be fought. Our government would not now be in tatters. The Death Eaters could have been captured and tried with minimal losses rather than the bloody battle we had to wage to take them into custody. And Harry Potter and my Dark Arts Professor would not now lay, injured and dying, in the next room." He gave Fudge a grim look. "They have already suffered far more at the hands of the Dark Lords than anyone else in the galaxy, Fudge. And thanks to your actions, they could very well pay for your foolishness with their lives."
Something inside Fudge seemed to collapse, and he sank into the last available chair. "Fine. Fine, I was wrong. I was a fool." He removed his bowler hat and crushed it in his hands. "I resign from the Ministry. No use keeping me there anyhow. I'd be lynched if I tried to keep my post after all this…"
The Healer opened the door again. "Headmaster Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy has awakened," he reported. "Aside from a slight concussion, he should be fine. Would you like me to turn him over to the Ministry's custody?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Give him a sleeping potion for now. We have more pressing issues to deal with right now. We'll decide his fate later."
Fudge stood and followed the Healer out, looking as dejected as a man could possibly look. Dumbledore felt no satisfaction from Fudge's resignation – relief, yes, but no satisfaction. He didn't hate the man. He was still responsible for much of this mess, but he couldn't hate him. He had acted out of ignorance, not out of malice.
He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly old. If there ever was a time they needed magic or the Force to intercede on the Chosen Ones' behalf, it was now.
Break…
"Harry, wake up."
"Hmm?" Harry knew that voice from somewhere… he heard it almost every day, in fact. But something about it seemed off. It lacked the depth, the electronic-ness, the metallic resonance that normally infused it when he heard it…
He opened his eyes. It was Professor Vader's voice, albeit a drastically altered variant of it, that had bade him rise, but it was an unfamiliar face that was looking down at him – the face of a middle-aged daredevil who wasn't about to let his age get in the way of his spirit. His piercing blue eyes and unruly blond hair seemed familiar… if he didn't know any better, he'd say this was an older Luke Skywalker…
"Professor Vader!" he exclaimed, bolting to his feet. "You're not… you're not masked!"
He laughed. "Observant, Harry."
"But how did you… where's your armor… where are we?" For the place they were standing in, a lush garden alive with the splendor of the living Force, was nowhere he'd been before… except maybe in dreams…
"In a place somewhere between dreams and death," a man replied from just behind Vader, speaking with the voice Harry had heard during the duel. "In the realm of the Force."
"But why are we here?" A sickening stab of fear knifed through his guts. "Did the Emperor and Voldemort kill us?"
"No, Harry," Qui-gon Jinn replied. "You will both live. I suppose you can call this a gift from the Force, a reward for fulfilling your ends of the prophecies." He beckoned to Harry. "Anakin – Professor Vader, if you will – has some people he needs to meet here. Harry, follow me."
Harry obeyed. But as he and Qui-gon left the clearing, he craned his neck to look behind him. There were others stepping into the meadow to meet Vader – an older lady that must have been his mother, a beautiful woman with a generous smile and long brown hair, a bearded man in robes…
"His mother Shmi, his wife Padme, and his master Obi-wan Kenobi," Qui-gon explained. "They are all very happy to see he has rejoined the light."
If I were them, Harry thought, I'd be happy just to see him again after all this time.
"They're waiting here for you, Harry," Qui-gon told him, halting at the entrance to another meadow.
He was about to ask who "they" were… until he saw "them."
Lily and James Potter waited in the clearing, beaming proudly, tears running down their faces.
"Mum," he breathed. "Dad…"
His mother ran forward and threw her arms around him. "Harry," she sobbed. "Harry, I've missed you so much…"
It was too much. He buried his face in her shoulder and cried as he'd never cried before, clinging to her and never wanting to let go.
"It's okay, Harry," his dad said in a voice rough with emotion, clasping his shoulder. "We're here. We love you. We're so glad to have you back."
"I don't want you to go," he pleaded. "Please, can't I stay here with you?"
"Oh Harry," his mom said gently, pulling him away just enough to look into his eyes – green eyes that matched her own. "We're always with you."
He stared at her, not understanding.
"Remember what Vader taught you," his dad encouraged. "You can touch the Force anytime you want. You don't need a wand or a vision like this to do that. We probably can't talk to you like this again for a long time, but if you need to know where we are, we're only a heartbeat away."
His chest glowed with emotion until he was sure he would explode with it. "You promise?"
"Promise, Harry." His dad hugged him tightly.
Qui-gon placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's time to go."
"Already? But I just got here?"
"Don't worry, Harry," Qui-gon replied. "You'll see them again. Maybe not for a good many years, but certainly not never."
"Say hello to Moony and Padfoot for me," his dad said.
He laughed. "I will… Prongs."
Break…
Vader opened his eyes, grimacing. Curse it all. Not only did he have to leave his loved ones behind in that realm of the Force, but he had to return to a body that was still dependant on machinery to survive. He groaned and sat up, wincing as various pains made themselves known. At least he could move again.
The medical droids had been thorough and efficient, replacing his damaged and inoperable components with new, top-of-the-line parts. The Healer, likewise, had done an admirable job of mending his burns. He stood and reached for the cloak that hung from the bedside table. If he had to return to this body, at least it was in fine working order.
Harry groaned and shifted in the next bed. When Vader glanced over at the young man, he was startled to see that, not only were the wounds inflicted by the lightsaber gone, but his trademark lightning-bolt scar had vanished. Had the Healer managed to erase that mark? Or had the medical droids intervened and surgically repaired it?
He thought a little about that, then revised those thoughts. The scar had been planted by Voldemort… and had been Harry's link to the Dark Lord. Now that Voldemort was dead and the prophecies fulfilled, that link was no longer needed.
Harry opened his eyes. "That was weird."
"The Force can often be classified that way," Vader replied, fastening his cloak. "I would suggest you take a look in the mirror, Harry."
"What, do I have bed head?" He put on his glasses and had a look. An expression of disbelief crossed his face, and he raised a hand to touch his forehead. "It's gone…"
The door opened, and the Healer stepped in.
"Oh good, you're up and about," he said with a broad smile. "Come with me please. There are some people who would like to have a few words with you."
Harry flashed Vader a wide grin. "I know the Dark Lords are gone, but I kind of like us working as a team."
Vader chuckled a little. "I'm still very much your Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Harry, but yes, we work well as a partnership." He extended a hand. "Perhaps, once you graduate from Hogwarts, you can work at the school as my assistant."
Harry shook his hand. "I was hoping to someday be an Auror, but I think I can help you out. After all, I've seen the Dark Arts in action plenty."
"You would make an excellent Auror, Harry. Once you're accepted by the Ministry, I greatly look forward to seeing you in action."
Together they left the room, more than ready to see their friends and family again, a great load removed from both their shoulders.
