Well, so far so good... it seems I *may* been capable, for the time being, to maintain a weekly schedule of posting, but don't anyone dare hold your breath... I won't pity you when you drop into unconsciousness... My writing muse has been somewhat sluggish with reconnecting to being home and everything else, but I trust that I've fallen into stride again, if not already then soon... REVIEW! more comments, preferably positive, would probably help spur me on. Anyways...

Chapter Ten

A Summer Among the Stars

Grand Master Coven sensed a cloud of unease stir through the Council, at the same time as she took the floor to speak. She had had a long time to debate if it was worth telling the other Masters on the Council of her visions into the Dark Side, weighing the gravity of what she saw vs. the poor reception the method her information came by would be received. But in the end, they needed to know, and the Council would do what they felt was needed for the good of the Order, and by extension, the Republic.

The truth of the matter was Master Coven still continued to feel the subtle influences of the Dark Side slowly seeping its way back into the Galaxy. She wasn't sure if any of the other Masters of the Jedi Order had felt it as of yet, so she felt obligated to divulge the suspicion she felt of the shadowed form that haunted her meditations.

"Beggen yous respect, Master Coven," Master Chobsu Hando said after the Jenet Grand Master had finished presenting her worries. The Gungan Jedi was looking skeptical, eye stalks weaving side to side as he spoke, "Mesa be finden thisa berry difficult to believin. Yousa sayin dat da Sith been back? Mesa thought dat da last Sith Lord wasa killed longo time ago…"

"I am inclined to agree with Master Hando," spoke up the quiet Mon Calamari Master Rekara, "Force induced visions are temperamental at best, especially if delving into the Dark Side, how do we know that this is a true threat? It could just as easily be something out of our past, or something that may never happen. The future is always in motion after all."

Master Coven was afraid that this would be the response. One by one the other eleven masters voice their disbelief that they Sith could have returned. The diminutive Jenet was the only one among them that held any weight in her visions. Settling into her chair, she listened to the report of Master Ta-Ras-Min, who was en route to Dathomir in pursuit of the fallen jedi Zhar Quelmok, to bring him back to the temple for questioning. Hopefully some information from Zhar would shed some light on the growing darkness. 'Perhaps,' Fae thought, 'Zhar himself was the threat I foresaw, and Master Min will prevent it from coming to pass.'

Master Coven hoped this with all her heart, but her mind couldn't stop but worry that Zhar had little if nothing to do with it, and they were walking blindly towards the greatest threat the Jedi Order faced since the Brotherhood of Darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~line break~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Septin felt a shiver of unease run through him as he and Master Min set down on the planet of Dathomir. There had been a growing anticipation throughout the ship as they approached the planet, mixed with an aura of cautious dread. Glancing at his master as they prepared to set foot on the planet, Septin grew more worried still. The Cerean had a look of grim determination on her face, as if preparing herself for the worst possible outcome.

The moment they left the confines of the ship, Septin felt the subtle waves of the Dark Side wafting over him like an ocean tide. The entire planet seemed to radiate the primal darkness, and Septin felt like a foreign invader in a strange land. He hadn't the faintest idea where they should start to look, as there seemed no clear direction that Quelmok could have taken.

"Master?" Septin asked hesitantly, glancing back at the stern and emotionless face of the female Cerean. Without hesitating, the Jedi Master pointed into the thicker part of the forest surrounding the clearing that housed their ship, "That way…" she said, before striding off with a purposeful gait.

At bit dejected at the lack of concern his Master was showing him, Septin followed silently into the dense foliage. The way was slow, and they had to maneuver around some of the more inhospitable denizens of the planet, but overall their progress was unhindered as they made their way in the direction that Master Min had set. Only a few times did the Cerean change their course, but for the most part they stayed going in a straight line from their ship, finally arriving in another clearing that housed a battered freighter. It matched the description that they had found on Zygerria perfectly.

Nodding to herself, Master Min strode away several steps as Septin examined the freighter closer. There was nothing too special about it, perfect for the fleeing fallen jedi for hide in plain sight with.

"Come Padawan, I sense something…" Master Min's voice called, summoning Septin to tear his mind from the thought that had struck him as he examined the freighter, and how rational the escape seemed to have been plotted out. Had Quelmok a good reason for abandoning the Order? Or was he just as mad as the Masters all said he was? Septin was not sure which was true anymore. It seemed a lot of trouble to go through hiding from them just for the sake of power, after all this time. But Septin was forced to push those thoughts aside as he and the Cerean Jedi Master arrived at a darkened cavernous entrance, entirely reeking of the Dark Side.

"We must proceed carefully from here on Padawan," Master Min advised, "The Force only knows what Zhar may have found inside here…"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~line break~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zhar sensed that familiar presence immediately, at the same time that Ocraadi turned toward the distant entrance of the Academy, "Jedi…" she said icily, the keen edge of insanity returning to her previously calm form.

"True Jedi this time," Zhar added pointedly, pulling his Lightsaber from his belt, "Any plans?" he asked, watching the wicked gleam in the Togruta's eye. She simply grinned in return, drawing her own weapon and stealthily moving out into the passage, sticking to the shadows and carefully watching the path ahead. Zhar followed

Several tense minutes of stealth later, Zhar saw her. Standing amid the silvery glow of her raised Lightsaber, the vaunted Master Ta-Ras-Min was advancing toward them, a short, teenage Padawan at her side, his green blade held high to illuminate the corridor as best the boy could. Even from where he stood, Zhar could sense the uncertainty and fear in the boy's mind, clashing badly with Min's grim determination and dogmatic presence.

Tapping the insane silently Togruta to get her attention, Zhar whispered, "I'll handle the youngling…"

Even in the dark Zhar could sense the madwoman's smile as she started to creep further toward the advancing Jedi. Watching his old master's face, Zhar saw the very moment that she received a warning from the Force before Ocraadi charged, her eyed widening and barely managing to move her saber into position to deflect the stabbing crimson blade before it impaled her.

Zhar did not, however, charge in after the mad Togruta, but stalked back into the shadows, leading the way as the three combatants fought their way toward him. Now that he wasn't on the business end of Ocaardi's lightsaber, he could see that her loss of sanity had not dulled her skills in the slightest, if anything, they had been enhanced by the randomness of her thoughts. Dancing around and between the Cerean Master and her Padawan, the Togruta was effortlessly pushing them further into the academy, hammering on Ras-Min's defenses while knocking the youngling aside, a rare show of restraint in leaving him to be dealt with by Zhar.

Finally, the four of them, Zhar still remaining out of sight, arrived at a split in the tunnel. With a twisting spin kick, followed up by a mighty shove with the Force, Ocraadi sent the boy flying down one of the passages. Zhar followed quickly, sealing the door behind him and separating the boy from his 'beloved' master.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~line break~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Septin knew he wasn't alone when the door sealed him from his master. Lifting his saber, Septin dropped into the ready stance of Soresu, preparing for any onslaught to come at him. He feared that alone Master Min might not be enough for the warrior that had attacked them, but there was little he could do at the moment.

"That's right…" said a voice that Septin did not know from the shadows. He did not reply, "Our former Master won't last long against an actual Sith Lady." An orange blade ignited in the darkness, and Septin got his first look at the man who had to be none other than Zhar Quelmok, the fallen Jedi that he had flow halfway across the Galaxy to find.

"But your thoughts betray you young Padawan…" Quelmok taunted as he advanced on Septin, "Do you truly consider Ras-Min your Master…?" and without warning, the Dark Jedi attacked, swinging high, trying to cleave Septin in two. Rolling out of the way, Septin came up again and stabbed, hoping to end this quickly and return to help his master…

But the young Jedi's attacks were no use against his vastly superior opponent. "Pathetic, jedi…" Quelmok sneered, dodging to the side of one of Septin's attacks and knocking the boy to the ground. "What must your Master think of you, to be so poor in simply Lightsaber combat…?"

The questions felt like hot knives in Septin. He knew that Master Min had taken no interest in anything to do with training him, as focused as she was on her mission. Again and again he swung at Quelmok, only to be buffeted aside. "Pitiful…" the Dark Jedi taunted again. "Perhaps Ras-Min only took you because she felt sorry that you would go to the Agriculture Corps otherwise…"

All thoughts of the Jedi Code forgotten, Septin charged, screaming furiously. There was no way that Quelmok could know that he was almost sent to the Corps. It was impossible! Stabbing and hacking again, he left all form or grace behind in his blind fury. He had never even been chosen as a Padawan, merely appointed by the High Council for Ta-Ras-Min to have a companion for her mission.

"Better!" Quelmok declared as he parried another vicious attack from Septin, "You anger gives you strength… don't you see? Feel it within you, fueling your power, your speed… This is what the Jedi live to fight against, this power… this is what they would have you deny in the service of those undeserving of your notice, let alone your pity."

And Septin did feel it, the pulsing drumbeats of his rage, the ice numbing fury that cleared his mind more efficiently than any meditation exercise. "This…" he said slowly, not letting his guard down, "This is why you left her… and went to Korriban…"

"Yes." Quelmok said flatly. "She hasn't changed a bit I see, aloof and uncaring of those under her care. I can feel your anger and frustration at her young one… she was holding you back, just as she held me back before I left her… Come now, young Jedi, join us, the followers of power, of the Dark Side, and we will teach you to become greater than any Jedi would dare to be…"

Septin hesitated… he hadn't been with Master Min that very long, but… she did seem very much as Quelmok said, and the man had every opportunity to kill him, yet didn't… but the Dark Side corrupted all those who wielded it… but the sensation, the power… would it truly be worth betraying the Jedi Order for this…

"You know in your heart what you want to do young Jedi," Quelmok said absently, moments before Septin felt a tremor in the Force. "Master Ras-Min has fallen, and you are all alone, your choices are running dangerously thin…" Quelmok warned, "I give you a free choice, leave now and reject what I offer, go back to the Jedi for all I care but just leave this place, or…" he let the sentence hang in the air.

"I want to feel this power, always…" Septin said, deactivating his weapon and lowering it to his side.

"Of course you do…" Zhar said soothingly, placing one hand in fellowship on Septin's shoulder, gently steering him through the passages as he spoke of the wonderful things in store Septin as his new and first apprentice. "But first…" Zhar said, as the evil-looking Togruta reappeared, "We have some things to deliver to Dromund Kaas, to our new Masters…"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~line break~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Veneficus stood in a long, dimly lit chamber, with towering stone pillars surrounding him with snake motifs running up them. On the ground before him lay a small figure, but he couldn't make out what the person looked like. Then the scene shifted to a giant statue of a man's face, the mouth slowly opening to reveal bright yellow eyes…

Veneficus snapped out of his meditation with a start. He was sitting in his personal ship, the Sith Meditation Sphere that Darth Millennial had acquired on his journey to Ziost. The blue tinted tunnel of Hyperspace still surrounded the ship, en route to Dromund Kaas. Millennial had called for them to go check on the progress of his budding Sith Order, and was only minutes ahead of Veneficus.

Personally, the Sith apprentice was more than pleased to leave his home world, even if it would only be for a single month. There were things here, on the ancient Sith Capitol, that he could find no where on the backwater world that held his magical school. But at the current moment, Veneficus was more concerned with this vision he had seen. It had definitely been a foresight into his future, but how far? Or even a future that would happen? With the liquid-like fluidity of time the Sith Lord could have little to no surety that what he saw would in fact occur.

As his spherical ship pulled back into real space, Veneficus determined to research what he had seen when he returned to earth, as it appeared to be somewhat similar to the Wizarding World that he had seen. Hopefully he would have more of these visions in the near future and slowly piece the puzzle together before whatever it was happened, if it even did.

The Sith Temple had changed a lot in the time since Veneficus was last here seven years ago. The rubble had been completely cleared away and several new areas of the temple had been opened up. One such was the new looking hanger in the side of the building that Veneficus steered toward to land in. He had actually had no formal pilot training, but the Sith Meditation Sphere didn't require it, instead flying itself based on the mental commands of the passenger and its own sentience.

Millennial's starship was already there, and the Dark Lord of the Sith was speaking with several beings as Veneficus landed, the ship setting down smoothly and opening its hatch for him to depart. Smirking to himself, Veneficus approached the group of people with his Master, reveling in finally being able to drop the Force illusion that shrouded his Force-altered features.

Millennial made no motion toward Veneficus when he arrived in the group's midst. The rest; a male Kel Dorian, a Togruta Female, and two other Humans, one in his mid thirties, the other in his early teens, all glanced at him before returning to Millennial. The boy in specific gazed the longest at him, light brown eyes barely hinting at any usage of the Dark Side. He was nervous, Veneficus sensed, and completely out of his element standing with such powerful Force wielders.

"So," Millennial said, pulling their full attention back to the human mutant, "A Jedi Master is slain, and the Dathomir Academy's treasures ours…"

"Yes my Lord." The elder human replied, bowing his head slightly. Veneficus could sense the guarded scrutiny that this man paid to him as well, but was far more subtle about it than his younger companion. "There wasn't too much, mainly manuscripts and other texts for the teaching of Sith Acolytes from the era of the Brotherhood, but we may yet find something of worth amid them."

Millennial nodded before turning away, signaling an end to their discussion. The others separated, the Togruta wandering off down a side passage, while the two humans and the Dorian moved off to discuss other matters. Millennial finally turned to Veneficus, "There are things I must see to at the time being, you may move about the temple freely, as my apprentice you outrank any here except myself and Supreme Prophet Dass'in. I will come find you in several hours time to begin your summer regiment of training to catch up on what you missed at your school."

"Yes my Master," Veneficus replied, not missing the barb at his magical learning, before turning to search for the combat training chambers. He found them rather quickly, the unmistakable whine of moving Lightsabers guiding him to the room. Dass'in was there, overseeing the training of several Neophytes, and Veneficus approached the Supreme Prophet without hesitation. Millennial may say what he likes, but Veneficus knew that he was the second most powerful being in the temple, and power stood much more importantly than rank in the Sith Order.

"Supreme Prophet," Veneficus said, pulling the Kel Dor's attention from his pupils.

"My Lord," he wheezed, the breathing mask upon his face distorting his voice, "what may I do to help you?" The voice was neither compassionate nor condescending, but simply neutral, and Veneficus thought for a solid second before responding.

"My Lightsaber has been damaged beyond repair in a previous encounter with a Jedi Knight," he began, choosing his words carefully to avoid showing any signs of weakness. Servant to his master or not, Dass'in was sith, and that meant he would be a threat if not handled carefully. "Might I be given the tools and components to build a new weapon to replace the one that was destroyed?"

The Supreme Prophet didn't answer for a moment, as if judging whether Veneficus was worthy of building a Lightsaber or not. Finally, he summoned a bypassing Acolyte, and commanded him to lead Veneficus to the workshop. The young Lord of the Sith smiled as he saw the contents of the room.

Upon one of the several workbenches that lined the room sat dozens of trays filled with various parts for the construction of Lightsabers. Lines of different hilt casings were laid out and there were a few trays specifically filled with power cells, lenses, emitters, and even a large pile of Lightsaber crystals. The Acolyte departed, leaving Veneficus to the work he had been waiting for months to do. He had obsessively studied the process of Lightsaber construction, in anticipation of this very moment.

Sitting down at the workbench, Veneficus slipped into a trace, summoning the Force around him and charging it with his own unique aura. This method, so he read in the manuscripts, focused the energy around him and sought out the parts for constructing the Lightsaber that would perfectly match the wielder. Loath though he was to use a Jedi technique, Veneficus knew that it was still considered the most practical method to make the best Lightsaber for himself, although he had several means he was going to use to modify the parts the Force brought to him.

First item to rise from the pile of component was not one, but two Hilt Casings, both of which Veneficus recognized were made of the high durable and resistant metal, Phrik. They were soon followed by a pair of emitters, cut and styled for fencing sabers, and two Diatium energy cells.

Next came the most difficult parts, the lenses and the crystals. Veneficus knew that these would practically define how his Lightsabers, as it appeared the Force determined that he needed two, and their blades would function. Now rising from the pile of glass-like items were two nearly matching blue tinted lenses. Veneficus realized that they were made of the rare Pontite before the pile of crystals started to shake. From the center of the pile, a pair of matching red crystals emerged, Synthetics, and hovered over to join the floating parts around Veneficus.

The Sith Lord smiled, thinking that he was finished, when the pile of crystals shuddered again, and a pale yellow gem flew from the stack, soon followed by a whitish grey stone from the top. They joined the floating horde, and started to weave among the others, happily singing in tune with the radiating Force energies.

Suddenly, the parts started to whirl in coordinated patterns, arranging themselves in a specific order, and a pair of connectable pommel caps flew from a far pile to float between the separate sabers. Then, with supreme care and accuracy, Veneficus directed the Force to piece together his weapons. Spinning and sliding, the two Lightsabers slowly built themselves, crystals falling perfectly into their chambers as the Phrik casing slid over the top, and finally the twin weapons snapped into place together with a harmonious click.

Veneficus took the grand weapon in his hand, feeling the perfect weight and smooth metal, ending in rounded emitter guards that allowed him to push the full blade into a target. The individual hilts were short, only half the size of a standard sized hilt, with only the minimum amount of extra hilt space that was needed to maneuver it with both hands when he chose to connect them together into a Saberstaff. It was streamlined and efficient, much like Veneficus himself. Igniting the blades, the Sith Lord admired the ruby red glow, each surprisingly narrow, making the weapon swifter by milliseconds and subtly easy to manipulate. That would give Veneficus a moment's advantage over sabers with the thicker blades, giving him an edge of surprise over those with standard sized Lightsabers.

The young Sith was truly impressed with his weapon, and the subtle challenge it presented. He needed to learn not only his original style, but to fight with both sabers individually as well as together as the staff. That was not to mention learning to fight with one and his wand if he intended to put his magical abilities to use in combat.

The more he thought about it, the defensive form of Soresu seemed more important than ever, especially with the weapon he now held in his hand. This was the weapon of a warrior who moved with the tides of battle, not some fool locked in one sense of combat. Veneficus was just musing on how best the Soresu could be implemented when he heard the door slide open behind him.

"Finished your weapon I see…" said the rough mechanized voice of Supreme Prophet Dass'in. The Sith Kel Dorian was striding up the room towards him, and Veneficus nodded, still thinking hard how he was going to master his newly forged weapon.

As if reading his thoughts, Dass'in spoke again, "To wield such a weapon might prove difficult however, young apprentice. " Veneficus frowned, but it was replaced by a thoughtful smirk at the Kel Dorian's next words, "Might I suggest you look deeply into the sixth form of combat, Niman, to assist in your adjusting to your new Lightsaber in all its variants."

"Niman you say?" The Supreme Prophet now had Veneficus' full attention, "I admit I haven't really heard much of that form. I truly wouldn't know where to begin…"

If the orange alien was smiling behind his face mask, Veneficus never found out, "It is fortunate that you stand before a Master of that form then, isn't it… come, I will teach you some of the basics…"

Veneficus followed, wary and slightly irritated at the brash mannerisms of the Supreme Prophet of Dromund Kaas. Yet if this form held any value to his perfection as a Sith, then he would gleam what he could, whenever he could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~line break~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Millennial entered the training level to find his apprentice and the Supreme Prophet of the Dark Side lunging at each other, weapons alive and whining in the silence, the crimson blades clashing, and his apprentice circling the Supreme Prophet as they blocked, parried, and counter attacked each other. Millennial kept back by the doorway, judging how much Veneficus had learned and grown in the past year away from his tutelage. The Sith Lord wondered if the boy's power in the Force had been neglected or not in the pursuit of this magical technique.

Veneficus had come a long way in his time under The Sith. Millennial vividly remembered the stunted child he had taken under his wing so long ago. The boy had been weak, ruled by his emotions and all manner of flawed ideals like kindness and mercy. It had taken the Sith Lord some time, but he had managed to weed out all the innate and downright sickening goodness from the boy through a series of intense training courses, each specifically designed to break and reshape the boy into becoming Veneficus, as well as push his limits far past the breaking point. There had been times when Millennial was unsure that the boy would survive his training, but surprisingly, every time, he returned alive, if not unscathed, mentally or physically.

At first Millennial had had no idea how the boy could have done the things he had, some even seemingly impossible feats. Now however, he realized that the boy's magic had been keeping him thoroughly protected throughout his early training, even in hostile situations when Millennial had completely "abandoned" him on remote worlds and left him to survive for weeks on end with hostile inhabitants as company.

It was this magical advantage, Millennial realized, that had slowly bred within Veneficus an unyielding resolve to never accept defeat in any circumstance. It was a trait worthy of any Sith, but with Veneficus it was borderline overconfidence. A shout in front on him brought the Sith Lord from his musings.

Dass'in was clearly at an advantage over his apprentice, not that the boy was willing to admit it. One of his two new sabers lay at the far side of the room, dislodged from his grip by a savage kick from the Dorian.

Another powerful kick sent Veneficus flying backward, knocking the wind out of the boy and sending him to the ground.

"Is that your best?" Dass'in said, his breathing perfectly controlled, while Veneficus was starting to show signs of weariness. "One would think, being a Sith Lord's apprentice, you would be stronger…"

Millennial saw the taunt for what it was instantly, and was not surprised when Veneficus, riled up from the intensity of the fight, recklessly charged, flipping over the Dorian and striking, slashing and parrying with renewed ferocity. Dass'in was prepared for this however, dodging to the side and parrying every strike from the young Sith. "You have much yet to learn young Sith Lord…" the orange alien taunted again, knocking Veneficus back with a surprise offensive, and disarming him completely. Throwing him away with the Force, Dass'in relaxed into a ready stance.

Millennial knew instinctively what was going to happen as it played before his eyes. Refusing to be defeated, and enraged by humiliation, Veneficus flicked his wand out of his sleeve.

"Elido![1]"

A ray of dark silver light shot out of the wandtip, and sailed toward Dass'in's sword arm. The Supreme Prophet dodged, weaving through the barrage of missiles streaming from the wand, until being forced to swat at one of the jets of light. The spell ricocheted off the blade as any mere blaster bolt would have. Veneficus looked surprised, but the momentary slip was washed away as he responded with the Force, volleying lightning, telekinesis and more spells at Dass'in.

The wily Dorian Sith became a whirlwind, dodging, blocking and reflecting everything that came his way. Millennial distinctly noticed the techniques of the 'jack-of-all-trades' style of Lightsaber combat, Niman, as Dass'in was sweeping across the ground. Millennial almost wondered why Dass'in wasn't taking his advantage and counter attacking his apprentice, but then it became apparent.

Dass'in was not going to attack…

The Supreme Prophet was in full control of the situation, and was purposefully allowing Veneficus to exhaust himself. It boiled down to teaching a lesson, not defeating a powerful opponent. Millennial guessed that the fight was close to ending, as Veneficus had sweat pouring down his face from his single-minded determination to score a hit on the Kel Dorian.

Finally, it was over in a flash. Veneficus staggered from exhaustion, magical based Millennial presumed, and Dass'in struck. A vicious push tossed the Sith apprentice backward as the wand was ripped from his fist, sailed through the air, and into the Dorian's outstretched hand.

Panting, drained of all energy, Veneficus lay where he landed, and for the first time in his young life, defeated. Millennial knew the only punishment that was acceptable for his apprentice at this point. Striding to tower over the fallen boy, the Dark Lord glared down at his student. "Clearly, your Mastery of the Dark Side has been hindered somewhat in these foolish pursuits... apprentice…" Shame, Anger, Exhaustion and Rage were radiating across Veneficus' face, but he could not manage the strength to speak, let alone stand.

"I trust," Millennial continued, boring the barb deeper still, "that you won't disappoint me again, Lord Veneficus, or perhaps I have made a terrible mistake in choosing an heir to the title of Dark Lord."

There it was… Fear… fear of failure, fear of the unknown, the fear that had been so long kept under control with Veneficus' overconfidence. The deed done, Millennial stalked away. Either Lord Veneficus would redouble his efforts to be stronger and more powerful, or he would be swept aside, weak as the little boy Millennial first found and 'rescued'.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~line break~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Veneficus seethed the entire rest of their stay on Dromund Kaas, his defeat still ringing in his mind. His only saving grace was that none of the other residents of the temple were present other than his Master and the Supreme Prophet, and thus his weakness was not public knowledge. Millennial had not punished him, but the slight twinge of disappointment was evident in his manner toward Veneficus.

Despite Supreme Prophet Dass'in's condolence that Veneficus had fought well and his magic was certainly something impressive to behold, the neutral tones of his voice completely shrouded his motives, which left Veneficus wary of the Kel Dor Darksider and further fueled his desire to master the techniques that were taught to him in lessons of pain.

Veneficus spent some of his last remaining days wandering the temple, brooding over the pain of his defeat, along with his Force induced vision and eventual return to the miserable backwater planet, Earth. Only sensing a presence immediately ahead of him interrupted his thoughts.

Glaring down the corridor, he saw the same lanky human teenager that had watched him during his and Millennial's arrival. The other boy was studying a datapad intensely, not particularly paying attention to where he was wandering, until he sensed Veneficus. He stopped, glancing up with nervousness etched in his rounded face.

'Well,' Veneficus thought, 'This one is at least better than wizards…' he truly disliked being among his native people, with their foolish belief that he was some sort of saviour.

"Lost… are we?" he said sarcastically, probing the young initiate with the Force as he flushed in response.

'No control of his emotion whatsoever…' The Sith Lord internally recognized.

The brown eyed boy said nothing, still unsure what was appropriate for him to say or do around Veneficus, as he should be.

"What is your name, initiate?" Veneficus asked, wondering how long the boy would take to answer him.

"S-septin… my Lord…" the boy responded shakily, only moments after the question was poised. Veneficus was pleased somewhat, the boy was at least intelligent enough to answer a question from a superior immediately.

Septin shuffled nervously, glancing further down the hall, past Veneficus. the Sith Lord sensed the slight impatience growing in the boy. Veneficus did not care what other things the boy, Septin, had to do, and extended his hand for the datapad the boy carried, which was immediately given to him. Searching its contents, Veneficus found that it contained the basic philosophy of the Sith, centered about the Dark Code.

"Interesting," Veneficus mused aloud, for Septin's benefit, "what have you learned thus far Initiate?" he asked, indicating the datapad.

Septin started reiterating the contents of the datapad, nearly verbatim. It reminded Veneficus strongly of Hermione Granger, and he immediately stopped the boy, "No, no, what have you internalized. The words are meaningless unless you know how they apply to you. Try again…"

The boy flushed again, less obviously than last time, and began again. "Well, to truly feel the… the true power of the Force, one must…" Veneficus raised an eyebrow, much in the same manner that Snape did to a student about to make a mistake, "…I must," Septin corrected, eying the Sith Lord's look, " not try to block emotion, but embrace it, allowing the feeling and intensity of the emotions to empower me."

Veneficus nodded lightly, "Very good," he said before thrusting the datapad back to the boy. As he turned to leave however, Septin spoke up again, "My Lord…"

Veneficus turned back.

"I," Septin was stammering again, "I'm not quite sure how to allow myself to feel my emotions, but not be affected or controlled by them…"

"That," Veneficus said as he walked away, "is something you must mull out yourself, young initiate, if you are to truly understand your power." Veneficus turned the corner, leaving the other boy more confused than when he had arrived.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~line break~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Albus strolled casually across the grounds of Hogwarts, examining the strength of the wards in preparation for another school year, searching for weaknesses to shore up. Inwardly, he was doing the same thing, but on another completely different problem.

Harry Potter.

Albus was terribly worried. Whatever magic that had been near-fatally used on him during the leaving feast had left absolutely no trace in the Great Hall, even for a wizard of Severus' caliber with the Dark Arts to find. Albus was nearly certain that Harry had had something to do with it, but he couldn't be one hundred percent sure of anything. But coupling that event with Harry's dark visage in the infirmary and dour mannerisms toward others led Albus to suspect that another, more sinister hand was at work in the boy's life.

Albus' first suspect, naturally, was the boy's mysterious and as-of-yet guardian. The aged Headmaster decided then and there to make a concentrated effort to learn the identity of the person whom Harry spent his holidays with, and what side of the wizarding war they leaned toward. The last thing Albus wanted was for Harry to turn out anything like the disaster that was Tom Riddle.

At that thought Albus paused, realization cracking over him like a whip. 'But,' he thought in horror, 'Harry is already very much like Tom was at his age… almost too very much alike…'

Mind racing, Albus rapidly finished the rest of the wards on the grounds and sprinted up to his study, the desperate urge to research Harry's scar burning in him deeper than ever. He had ever only scratched the surface, not entirely certain if the scar held anything of value, but… just maybe… the night when Harry lost his parents. Perhaps Harry received more than just a simple scar from the wand of Lord Voldemort. If this was the case, Dumbledore was fearful for the entirety of the wizarding world, and would have to stop at nothing to prevent the same horrid down spiral to darkness from taking the young Slytherin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~line break~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione couldn't stand her inability to keep thoughts of Harry Potter out of her head all summer. Every time she tried to study, or go out, or talk with her parents, the theories and ideals Harry so diligently supported kept creeping into the back of her mind. It was so infuriating, especially since it wasn't a blind discrimination, such as the pure bloods and their supremacy complex, but a methodical and rationalized hypothesis.

Hermione had researched, and knew that Harry was correct in his thoughts, that society did tend to gravitate itself into a caste-like system even without any external pressure towards such a belief system, despite it flying in the face of all rational ideas of unity or peaceful living.

The same went with his ideals of solitary power. 'For crying out loud,' Hermione thought bitterly, 'wasn't the phrase 'strength in numbers'.' Yet, at the same time, he did have somewhat of a point. Hermione found out quickly in Ravenclaw that only those who were desperate sought out study groups. The people who succeeded best did their own individual studies, at their own pace, not having to conform to the one in the group who was struggling.

BUT! It wasn't right to think that way. Helping others was a sign of strength. How it made Hermione's blood boil with the stubbornness of the black haired boy, and she loathed to admit that it felt right in her ears, and especially how reasonable he made the most immoral ideas seem. Like listening to the devil talk about how wonderful it was in hell. It made Hermione sick, and yet it was still so appealing in her ears.

'Well,' she reasoned 'I have to study harder, acquire more knowledge, and beat the Slytherin at his own game.' She would turn the tables, fight back with renewed vigor, and prove her point at last.

'Look out Harry Potter,' Hermione thought resolutely, 'I'm coming for blood this time…'

[1] Elido – Shatter (Latin)

HEY, REVIEW!