The World Turns On
"…and finally, all directly involved in the incident now called 'the Janus Rebellion' await trial and punishment." Darth Gladiolus pursed her lips. She suppressed her frustration over the summons to explain what happened at the Ministry of Magic back in January. Yet she could not fault the Queen for issuing said summons. Nearly a full month had passed since the rebellion in question. Gladiolus had assumed she would have until their planned meeting mid-March to prepare how she would explain the rebellion and the punishments dolled out. Somehow the Queen had learned of what occurred.
Wish I could blame the court mage, but he is likely innocent in all this. Some other muggleborn or their family is the source of the leak.
"How do you plan to punish these rebels?" the Queen of England and Scotland asked, forcing Gladiolus out of her thoughts.
"I have permitted the Wizengamot to argue over the question of the death penalty, despite my mind already being made on the matter. Nearly all openly committed treason. Those who did not commit treason were accessories to the conspiracy against myself and the government I head on your behalf. The death penalty has been maintained in our world, though most are squeamish about its implementation. Life imprisonment in Azkaban is—in my opinion—similar enough to death that I think they should be treated the same. Though given my plans of eliminating the dementors used for punishment in your magical realm, life imprisonment will take on the same correlation as in your non-magical realm."
The Queen nodded thoughtfully. Her pursed lips did not part to respond immediately. Yet Gladiolus saw in the Queen's eyes a judgment that affected her more than it should. She hated that feeling, but then the Queen understood her better than most. That, annoyingly, granted the older woman the privilege of judging the Sith Lord.
They had met several times in the time since Darth Gladiolus ascended, casting aside her old self to pursue power and freedom. The first had been an introduction. The next handful had been to discuss her plans for the Wizengamot and discuss its implementation. And from there, they had met about every ten weeks to ensure Gladiolus had not gone "mad with power".
They had discussed possible reactions—including those foolish letters written by 'Cassius'—but never had they considered a true rebellion could break out. Gladiolus found herself grateful Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy decided to throw away their lives for the sake of two ill-considered vendettas. Then again, their vendettas were not without due cause. Hermione had been forgotten, left to stew in her dissatisfaction. Malfoy used that dissatisfaction, for he wished to avenge his dead father.
Malfoy had been buried on the grounds of his family's estate, though most of that would be seized soon and the rest sold off once his mother perished. Hermione awaited her fate in the deepest, darkest cell within the Ministry. With Azkaban and the dementors under question by the Wizengamot, it was unlikely the prison would remain in service for longer than a few years. How magical Britain would handle the issue of punishing criminals had yet to be decided. Gladiolus believed death or corporal punishment would be enough; a sentiment not shared by many.
"If you wish to maintain the death penalty in our magical realm," the Queen began cautiously. "Then use it with precision. We would find it shameful to lose many of our subjects without proper due cause."
Gladiolus nodded warily. She had no issue inflicting death, for she had come to power by stepping over the cooling corpses of two powerful men. But she could not fault the Queen for her opinion. This was a woman responsible for more than the meager thousands who occupied the magical realm. Gladiolus had maintained this relationship for all she could learn. It appeared she still had more to learn, despite the advancements in ruling she had already made.
"We have another topic we wish to discuss with you," the Queen said as Gladiolus rose to her feet. The Queen gestured to a plush chair with dark wood legs and little golden beads closer to where she sat. "Sit and listen, for we do not think you will be pleased over our news."
Gladiolus frowned, yet accepted the offered seat without comment. It was more comfortable than the previous one she had occupied. She leaned back, steepled her fingers, and granted the Queen the luxury of a curious eyebrow. After several seconds of silence, she sighed and asked, "What do you wish to speak about?"
"We have informed trustworthy minds within the scientific community of a few revelations you granted us over a year ago. They have focused on searching for evidence of this galactic civilization, but have found naught. Nor have they managed to understand anything else I mentioned beyond speculation." The Queen paused. Gladiolus sensed an odd uncertainty from the old woman. She tensed and waited for the monarch to continue. "They wish for you to join them with anything extraterrestrial you possess. 'Assistance,' they called it."
Gladiolus felt relief when the Queen's gaze did not flicker to the weapon hidden at her hip. That would be an open admission the Queen knowingly permitted Gladiolus to be armed in the monarch's presence. Given the effort made by the Queen's staff—and her court wizard in particular—to ensure Darth Gladiolus came before the Queen unarmed, that look would reveal that the woman made the conscious choice to permit the apparent "oversight".
Why would she do that? Gladiolus wondered. The decision came across as strange to her. Perhaps the Queen did not suspect Gladiolus as an assassin. Admittedly, if she were to kill the Queen, she would have ended the royal lineage already. No doubt the muggle government would be even easier to control and subvert than the magical one she controlled.
"You should have informed me you wished to inform others, Your Majesty. I am displeased to have my secrets wielded against me."
"That is a displeasure you will need to learn to live with, Lord Gladiolus. And do take note that we have not used your secrets against you yet." The Queen looked away briefly. "You are free to go."
Gladiolus blinked. Her anger remained for a few seconds before ebbing away. The choice the Queen made had advanced Gladiolus's ambition of preparing Earth to handle galactic threats, primarily the Jedi and their Republic. Her anger should not be directed at the Queen, but at herself for not realizing she could have moved that plot forward while working to consolidate her power over magical Britain.
"Before I go," said Gladiolus, still sitting. "Where are these scientists gathered?"
The Queen told her. Gladiolus blinked again and then nodded. Soon she would cross the Atlantic and pay the Yankees an impromptu visit.
But first, she needed to return to Hogwarts. Something resided beneath the castle these scientists could benefit from.
Despite her original plans for transforming Britain, Darth Gladiolus had gotten caught in the noxious business of manipulating the Ministry's key line of defense and reworking the Wizengamot to mind the tasks necessary to ensure the proper working of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had intended to seize control of the castle the first chance she got. After all, control of Hogwarts meant control of the future. She would be a fool to abandon that advantage.
I could have stopped that rebellion had I control of the school, she thought with only a minor degree of bitterness. She appeared before the main gates on to the grounds. While her main task at Hogwarts would have been best served heading straight for Ziost Hangar, she wished to make an appearance within the school. Gladiolus understood she required good relations with the professors at Hogwarts, else she be tasked with their replacement.
That none dared join the rebellion against her seemed miraculous. But only seemed.
She suspected many held sympathy for the traitors and their alleged movement. They, however, had been too busy instructing to participate in the insurrection against her. Gladiolus suspected they failed to act because they valued their roles as educators over taking action against her.
She strolled through the gates and started up the sloping lawn to the castle. It loomed before her, white and stark against the grey clouds. Mounds of snow coated the lawn, uneven and sloppy. Someone other than Hagrid had been placed in charge of the grounds. For all of his Dumbledore-worshipping ways, Hagrid had always been competent at his job. No wonder Dumbledore had managed to keep the simple half-giant on the staff payroll for five decades. The man had worked in accordance with his quality pay and benefited from living in Hogwarts's shadow.
Jealousy flared through the Sith Lord. What must it have been like to live so near the place Edelweiss Potter and Tom Riddle viewed as their first and truest home?
Gladiolus neared the entry courtyard when three figures swept out of the castle, cloaks fluttering behind them. McGonagall and Flitwick were recognizable as always. She did spot signs of age on their faces: more pronounced wrinkles, streaks of grey in McGonagall's hair. Gladiolus tried to not glower at the transfiguration professor. McGonagall only remained in position because she was that fine an instructor.
The third figure—a man with blond hair that sat unevenly along his shoulders—she did not recognize. Gladiolus reached out with the Force and took his measure.
He was the new potions professor, hired out of a premier potions mastery program in Australia. She remained disappointed they had to look beyond Britain's borders for Snape's replacement. Despite his skill in potion making, the man's ill temper and failure to instruct those lacking had led to Hogwarts suffering decades of poor marks in potions. She had been unsurprised to learn that the longer Snape had been employed at Hogwarts, those results grew worse and worse as the school became filled with those who had never been taught by a proper master.
Another sin to lay at the feet of Dumbledore. Never shall he atone for them all.
"Brazen to show your face here, Miss Potter," said Professor McGonagall, her Scottish brogue thick as ever. "Especially after what you did. So many murdered by your hand!"
"Apologies for leaving you with the messy task of cleaning up after Umbridge, Professor. Or should I call you Minerva?"
Professor McGonagall's nose twitched and her lips pursed. Gladiolus would permit only a single utterance of her old name to pass. The woman had known and taught her for near about five years. Habits could be difficult to break. She found it amusing that even after a year of being Darth Gladiolus, McGonagall's instinct was to call the Sith Lord by her old, dead name.
Then again, McGonagall had been Dumbledore's greatest supporter within the castle. She would see the world just as the old man had, including her name.
"Fear not, McGonagall," Gladiolus continued, uninterested in whatever her former professor was tempted to say. "I have not come to inspect the castle and its courses, though that is a task I regret neglecting. Umbridge had many things wrong, but she was right that this castle represents the future of this nation. That matters to me. However, I have something I must retrieve from beneath the castle for another errand. One related to the future of this world and its inhabitants, regardless of their capacity for magic."
The three before her all tensed. "And what would this 'errand' be, Miss Potter?"
"Lord Gladiolus," she corrected.
McGonagall's lips pursed again. "…Lord Gladiolus. May I ask what 'errand' requires you to impose upon this school? I cannot help but fear you speak of violating the Statute of Secrecy in the future."
"That will eventually fall, but no. My errand concerns not magic or the Statute. Salazar Slytherin came to this world from another. I seek to retrieve his ship from the hangar beneath the Chamber of Secrets. From there, I will travel to Nevada. Maybe you'll be fortunate to witness my departure."
"Area 51," the new potions master muttered knowingly. He stiffened upon receiving confused looks from his British counterparts. Gladiolus raised an eyebrow, for she had not expected any of them to know that name. The Queen had uttered it with a slight smile of amusement. The Sith Lord suspected there was another cause for that location being chosen. "We Aussies are not as separate from our muggle counterparts. The Americans dominate on the muggle world stage, so escaping their culture is nearly impossible." He then shrugged. "They're an odd lot when it comes to the Statute. East of the River, they're strict as can be. West, and well, you just avoid getting caught on camera and you're generally fine."
"Fascinating as that is, you can all rest assured that I will maintain the Statute until a time that it will not matter to the general populous."
McGonagall scowled. "And how can you be so certain of that, Lord Gladiolus?"
"Because they will be more worried about an armada of starships from halfway across the galaxy arriving to either subjugate or exploit this world. Having secret mage communities hiding these past few hundred years will be quaint compared to the fear of ships appearing in high orbit, all but untouchable to our primitive means of defense."
Fear and uncertainty reeked off the three. Especially the Aussie. Unlike the British-born mages, he truly feared all she described. It was odd, dealing with sensible mages. But then Gladiolus had seen the most sensible witch she knew throw everything away in a pointless rebellion. She would have been better off waiting until she could seek a seat in the new Wizengamot and use that to resist Gladiolus's "terrible new system".
"You will step aside or"—she drew aside her cloak and revealed the muted hilt of her lightsaber for them to gawk at—"I will carve through the three of you and enter as I see fit."
"What has you certain you could enter after slaying us?" asked Flitwick, understanding how far she would willingly go. His eyes gleamed with a misplaced desire to duel her. Gladiolus recalled from her second year that Flitwick had professionally dueled overseas before teaching Charms at Hogwarts.
"I dueled Voldemort and Dumbledore simultaneously. Only I still live. Knowing that, could you honestly tell me your odds are greater than zero?"
All most knew of her duel was that she slew them in swift succession and that Voldemort was the second to die. None dared gossip over that fact. Everything else remained murky and uncertain.
Part of that night lingered in the back of her mind. Dumbledore surrendered to death, delusional in his conviction the foolish girl he attempted to groom as his martyr would miraculously return. Had he known how deep and strong her feelings went, Dumbledore would have realized that Edelweiss Potter had chosen her transformation. She had wanted to be someone else. Something else. To be Darth Gladiolus fulfilled those wants and desires, and in doing so also granted her the power she necessary to destroy her enemies.
"None speak of what you did to Albus," McGonagall said stiffly.
"They don't because I hate that man. Yet too many in this nation still worship the ground he walked despite the fact his actions created the conditions necessary for Voldemort and myself to rise to our powers. Had he acted as a proper teacher instead, perhaps Tom Riddle and Edelweiss Potter would remain in the world."
"You cannot be serious in claiming that old man is responsible for your prior dark lord," the Australian stated with crossed arms. "Everyone knows—"
"Nothing about Voldemort, for he wanted it so. I only know some things. When he came to Hogwarts, all assumed him to be muggleborn. Worse than merely muggleborn, for Dumbledore found him at the muggle orphanage, where only the name of 'Marvolo' between the muggle names of 'Tom' and 'Riddle' granted him hope there was a place beyond London where he truly belonged.
"That and his immature knowledge of magic. No doubt necessity ensured he learned of magic early and grasped it better than most. Why else would he become so fearsome? We followed similar paths, unlocking ancient secrets before partaking of the fruit of knowledge."
"You forget the ritual you underwent within these walls," said Flitwick. "You had Severus, Minerva, and Dolores in an uproar over the matter. Especially after Albus said nothing could be done to reverse what you had done to yourself."
"I doubt he could have succeeded if he tried," Gladiolus declared. "In a single night, I permanently made Voldemort mortal. I doubt that fool would have dared undo a working of that magnitude—whether or not he knew."
Their faces paled. McGonagall's lips moved, but she uttered nothing. Flitwick possessed a disturbed nature in his feelings that his face did not reveal. And the Australian merely mouthed the words "permanently mortal" as though the concept of immortality had never crossed his mind.
What a small mind.
"So, Professor McGonagall," continued Gladiolus, "you have two choices: continue being obstinate, at which point I draw my lightsaber and we duel out here, or allow me to pass as I requested. I could have cut you three down and continued as I pleased instead of speaking as we have." She paused and twisted her lips. "But not every problem is best solved with swift, unyielding violence."
McGonagall considered the request for a second before sighing. "Fine, Lord Gladiolus. But you will be escorted to wherever you diverge from the castle properly."
"I can accept that, but only if my escort is Professor Flitwick."
The quarter-dwarf looked surprised by the request. "Why me?"
"I wished to speak about his dueling expertise. I will face other threats one day. And while my powers and training have seen me through my trials so far, I cannot be complacent." Gladiolus allowed her gaze to drift to the shaky clouds above Hogwarts. "One day Earth will face the terrible truth that we are not alone in the cosmos. That there are powers, great and terrible, that would yoke us to their foreign will. They must be defeated."
"Unlike you, who would yoke this world to your own will," the Australian snarked.
Gladiolus sneered at the man and then turned to McGonagall. "I assume this man is more competent than Snape. I never learned where he disappeared to."
McGonagall surprised Gladiolus by smiling slightly. "Severus handpicked Randall here. He also gave me strict orders to 'not tell that arrogant brat where I've run off to. With all that power gone to her head, she will certainly murder me'."
Gladiolus laughed. "Aye, he has the right of it. And he deserves death, if only for how he has botched the potions training of a full generation." She turned her steely gaze to 'Randall'. "I expect the results of the past few years to continue improving. Fail me, and Hogwarts will require a new potions master once more. And that choice I will approve of myself instead of allowing Hogwarts to act independently."
He surprised her by smirking and saying, "Wouldn't like it any other way. They said you might threaten me, sweet. Never thought it'd actually happen when you failed to show up following my arrival."
"Yes, well I have been busy." Gladiolus turned to Flitwick. "Come, professor. Certainly, you have wisdom to share with me."
And though Flitwick felt uncertain about passing along dueling secrets to her of all people, he complied. Gladiolus then spent the next ten or so minutes picking his mind, all the while guiding him in a confusing circle about the first two floors before finally descending to the first level of the dungeons. She tapped a painting with a lazy snake lying by a pool, hiding from a group picnicking beneath the nearby willow.
"§Hello, old friend§," Gladiolus said, pleased parseltongue came ever as easily. Flitwick flinched, a natural response for any British mage. He had been absent from that fateful dueling club when she first spoke parseltongue publicly for the first time. She had made a point afterward to never speak that tongue around others again. Had she sought to become a dark lord in the fashion of Voldemort, she might have, but that course would have eventually bound her to his banner. And that life would have turned her into nothing greater than a slobbering sycophant, happy to be branded like cattle.
The snake reacted happily to her words. The people in the portrait stiffened like statues. "§Welcome, honoured heiress§," the snake murmured. "§Please pass through. The Lord and Master has awaited your return too long§."
Gladiolus grimaced at the reminder of how she left Lord Salazar waiting. She had so thoroughly fallen into the habit of only minding the thankless task of ruling magical Britain that she had shamed her masters and failed to report to them how she had ascended to her full powers as the Dark Lord of the Sith. Only Lady Bastila, whose holocron was safely hidden within Grimmauld Place, knew what transpired that night.
The wall behind them shuddered before sliding open to reveal a passage deeper into the castle. Gladiolus approached the opening before turning back to Flitwick.
"This is where we part ways, Professor. I wish you good fortune with your students."
Flitwick nodded before toddling off, shooting her curious looks as he went. No doubt he would explain all of what happened to McGonagall. Given neither could speak parseltongue, they would find it impossible to pursue her beyond that portrait of the willow, the picnic, and the snake.
Her journey to Ziost Hangar was swift. Gladiolus grimaced at the Chamber of Secrets' messy state. But then years had passed since she last used the chamber and ensured its cleanliness. It possessed a unique quirk of becoming extraordinarily messy with little effort or input on her part. Part of her wondered if it was the influence of the dark side, allowed to simmer and fester unacknowledged for a thousand years. That it returned to its prior state suggested her audience with Lord Salazar could play out poorly.
She entered the hangar. Instead of heading where she should, her feet brought her to the railing so she could stare at Lord Salazar's shuttle. Gladiolus imagined boarding the shuttle and flying away with only her whims to dictate where she went. But she could not do that. She had a place to journey to within the boundaries of her world. She hoped Area 51 proved fruitful for her ambition of preparing Earth and that the scientists there proved valuable toward achieving that ambition.
Before she could venture out to investigate their efforts, she needed to see through her reunion with Lord Salazar. Gladiolus breathed out slowly, turned from the shuttle, and slowly entered the familiar solar.
"You have kept me waiting, Lord Gladiolus," boomed Lord Salazar, appearing before her almost immediately. The dark side was like a second skin these days. That, she presumed, was why he appeared so swiftly. "How long has passed since you came here, newly awakened to your powers as a Sith Lord?"
"A year and several months, Lord Salazar. Unfortunately, the business of running the magical society that grew in the ages following your death has required more of my time than I would have otherwise wished."
"And what else? Your thoughts betray trouble."
"I recently suppressed a rebellion. One of the leaders had been a friend when I was Edelweiss Potter. She treated my becoming Darth Gladiolus as being akin to dying. And with her friend dead, she had no cause to follow me any longer." Gladiolus shrugged. "I would have liked to maintain her loyalty, but she has made her decision. Treason must be punished properly."
"Was this the mind of value to you?"
"It was. Perhaps I could justify life in Azkaban, but I already killed her co-conspirator. It would be an error on my part to leave one living while the other lays dead in his grave."
Lord Salazar scowled. "Fool girl. You are the Dark Lord of the Sith. What right to justification or reasoning from you do the common folk possess?" Her lips parted. "None!" the dead Sith Lord bellowed. "They are sheep, ready to be guided and herded into their appropriate place. You must remember that, fool girl. Else you allow yourself to be debauched by false ideas of rulership. Only the weak mind the opinions of the masses."
"Mercy sounds like a debauched form of rulership," Gladiolus snarled.
"Not if none know," Lord Salazar said. He then smirked. "Tell me. Did Naga Sadow ever tell you of the application of Sith alchemy toward creating homunculi?"
"Homunculi?"
"Bodies, living but not. One could be supplied to pose as a prisoner and executed, all while keeping that prisoner safely hidden away for future needs."
Gladiolus's eyes widened slowly at the prospect Lord Salazar had laid out for her. She could retain Hermione while pretending she had executed the other ringleader. And to ensure others did not question what she did…
"I will be taking Naga Sadow's holocron, Lord Salazar," declared Darth Gladiolus. "Along with your shuttle. I wish to grant my world the technology within. It must be done. One day, the Jedi will learn of me and my connection to this world."
"Then go. That shuttle is yours. What need do I have for it? I cannot say if it will fly." He sounded strangely amused, prompting Gladiolus to glower at him. "Return and speak with me only when you set out for Ziost. I long for home."
She nodded and left the old Sith Lord, pensive over his request. Gladiolus would remove the other holocrons soon. And when she decided to depart Earth of the cosmos beyond, only then would she remove Lord Salazar's holocron.
Colonel Major Martin J. Connors watched the eggheads who bustled about Area 51 for over a year scuttle around the landing strip, caught up in some tizzy that had them all overly excited. He shook his head at the display twenty yards away from where he stood, wondering what mad reason underlined the Pentagon's insistence he maintain the scientists despite failure after failure. Their experiments had amounted to naught but rumors of conspiracy, strange maps of the Milky Way galaxy, and 'future tech' that never worked. They wrung their hands when he questioned them, but not even pulling rank could get them to spill. Martin had hoped, given his long military tenure and how much more physical he was compared to them, that one would break under questioning.
They surprised him and held firm. Perhaps it was the fact they were led by some Brit who sniffed and muttered about his bloody Queen whenever he questioned them. If that old geezer constantly stood firm, then the rest could as well.
He sighed and peered up into the cloudless Nevada sky. A message had come from the Pentagon, informing him they would be receiving an important visitor. Nothing else had been said about the occasion, though they had suggested whoever it was would come from the east. Whether that meant east, northeast, or southeast, Martin did not know. The Pentagon stepped around that question as though they did not know either. And that, by his reckoning, should be impossible.
"She should be here soon," one of the eggheads said, a touch too loud. She looked Chinese to Martin yet spoke with that same accent the old Brit possessed. "RAF confirmed she departed Scotland, heading en route to our location."
"I know. But her departure was reported a few hours ago," another egghead grumbled. "You don't think she could travel over five thousand kilometers in less than ten hours."
"Given what was reported…" The woman's words trailed off. Her eyes widened and her thin mouth opened further than Martin thought possible. She pointed into the sky with a gasp. "Could that—?"
Martin followed the egghead's pointing hand into the sky and frowned. A black shape raced for Area 51, appearing to arc through the sky as it drew close. He raised a hand to his brow. It did not help him see farther, though it managed to trick his mind into seeing the shape in clearer focus. It was smooth and shaped like a pill. The longer he stared, the more he made out tiny features: a pointed tip, little bits off each side, and even a hint of blue flame following after the dark shape.
"That must be Lord Gladiolus's shuttle!" a third egghead said, shouting as though a helicopter was approaching for a landing. "To think, a starship has been on Earth for a thousand years! And it still works! Miracle of miracles!"
"I'm sorry, what?" Martin asked. The eggheads all froze, though only the woman dared look at him. "Did you just say that's a fucking starship? Like 'Star Trek'?"
The one responsible for spilling the beans turned to Martin with an uncertain smile. "Well, we don't—"
"Answer my question. Is it a starship?"
The man nodded hesitantly. The old Brit, who had been regarding his colleagues with fond amusement, stepped forward. "I'm afraid there's little else we can tell you, Colonel Major. If Lord Gladiolus wishes for us to explain more, then we will. But you should know that the moment she lands, our operation becomes 'her operation'. That is Her Majesty's wishes. Your president has agreed to that point after being informed of her achievements. She is only seventeen."
Martin's mouth opened, wanting to argue whether or not his president had approved of the change in mission. And then a shadow passed over the landing strip. He froze and stared into the sky directly above.
A black form, sleek and gleaming, passed overhead. It circled the landing pad once, twice, and then descended straight from the sky. Struts descended from the bottom, emerging from the chassis. He watched with mouth agape as the shuttle—that was the word the scientists had used to describe the strange black ship—hovered a few inches above the ground before settling on its struts. It looked to be twenty-five yards long and maybe fifteen across, without any visible wings or flaps. All that stuck out of the smooth sides was a nacelle on each side. A pair of narrow cannons akin to artillery barrels stuck out near the tip.
"This… is what we've been waiting for?" Martin asked stiffly.
"Indeed!" the old Brit said proudly. "Lord Gladiolus has been a guest of the Queen several times, including recently when our request she join us here was finally passed along."
Martin nodded as his gaze drifted back to the shuttle. A moment passed before he realized what the Brits had been saying. "Wait. 'She'? I thought we were greeting a lord?"
"Ah, yes. That." The old Brit sighed and shook his head. "Strange girl, from what I have been told. She is allegedly the heir to some great tradition which mandates we call her 'Lord', despite her being a 'Lady'." He then smiled. "I am excited to learn more of this order."
Martin nodded slowly, uncertain how to respond to what he had been told. His family had been Americans since before the Civil War, so he was divorced from the nobility and titles that persisted in certain corners of Europe. He sighed and decided it would be safest to wait until he finally came face to face with this "Lord Gladiolus" before making any decisions concerning her.
A ramp descended from the shuttle's belly, stretching out with a soft hiss. Martin stiffened, years of military experience demanding he salute. He watched a black-cloaked figure descend the ramp and frowned. Something about her menaced him, as though she might, on a whim, murder him without cause or issue.
The old Brit stepped forward and bowed. "Welcome to Area 51, Lord Gladiolus. We have been awaiting your arrival for some time now."
The cloaked woman approached the old man. "Your welcome is appreciated, Sir Wilberforce. You must be the one heading this venture."
"Only on the scientific side, my lord." The old Brit—Sir Wilberforce—gestured to Martin. "This here is Colonel Major Connors of the American military. He's been overseeing our efforts here. His role here is significant enough I thought it prudent his presence be included for your arrival despite knowing nothing of note concerning our mission."
'Lord Gladiolus' hummed. She turned to Martin. He swallowed thickly upon meeting her sickly yellow eyes, burning out of her tattooed face. He felt a second, stronger impulse to salute the woman, despite her being neither American nor military. It was completely inappropriate on his part, yet he struggled to suppress the impulse. Her appearance contrasted against her authority. He feared her, yet she possessed such charisma he nearly forgot that feeling.
"Fascinating that the Queen would entrust this venture to Americans. I noticed the scientists present are British."
"It's a… joint effort," Martin said, trying to not cringe at his words. Were it up to him, all the eggheads would be Americans. Preferably those employed by NASA or trained at MIT. They he could trust, especially over these British scientists.
"…so you claim," said Lord Gladiolus, clearly not believing him. Martin grimaced at being seen through. "Still, you have done your job well. That is the bare minimum to be expected."
Martin had a feeling he was being insulted, yet he could not help but nod and mutter, "Thank you, ma'am."
Lord Gladiolus smiled indulgently. She then turned to the eggheads. "So, what would you ask of me today? I do not know what you have been told nor what you have accomplished in your time here."
"Come along," said the old Brit. "I have some tea. We can discuss our efforts so far, along with what we are hoping you can assist us with on that front."
Gladiolus nodded and followed the old Brit. Martin watched them go, frowning as they made their way into the science building he had made a point of steering clear of. Now he had another reason to stay away from that location.
He shivered, recalling Gladiolus's strange eyes, and headed for the mess. He could go for something to fill his stomach and distract him from the fiend on his base.
"I do not think the commander likes me," Gladiolus said. She glanced at the old scientist walking by her side. Sir Wilberforce had a clean, yet complex mind. She was uncertain if she could control him with the Force. She did know his loyalty to Queen and Country was great enough that she might need to compel his loyalty. "I'm surprised he did not continue following us. He had the presence of one who does his best to run a tight ship."
Sir Wilberforce sniffed, quaintly amused. "The Colonel Major has particular ideas about our activities here. He's very particular, though he has loosened up as we have continued our work. Were it not for your arrival, he would have continued to doubt and deny our theories. Though…"
"Theories? Do tell me more. I am curious what you have managed to accomplish based on the meager words I supplied Her Majesty."
Gladiolus spent the next several minutes listening as the old man prattled on about the nonsensical ideas he and his fellows had developed during their "fruitful" year spent at Area 51, working and developing theories and concepts that did not align with all Gladiolus knew of the galaxy beyond. Nothing was said of the Republic she knew existed at the center of the galaxy. There was no consideration for other humans living beyond their world, though they had theorized aplenty about alien races and what their characteristics and natures would be like. A few even matched races she had learned of while inspecting the databases Lord Salazar left behind while flying across the Atlantic and the American heartland.
"Be thankful I have come to provide illumination into the shadows of ignorance you have been trapped in," said Gladiolus with a smirk. "You will find technical blueprints in the Dearg Due's databases for the various technologies from the galaxy beyond.
"I would suggest you begin with repulsorlift technology, though perhaps the shielding or building designs could be more useful for advancing humanity's position in the galaxy." She paused and considered what she had seen and used. "Perhaps you would prefer droid technology, instead. I used one to train some of my powers. I also possess an artificial intelligence greater than any this world might produce in the next hundred years. Or your team can focus on and digest the cultural and political knowledge of some ten thousand years of history for half our galaxy."
Sir Wilberforce gaped. She sensed his shock and the whirlpool of confusion threatening to consume his mind. Never had he considered the true possibility of the technology available to other worlds. Had he considered the existence of lightspeed technology? She knew not, in part due to how she ignored some of what he said. She had heard too many incorrect theories about galactic civilization to focus without mentally critiquing what had already been said.
"I will ease the process of selecting what you and your team wish to work on," continued Lord Gladiolus, feeling benevolent. Her choice, here and now, would dictate how her aim of preparing Earth for its inevitable encounter with the galaxy at large. "I will leave Dearg Due in your care until the day I require the shuttle once more. Be careful, for I have no interest in retrieving a ship in disrepair."
"Of course, Lord Gladiolus!" Sir Wilberforce said, bowing with an arm splayed across his shoulder in his excitement. "Though I should ask," he continued once he straightened out. "How do you intend to return home?"
She grinned and stepped back into a shadowed corner. "Why, I have many tricks of my own. Do not think I am limited by technology from another world." Her expression smoothed. "I will return to check on your progress when I have the time. I expect results whenever I return."
The shadows spawned around her—an illusion thanks to her mastery over the dark side of the Force. She breathed in and then passed through time and space. For a split second, all she could see was the knighted man's shocked expression. And then she returned to Grimmauld Place, to her bedroom with its wide, hickory bureau and her four-poster bed with silk sheets.
Gladiolus sighed and muttered, "I hope it won't be a mistake leaving Dearg Due with them. It took longer than even Lord Salazar thought to get the sublight engines working." She sighed again and shook her head.
They shall do as they have promised, or I will find others to move my efforts further. Perhaps I could use her for this task…
The crowd bubbled with interest, gathered about the large platform set up in the small courtyard along Diagon Alley's eastern stretch. A bar hung over the platform; a promise some would hang there by day's end. Gringotts cast a long shadow over those gathered, though the drifting clouds above would eventually plunge them all into the chilly March shade. Many present had only heard of the Janus Rebellion. The tale of what happened had been spread purposefully through the Daily Prophet: a cabal of muggleborns, angered Lord Gladiolus dared not shape magical Britain like its muggle counterpart, foolishly allied themselves with blood supremacists not caught up in the Death Eater Purge and attempted to seize control of the Ministry. They had failed, thanks to the efforts of the nation's aurors and their Witch-Queen, Lord Gladiolus.
Gladiolus, for her part, stood within a small tent set to the platform's right. Minister Fudge and Madam Bones waited with her, along with Auror Proudfoot and two aurors. Several others loitered among the crowd, dressed in plain robes, while two dozen waited with the prisoners in the larger tent to the platform's right. They would all be tried and punished on this day.
"I do not like this," Madam Bones muttered once more. "They should have gone before the Wizengamot, not the public."
"Perhaps," Gladiolus admitted. "But their crimes are fundamentally against the nation, not the state. Thus they should be tried by the justice of the nation, not the state."
"The mob, more like. Those who willingly follow you."
Gladiolus shrugged. "If you wish to call their justice 'the mob', then so be it. That will not matter to them, for they know their justice is the justice that shall triumph on this day. They will face those who betrayed them, and they shall levy judgment upon the unknown traitors in their midst."
And best of all, she did not speak a lie. The identities of the ringleaders and most rebels had been successfully kept secret. By the end of this day, all of magical Britain would know. Tongues would wag with their names. A hundred years from now, they would be regarded as traitors; their memories spat on.
Madam Bones made a disgruntled noise but dropped the matter. She turned a shoulder to Gladiolus—a slight, but not. The Sith Lord nearly giggled at the response. It was childish, especially coming from a woman around the age of her long-dead parents. But if Amelia wished to act so, then Gladiolus would permit it. The woman had neither the power nor the authority to punish the Sith Lord for anything she did.
After her final and ultimate subversion of the auror corps to ensure they would faithfully follow her, Gladiolus no longer possessed reason to fear those she ruled. Especially not after what she would do this day. She would show the nation how she maintained justice and order. And they, wishing for order and safety, would accept her rule as they never had. After this day, she could let slip her title as the Dark Lord of the Sith and experience no consequence.
Her rule would be absolute.
"Lord Gladiolus," said Auror Proudfoot. "It is time." The man's expression was blank, though a hint of grimness lingered in his voice. He had expressed doubts of execution in private, but he would not publicly question her.
"Understood." She turned to Minister Fudge. "You're first. You remain their Minister for Magic."
Fudge nodded awkwardly. He shared a quick, almost innocuous glance with Madam Bones before stepping out of the tent. Amelia followed swiftly, her monocle gleaming as a shred of sunlight pierced the clouds above.
"Can you trust them?" asked Auror Proudfoot before Gladiolus could follow.
She glanced at the auror. "I trust them as far as they're willing to be trustworthy." Gladiolus then smiled wryly. "After today, they will understand they have no hope of liberty from my rule. They will bend, or they will break."
Before the auror could respond, Gladiolus stepped out onto the platform. The crowd roared with approval. She raised a hand, and their roars grew louder. She smiled in the face of their love and admiration. Gladiolus suppressed any concerns some among their number might hate her or wish her harm. It mattered not when she could easily thwart attempts on her life before her adoring public.
And to any who disapproved of her still, they would quickly learn the price of their defiance was death, unless repentant enough to convince others of their innocent wishes.
"People of Britain!" Gladiolus shouted. The crowd fell deathly silent, their gazes and hearts fixed upon her. "I come before you pained by the treason committed by members of this nation. Those who have been caught up in this madness shall be presented to you, so that you may judge them and their treason. To understand why they betrayed all they should love and brought dishonor upon Britain."
A great many within the crowd nodded. Some stared blankly. A few frowned. Gladiolus sensed doubt from those few, as though they could not believe her words. Let them doubt her. They would witness her strength and certainty. And for those rare few worthy of mercy, they would see that mercy could only come through sacrifice and labor. Those she chose to live would spend a long time separate from society until they proved their fealty to her.
"Aurors, bring forward the first group of prisoners so that the great people of this great nation may cast judgment on these poor unfortunate souls." She then smiled, displaying a peace that felt foreign to her. "I shall do naught to prevent your desires, good people, from being realized."
The crowd roared their approval. Even those who doubted her now believed she would keep her word. Gladiolus could laugh, sensing how easily their feelings were swayed.
With the dark side of the Force, she slowly reached out her aura and implanted a shred of her influence in each mind. Time would pass before they fell under her sway, but none possessed the power to resist her. Reluctance would eventually become zealotry. Those fated to die would perish, and those chosen for salvation would receive their final chance.
She maintained the appearance of solace and peace. Those feelings were a blatant lie from a Sith Lord, but they were what her people desired to see reflected in their Witch-Queen. So she expressed those emotions to them. Their adoration and loyalty fed her.
Two aurors emerged from the other tent, five prisoners between them. Some sorting had been done among the prisoners to ensure those who might be cleared by the public would be among those judged first. She knew who waited at the end of the line. The one she desired most for the public to desire death for.
"Dear aurors," Gladiolus drawled, smiling. "Please inform the public of who these five are, and of the punishment I have suggested for them."
She watched as names and crimes were listed for the public. Three remained steadfast that they had acted rightly when confronted. They believed they had chosen the virtuous path and would not be led astray, no matter the punishment awaiting them.
But two, with tears in their eyes and genuine remorse reeking from every ounce of their shamed selves, begged the public for forgiveness. To be allowed a chance to rejoin them and to prove their true worth to magical Britain. Neither dared proclaim their fealty to Darth Gladiolus, but that would change with time. One day, they would all be hers.
One day, she would own every life, every soul upon the isle of Britain.
Only one of the two who begged for forgiveness was granted reprieve. Gladiolus recalled how quickly they had given up members of their cabal. Those names had all been dead by the time Gladiolus managed to check on them, but that mattered not. They had willingly surrendered their friends and allies and thus proved to her their use.
She had learned about tools and their uses. A tool abandoned wantonly was an unpredictable danger. She had learned that lesson with Hermione Granger. Soon, her treachery would be punished.
Gladiolus glanced at Auror Proudfoot, who stood at the back of the platform and nodded. He gestured to the aurors standing guard. One helped the man granted clemency off the platform. The crowd ignored the man taken away, for their attention remained upon the four damned to death. Though not a soul proclaimed their wish for death, their hearts echoed with that harsh desire.
"Your voices have been heard," Gladiolus declared. "Death is the fate which awaits all traitors."
She removed her lightsaber from within her robe and activated it. The snap-hiss cut through the jeers of the crowd who fell silent to stare at its crimson glow. Gladiolus nodded to the aurors, who forced the four men to their knees. She stepped up to the first.
"If you have any final words, say them now."
"You evil bitch!" the man shouted.
Gladiolus sighed. "What a waste," she muttered loud enough half the crowd would hear her words. The other half would speculate until its whisper reached them from other lips. She swung her blade before the man could attempt to respond. His severed head fell off cleanly, leaving behind a seared stump of black, grey, and white.
The other three men said nothing when granted the chance to speak. They only hung their heads and peacefully allowed her to end their worthless lives.
It was disappointing how quickly their opposition vanished.
The bodies were collected and hauled away. They would later be transfigured for a new fountain to grace the Ministry's atrium. Gladiolus had yet to plan it. She envisioned something reflecting Britain's magically rich history and mythology. Perhaps a variation on the holiday wheel Theodore Nott once mentioned to her. She was pleased he maintained distance from the conspiracy. Given his father and grandfather were marked Death Eaters dead by her hand, she had suspected he might follow Malfoy and Hermione into their folly. Instead, he had remained home—no doubt knowing of the conspiracy and having already decided to keep his distance from that foolish course of action. It irked her that he remained mum instead of informing her as Tracey Davis had.
I should visit him, along with Greengrass. Daphne and her sister were absent, but some cousins of theirs were swept up by the aurors once the rebels began surrendering. They knew of the plot, despite failing to participate. Davis informed me of that much.
The next batch of prisoners went similar to those before them. Two, approved of beforehand, begged for leniency, weeping and demanding the crowd permit them another chance. Both earned their wish, though by Gladiolus's reckoning only one deserved mercy. That second survivor was unfortunately too valuable, holding a critical position at the Ministry's Floo Control office.
You will need to be removed, she thought, staring coldly at the second survivor. Their quailing flinch and gulp told Gladiolus they understood their precarious position and that they would seek to deserve their survival.
Three heads she removed after that.
Prisoners came to the platform in groups of five and six. Never seven and never four. They had space aplenty on the platform, but Gladiolus recalled enough from her lessons in Sith alchemy with Naga Sadow to know numbers held meaning on worlds beyond hers—and on hers. To dare seven risked destroying her position, or so the old Sith Lord would have claimed. She did not completely believe him, but the logic made an annoying amount of sense, given the superstitions around the number in her society.
After the fourth batch, none were granted the chance for leniency. Some begged and cried for mercy, but their announced crimes were too great to sway the hearts and minds of the crowd before them. It did not help that the bloodlust of the people had not been satiated by the executions so far, but enhanced. They desired more death. More power. The influence of the dark side worked through them. They wished to see more of those who would dare betray their oaths to society torn down and rendered to naught but a parted corpse.
By the time noon came and passed, almost a hundred heads sat in large baskets brought out to hold them. Gladiolus would see them mounted throughout the Ministry as a reminder of the wage of treason and treachery. She knew in the back of her mind some could paint her with the same brush. But she had been victorious over her enemies. The victor wrote the histories once the dust settled.
She watched as the final batch of headless bodies was dragged away, ready to be transfigured for her new fountain. Few remained to be presented and then executed. They would be presented separately. This was all that remained of the highest cabal she uncovered through torture and interrogation. Many had given up those complicit in the conspiracy through their feelings, thinking of the one who they wished to protect at the wrong moment.
Had any understood the nature of her powers, they would have purged their mind of any and all connection to those even partially involved. But folly greeted those involved long before they dared attempt their overthrow.
"And now, for the ringleaders," Gladiolus declared to the waiting crowd. "These five are all who remain of the seven who led the plot against your fair Ministry and your Witch-Queen. Each has earned a traitor's death, just as I outlined in my letter concerning the Wizengamot during January of last year."
She gestured to the aurors. The first of the ringleaders was brought forward.
Augusta Longbottom stared at Darth Gladiolus coolly. The woman did not radiate fear or fury as others had. Her emotions were tamed by a lifetime of necessity and training. All Gladiolus could sense was a collected calm destined to present naught but certainty in the face of the public's justice. The Sith Lord sneered for a heartbeat. In any other situation, she might have lanced the elderly witch with Force lightning. But she was before the public. They deserved the justice she promised, not the pain and humiliation she desired to inflict.
"For those who do not know this woman," said Gladiolus, turning to face the crowd once more, "she is Augusta Longbottom. Her son and his wife lay in Saint Mungo's, tortured into madness by three I slew on the night I cast down the relics of the past." Murmurs met her proclamation. Many—even those who supported Gladiolus—disliked reminders of her actions that June eve almost two years prior. "I had counted her grandson a friend. But how has she repaid the kindness of my deeds and my friendship with her grandson?
"With treachery and betrayal."
Augusta said nothing to justify her choices. The woman would not be swayed into groveling or crying as others had.
A soft chant grew in the crowd. "Death. Death. Death. Death."
The Sith Lord turned to those on the platform with her. Fudge and Madam Bones had retreated to the back edge, knowing full well this was her affair. "Aurors. See to her punishment."
"Do it yourself, Darth Gladiolus," Augusta said with a disgusted sneer. "You're the one who proclaimed I must be drawn, quartered, and beheaded, girl. See it through yourself."
A rumbling of mutters and worries flowed from the crowd. Gladiolus glanced at each auror present on the platform. They all shared Augusta's feelings, despite the fact not a single one dared tell her so.
Darth Gladiolus hardened herself. She ignited her lightsaber and drew a careful, cauterized line along Augusta Longbottom's stomach. The woman's jaw clenched tightly as strained lines crossed her face. Yet Gladiolus could sense the woman's pain. The shock of seared flesh took Augusta by surprise, despite her efforts to strengthen herself. The woman held on to a powerful feeling: she would not disgrace herself now. Not when she had finally reached her end.
With the Force, Gladiolus removed several lengths of the traitor's intestines. She deactivated her lightsaber, returned it to her belt with the Force, and used both hands as she wrapped the pink, wriggling intestine around Augusta Longbottom's neck. Already she sensed the disgust and dismay of the crowd. Yet none dared question her actions. Not a soul desired to stop Gladiolus, nor did they judge her beyond the flash of disgust in their stomach witnessing a violent, bloody execution.
And many approved of her action, if only secretly in their hearts. They would never admit it. Not yet, anyway.
Once the woman's neck was secured, Gladiolus harshly yanked with the Force on each of the woman's limbs. They tore off like picking bones out of chicken wings. Blood spurted for a few seconds before stopping, thanks to Gladiolus's power. She released her grasp of the limbs and they fell to the platform with soft thunks. The aurors levitated them away as Gladiolus drew the exposed intestine over the large bar that hung over the platform. She encircled it with the intestines once, twice, three times, and then finally allowed Augusta Longbottom to hang from the neck. The woman quivered, but without her limbs, it was less obvious just how she suffered.
Gladiolus waited until Augusta perished before turning to a waxen Auror Proudfoot.
"Bring forth the next."
Diagon Alley had fallen deathly silent by the time the fourth quartered body was strung by their entrails from the bar over the execution platform. Tracey Davis watched Lord Gladiolus, hungry for the power the yellow-eyed witch wielded with such ease. Throughout the entire affair, she had not drawn her wand. Beyond her strange fire-sword, all she used were small hand gestures—and the world reacted to enact her will.
That could be me, Tracey thought. I could be as powerful as her… and she even made an offer to teach me.
In the weeks since the Janus Rebellion, Tracey had resisted the obvious decision to return to Number Twelve and accept Lord Gladiolus's offer. With but a single word, Tracey could make herself into one of the most powerful figures in British society. The student of Darth Gladiolus was destined for influence and power.
I… I could even supplant her.
Tracey blinked at the errant thought. But before she could ponder on its significance or meaning, she watched as the final prisoner was brought before the public.
Hermione Granger.
Imprisonment had been unkind to the muggleborn witch. Her thick curls, which had always been half at war with any attempt to tame them into something respectable, looked greasy and heavy. They clung to her pale face, sunken in the eyes and cheeks. No doubt her meals had been skimped on. Why waste good food on those destined for the bloody gallows of Lord Gladiolus?
"Behold, the last living ringleader of this treachery and betrayal," Lord Gladiolus declared, basking in the public's love. She gestured to her former friend with an almost mocking hand. "Once, I thought her a sister. But Hermione Granger showed her true colors. She allied with my schoolyard nemesis, Draco Malfoy, and attempted to cast down all I seek to build. A better future nearly squandered because of silly school grudges."
Granger remained silent. She looked half dead. Had she not walked up onto the platform, Tracey would have believed the muggleborn was already dead.
"I cannot show leniency in the face of such betrayal. Draco Malfoy already lies in his grave, for he died attempting to assassinate me." Gladiolus shot Granger an oddly unreadable look. Tracey knew there should be more in those yellow eyes. "And so she, like the rest she led into death and failure, must face her due punishment."
Darth Gladiolus proceeded through the drawing, quartering, and hanging of Hermione Granger. The girl barely made a sound as she was put to death. Tracey tried to not be impressed. Yet, she found the display odd. There should have been begging and shouting, transforming into an argument that could become as legendary as the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
But all they witnessed was the pathetic execution of a girl beaten down and defeated.
Gladiolus waited for her former friend to still before turning to the crowd with a wide smile. She then declared, "The threat has passed! All those who would oppose a happy world are dead!"
Tracey could not help but wonder why Hermione Granger had felt wrong to her. It was as though a sack of meat had been hung up for the flies to devour. Yet her eyes told her she had witnessed an execution.
Gladiolus tapped the keypad, entering a code Zeta-Aleph had programmed on her behalf. She had never thought it would be necessary to use a holding cell within Ziost Hangar, but she had finally found a cause: interment for Hermione Granger, who was too valuable to be executed, yet too visible among the rebels to not suffer the traitor's death.
So she had made a simple calculus: she would fake the witch's death. Between the dark arts and Sith alchemy, she had managed to devise a body identical enough to Hermione's that the public had been fooled by the execution. Gladiolus had been forced to attend sessions with a contrite Naga Sadow to reach the level of mastery required for her plot. But it had been enough. It had allowed her to dupe the population, all the while keeping her prize safe and secure. Not a soul knew the truth
The door hissed open. Gladiolus crossed the threshold, waving a hand behind her as she went. The door sealed behind her.
The security wing of Ziost Hangar was compact with a security room and four narrow cells that occupied the same space as her old Gryffindor dormitory. Gladiolus paid a visit to the security room first. She could easily use the Force to ensure Hermione remained where she had been placed, but Gladiolus liked to check the monitors just in case something interesting happened while she was away.
Nothing. All that happened was Hermione sat in her cell, reading. She was dressed in a white prisoner suit the Sith Lord found in a locker. Gladiolus did not know what her former friend was reading, for she had ordered Zeta-Aleph to produce copies of documents and files from Ziost Hangar's databanks. They, like those found aboard Dearg Due, provided Gladiolus with a glimpse into the galaxy beyond that she coveted.
And if she were to advance all her ambitions, she needed to share that information with those who could use them to reorient her world's natural course. Gladiolus had the luxury of choosing who she chose to share that knowledge with, and Hermione had given her the perfect excuse to seclude and use her former friend.
She made her way to Hermione's cell, humming as she went. Gladiolus smirked upon realizing it was the same tune she hummed the day of her ascension.
"Hello, Hermione," said Gladiolus once she reached the cell. A force field separated them despite the fact there was a door that could be closed and locked. She waited for her former friend to look up, her brandy brown eyes blown wide, before saying with a pleased, singsong tone, "Guess who is dead!"
"So you faked my death," Hermione said flatly. "I had wondered why you brought me to this strange place instead of leaving me at the Ministry." Her brows furrowed as she glanced between the durasteel walls around her. "Where are we? You've kept me here for a while now. I've been wanting to know—"
"This is Ziost Hangar, Lord Salazar's greatest secret," said Gladiolus, interrupting Hermione before the witch could ramble on further. "We are deep beneath Hogwarts. And even if someone suspected you were here, they cannot access this place without my permission. They would need to thwart the defenses around the Chamber of Secrets and this Hangar." She leaned forward slightly, allowing the force field over the doorway to illuminate her face with a hint of crimson. "You will spend the rest of your days here, old friend."
"So this is your terrible punishment?" Hermione snarked. "Imprisonment in the most advanced facility on the planet?"
"You will be put to work," Gladiolus admitted. "I am not so foolish as to waste a mind like yours. It is the reason you remain alive, after all." She then gestured to the data pad left forgotten by Hermione. "Zeta-Aleph, who operates this hangar on my behalf, has provided information about the galaxy beyond Earth brought to this world by Lord Salazar. Admittedly it's all a thousand years out of date, but I desire to use all I can to defend this world. My enemies dominate the galaxy beyond. Of that I am certain. They will punish this world solely to remove me from its face, and so I must use all tools available to me."
There was a long pause before Hermione said, "You think aliens will learn of us."
"Not think. Know. They will either be aliens in the truest sense of the word, or they will be humans from some other world. And most likely, members of my order's sworn enemy, the Jedi, will come with them."
Hermione frowned thoughtfully at the mention of the 'Jedi'. She retrieved the data pad and tapped its face, moving to draw up whatever information Zeta-Aleph uploading concerning that order. Gladiolus understood enough about the Jedi to know that if even a single one suspected her presence, they would come to kill her. She could not trust their ignorance of her presence in the Force. Sith Lords and Jedi Masters of the ancient past managed to sense each other across the galaxy. And given that the Jedi had their finest temple on Coruscant in the Core, a chance existed one of their accursed number knew she existed.
Perhaps Hermione will learn something about them I can use to my advantage. Some weakness they're incapable of growing beyond.
"…how fascinating," Hermione muttered many minutes later.
Gladiolus tilted her head."What do you find fascinating?"
Hermione looked up, her face illuminating as it had many times so long ago. "The Jedi, of course! Their philosophy feels similar to something from the Far East that I read about when I was young. But that… That was a long time ago. I think I was only nine or ten at the time."
Gladiolus rubbed her marked cheek, wondering who in the Far East could possess a philosophy akin to the Jedi. Her thoughts did not progress far, for she realized she knew very little of them beyond Vernon Dursley's ranting and raving about Asian immigrants.
"Thank you for informing me," the Sith Lord said softly. "I will look into the matter." Gladiolus glanced up to the ceiling. "Zeta-Aleph! You are to assist Hermione Granger with her research—and only with her research."
[UNDERSTOOD, LORD GLADIOLUS,] boomed the inorganic voice of Zeta-Aleph. Hermione flinched. [RESEARCH PERMISSIONS GRANTED TO: GRANGER, HERMIONE.]
Gladiolus nodded and then turned back to her former friend. "Enjoy the privilege of knowledge, for it is all that will be available to you until your inevitable death."
And with that, she turned and left the security wing.
Darth Gladiolus was a Sith Master now.
It was time she acquired a Sith apprentice.