Harry Potter and the Dark Lord of the Sith

Chapter 38.

"So there you go. And right now, it seems Wedge will have to carry out his promise," Ron finished the story.

"I wouldn't be so pessimistic." Jan descended down the last staircase and opened a small door.

Ron stepped through it... and found himself in an enormous hall, in the middle of which stood the strangest ship he'd ever seen.

"What's that?" Ron asked, half trying not to laugh.

The ship appeared to be held together by... well, Ron couldn't say. It was a mishmash of parts that should have been--no, were--non-compatible. A cockpit apparently taken from a TIE bomber had attached a smaller version of tri-wings from either a Skipray blastboat or a standard Imperial shuttle, and was strapped to engines of a Y-wing. I will never call the Falcon a piece of junk again.

"Where did you get it?" Ron asked Jan incredulously.

"I started piecing it together the last time I was here without a way to escape. I didn't finish before Kyle found me."

"Jan," Ron tried to reason, "that thing won't fly. Ever."

"Than we won't be any worse off than we are now, will we?"

"We might be. Trying to make that wreck work could be dangerous."

"Do you have an alternative?"

Ron didn't like having to admit he didn't. He shrugged. "What exactly doesn't work on it? Or should I be asking what does? Which list is shorter?"

"Repulsorlifts and computer controls are okay, as is life support. Everything else--sublight, weapons, shields--is a disaster in the making. And as for hyperdrive, that's not something we can test here, so I don't know."

"Let's hope we don't end up testing it while chased by the imps. Do you have tools?"

She tossed him a toolkit, but gave him a mocking look all the same. "Wouldn't your magic be of any help here?"

"You mean, can I wave my wand and make this ship operational in an instant? Sorry, doesn't work that way."

"Why not? I'm not complaining," she quickly assured him. "Just curious."

"There's a reason it takes years to learn this stuff, Jan. Let me show you." He looked around and found a large ceramic bowl. Setting it on the floor, he then picked up a metal bar and smashed the bowl into pieces. Getting out his wand, he pointed it at the shards.

"Reparo!" he said, and the shards fused back into a whole bowl. He picked up it, tossed it to Jan to inspect. "That's your basic mending spell, and a first year at Hogwarts--that's my school, where we learn this--should be able to do this easily."

"But?" Jan prompted.

"But do you know that the same spell is used to mend broken human bones? Would you like to make yourself a test subject?"

Jan gasped. "Well, of course not..."

"Just as a matter of note, I have mended bones before. But that's not something first-years learn--it's a lot more difficult than a clay pot."

"But why?" Jan still didn't understand.

"In essence, spells are no different than tools--or weapons. It takes skill and practice to use them well. To repair something, you have to know how it works, and why it broke in the first place. A pot has a very simple structure; the skeleton is a lot more complex. I told you I have mended bones, but you know something--I would not, right now, be willing to try that with a non-human. It might make things worse, if I don't know what's going on. Same thing with the ship. If I don't know what, exactly, I want the spell to accomplish, I'm not going to cast it and hope for the best. That's just stupid."

Jan nodded. "I see. So no miracles?"

Ron smiled. "The Imperials weren't able to arrest me. The Imperials weren't able to arrest you. Two miracles right there."

"Thanks," Jan said. "Let's get to work."

XXXXXXXX

Harry came to consciousness in what was obviously a prison cell. He approached the barred door and jerked away as his hand was stung by a force field. Damn. Even if I had a weapon...

There was nothing to do. Surprisingly, he didn't feel hungry or thirsty. They must have been feeding him intravenously while he was in the bacta tank. The only thing for him to do was to stare through the bars at the gray wall... and to go over his last clear memory.

It wasn't a pleasant one--the expiration in the Force of the red guard he killed. That really hit him. Harry knew he had killed before--he was in battles, he shot down fighters--but somehow he felt this was different. He didn't know why that was the case.

Anger, fear, aggression--the dark side of the Force are they, Yoda's words came to him. Was his killing of the guard a murder? Was it out of fear, in anger, an act of aggression? Who could tell? Lines were not as clear-cut as he imagined they would be.

The Emperor had been right in one respect--anger could make him powerful. He thought about Palpatine's words--the power to destroy Voldemort. The power to avenge his parents...

"Master Yoda, is the dark side stronger?"

"No. Quicker, easier, more seductive."

"If the time should when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember..."

Harry understood that. He understood that all too well.

I only wish I knew where my breaking point was. He knew he had one--everyone did. He knew he already came close--the anger in which he fought the guard was all too real. At some point, he would make the easy choice--when the easy choice was survival.

He can make me fight two guards at once... or three, or four... or a squad of stormtroopers, or Vader, or... I will not be able to do anything but give in, to keep my life.

Your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness, Dumbledore had said to Voldemort.

Now, Harry understood what Dumbledore meant, as well. Knowing and being able to make that decision were two different things, however.

How will you defeat Voldemort without the power?

I don't care. Stupid prophecy.

What hope is there? What are you counting on?

Stop it. Just stop it. He remembered Sirius. Twelve years in Azkaban, and he hadn't lost hope. Despair is of the dark side, he decided. He had no doubt Yoda would agree.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a noise of a door opening. He looked up. The last person he expected stood outside his cell. The woman who captured him, the woman who looked exactly like his mother.

And she was smiling.

The woman lifted her hand, glancing at her chrono. She looked at him.

The room went dark. A power outage? Harry thought.

With a snap-hiss, a brilliant blue shaft of light appeared and cut through the bars of the cell.

"Well, Potter?" the woman said. "Are you getting out, or do you like these accommodations?"

"You!" Harry said, climbing out of his cell. "Why?"

"No time, Potter. We've got to get out of here before they restore power."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't."

The very simple, very honest answer surprised Harry more than he cared to admit.

Red lights came on. "Damn," the woman said. "Sooner than I expected. Here," she took an extra lightsaber off her belt and gave it to him.

Harry took and ignited it. The purple blade added its glow to the room.

"Well, come on," the woman said. "Hurry up."

Harry nodded. "Uhm, what's your name? You look like my mother, but--"

"Later, Potter. For now, the name I bore for most of my life will do. Call me Mara Jade."