It had been a hectic few weeks for one Neville Longbottom, to say the least. One night, a frantic Hermione had shown up at his doorstep, excitedly, maybe somewhat manically, telling him she had found the way, had found an insanely complex and difficult piece of magic that would be able to send them after their lost friend, and suddenly, he was embroiled in a galaxy-spanning insurrection. Not personally involved, obviously, but a guy could be excused if he needed some time to acclimatise to suddenly being in a completely different reality. To top it all off, it now looked pretty certain the man they had come here to rescue needed anything but rescuing, but was instead the leader of a mercenary unit, the ties of which to the aforementioned galaxy-wide insurrectionist movement and a powerful, dangerous crime boss still were far from clear to the overwhelmed wizard.
No, the young man was still working hard to come to grips with it all; he had always been more comfortable with things being somewhat predictable, following along, if not the beaten, then at least a somewhat predetermined path. Harry, on the other hand, had a habit of either completely disregarding said path, or destroying it outright. Even in his absence, after all, his mere story had toppled the Minister for Magic. And despite this influence, the influence Neville himself had seen first-hand, too many witches and wizards remained stubborn, remained ignorant, bigoted and set in their ways. Most had not suffered too badly under Lord Voldemort's short rule, and those who did mostly lacked the lobbying power to make their voices heard. Given the choice, like he had been now, the last living Longbottom understood and agreed with his friend's decision, would make the same. These days, not even his grandmother, who had been taken from the land of the living by sudden cardiac death when they found out his parents had been 'euthanized' was still holding him back.
"Oh, uh… sorry for disturbing you, sir." The voice reaching his ears was familiar, and it took the man just a short moment to recognize it: it belonged to the young soldier who had been showing him and the others around, back when they had still needed an interpreter. That he understood her now was just another testament to how incredible the technology of this place was; going to sleep at night, then waking up, knowing the essentials of another language… truly remarkable. And unlike Hermione, he had absolutely no compunctions about using it, either. To Neville, learning could be enjoyable, no doubt, but if there was good reason to want to know something right away, he was going to get whatever he needed in whichever way was fastest.
His tangent was ended by Trooper Tevo's voice echoing around in his mind once again. "Sir? Is everything alright?"
"Uhh…" Neville stammered for a moment, caught off guard by being referred to as 'sir'. He barely felt any older, any more mature than the lost boy whose toad had jumped away that he had been on his first trip in the Hogwarts Express, despite how much had happened in-between. "Yes, no problem at all. I was just… lost in thought."
"Sorry, I did not want to disturb you, then. I will leave," the soldier replied apologetically, and was already beginning to turn to leave when she was stopped by the young wizard's voice.
"No need to leave, Trooper," he called, making sure he was easy to hear above the small river's light gurgling. "I think Ha… the Captain showed this place to everyone so we could enjoy it together. Don't let my presence disturb your free time. I… do not understand your amusement."
"Hmm…" Tevo snorted, only belatedly seeming to realize it could easily be construed as somewhat insulting. "Sorry, sir. You just reminded me of an old acquaintance of mine, who also learned Basic with a neural training program. Until he got used to it, he always sounded a bit more stilted than what I knew he was like."
"Oh."
Neville was not quite sure, how to respond; obviously his grandmother had raised him to be a 'gentleman', or what she considered to be one, so a certain amount of what others might call stiltedness was to be expected, but now that he was thinking about it, his use of words and phrases ever since his overnight-lesson was a bit more formulaic than what was usual; almost like he was working off of predefined lists and spreadsheets. A bit like Hermione might sort and organize something, really.
"I'm still getting used to having new stuff in my head that I did not actually learn," he explained with a shrug and an apologetically shy smile. "There's no need to call me sir, Trooper Tevo. Mr. Longbottom, or Neville, if you prefer. I don't like being called by my last name."
A small smile parting her usually dour expression, Tevo agreed with a light nod of her head. "I would like that, Neville," she replied, almost like she was tasting the words on her tongue. "Brynn, for you, then."
With that, she sat down at the far end of the small bench someone had fashioned out of a boulder that was overlooking the river bend, and the two of them simply stayed still, silent, watching the water flow on past.
"So, how do you know the Captain?" the marine finally questioned, though her eyes immediately bulged as soon as the words were uttered. "Sorry, sir! If it's too personal, you don't have to answer. It's just that… well, the captain is something of a mystery, no one really knows, where he and his powers came from, and…"
"It's alright, Brynn," Neville interrupted her, fearing he would otherwise be swept away in the deluge of words that had broken through the stern's woman's silence. "Harry does have a certain… mystique to him, doesn't he? And we went to school together, him and I. Even got into the same house, Gryffindor; house of the brave."
She seemed utterly fascinated, though, for the life of him, the wizard could not figure out, why that was; probably because of Harry. Everyone had a tendency of being fascinated by Harry, or 'the Captain'. Having gotten just some of the spotlight his friend had barely tolerated all of his life over the last two years himself, that sounded more like a curse than just about anything else.
"So, you can do all the same things he does? Like stop blaster bolts in mid-air, and reshape complete sets of armour using only your thoughts?"
Ah, it seemed his friend had let loose some of his magic here already; frankly, they had not had that much time to talk, what with first a bacta-tank and now thousands of light years separating them, so Neville knew next-to-nothing about the other wizard's deeds here. Aside from the obvious, evidently; the obvious being the huge structure visible from kilometres away that now ruled over the rolling plains.
"I'm… not on the same level as Harry," he finally admitted, shaking his head with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he had a hard time of identifying. Not jealousy, though, that was not him. What was it, though? And what was it that made him utter these next words? "Wouldn't bet on him outdoing me in botany, though."
Equally as undecipherable as his earlier reactions was his hurt at her laughter, her expression that spoke of how much she did not understand his words. "Botany? What are you even talking about?"
That part he understood all too well, though; most of his life, he had been mocked for his interest in plants, but he was done putting up with it. "There goes quite a bit of care into taking care of plants, especially the magical ones. They can wither and die, potions made from them can kill the recipients even, if they aren't treated properly…"
He was about to say more when something occurred to him. And even if his every instinct was telling him to leave with a snippy comment, his grandmother's ever-present voice reminding him to be a gentleman won out.
"It was nice meeting you properly, Trooper Tevo."
With that, he left, leaving behind a flustered marine.
OOOOOOOO
"We'll do our best to get in contact with the Consortium as soon as we're done at Obi-Wan's hut," Leia, who had taken point on the communication with Arden for obvious reasons, responded to the Dathomirian's report, to the witch's obvious dissatisfaction. "We want to get Luke back to the Alliance as quickly as possible, and maybe let this fence stew a bit."
"Fine," Arden huffed, visibly annoyed at being told to wait. That was, until a certain gleam passed across her face that made everyone lurking at the edges of the call worry. Before any of these worries could be voiced, though, the connection was terminated on the far end, leaving the command staff of the entire field trip uninformed of what exactly was now going on in Mos Eisley. Maybe, Harry mused, it was better that way.
"Are you sure he's well enough to travel already," the captain therefore switched to a different topic altogether, looking at Hermione in worry. They both knew, to whom he was referring, so it was pointless to name names.
"Well, he's as hard to keep in the infirmary as you used to be when you were younger," the witch replied tartly. "I only just managed to stop him from digging the grave for his relatives all by himself, this morning, got him to accept at least some help. He'll be ok; just stay out of any firefights."
"We'll do our best," Harry assured her, before it even truly registering, what she had said. "Wait, you're not coming with us?"
Somewhat amusedly, Hermione shook her head, making her bouncy curls dance. "No; I've promised Luke I'd keep an eye on this place, now that the Tusken are no longer 'guarding' it. I thought I might put up some wards while you're going off, get to know some of your people a bit better. I've barely exchanged a few words with Javoc, Corsek and Jane since meeting all of you."
"And the real reason?" the wizard prodded, backing that up with a slight poke to her ribs.
Turning away in something of a huff, obviously disliking of being poked, his friend responded, "I think it would be best if not too many people go with him. He sounds like he really looked up to this Ben person, what little I've heard anyway. It's going to be hard to deal with for him without even more people around to watch."
"Oh." For a few moments, Harry did not know, what exactly to say; then he remembered, how exactly he had felt after the person he had looked up to as something of a mentor had died. How, with Dumbledore's death, some of the last vestiges of his innocence, his childhood had been stripped away. That was regardless of the thoughts he had about the man's inappropriately secretive nature these days. Back then, he himself had wanted to be alone as much as possible, unless it was one of those moments where being alone sounded like the worst thing imaginable.
"Yeah," Hermione commented with a certain gravitas that said more than a single, little word ever could. "So, you just go with Luke and Leia, while I tell Javoc and Corsek and Jane everything there is to know about the embarrassing and heroic things you did when you were younger."
Despite his reluctance to do so, Harry could not help but laugh at that, up until, unbidden, an observation came to him. "I know you said I changed, and I did, but… Hermione, you've changed a lot, too."
"Whatever do you mean, Harry?" came the surprised, possibly dismayed reply.
"This, all this. Joking about telling Javoc and Corsek all my embarrassing stories… oh, not about the Yule Ball, right? I was such an arse that night…" Shaking himself to get off the tangent, lest he give her any more ideas than she already had, Harry returned to the question at hand. "This, all of it. Joking around like this, you never seemed at ease enough to do that. Hermione, we've all changed. Not all of us as much as Neville, but we've all changed."
"Oh…" This time, it was on Hermione to fall silent and mull things over. "I guess… I guess you're right. It's hard to see in oneself, and I haven't really stopped to joke around the past two years while I was trying to find a way to come after you."
For a while, they shared something that could be described neither as a completely companionable, comfortable silence, nor as tense. They were caught somewhere in the middle, ambling around between feeling at ease and being at war if not with each other, then at least with the situation.
"You know, you could stay here," Harry eventually threw out, though where the offer had come from, he was unsure. No, he knew exactly where it had come from, just not why he had chosen this particular moment to voice it. "There are plenty people to help around here, lots of slaves for whose equality you can fight. But it would be a fight you chose, not one forced on you because your parents happen to be non-magical. And if you want to be a leader, organize something, teach people, I'm sure we'll find a post that fits you exactly."
But before his friend uttered even a single syllable of her reply, the wizard knew it would be for nothing. Up there with her impressive intellect and her incredible determination, were Hermione's stubbornness and pride; she had made it her mission to rid the Wizarding World of the last remnants of Tom Riddle and his sycophants' ideology, and come hell or high weather, she would see it through.
"I see," he answered his own question, unwilling to put her through saying the words out loud. It had been clear, expectable to him beforehand, how this would turn out, anyway. "Just do me a favour: We could use your help, really, really, use your help on this mission, on getting the Alderaanian refugees off of Coruscant; another fully trained magic-user would be a huge help. And I want you to take something along, take something back with you, to give you a fighting chance, should it come to that. Will you wait at least that long?"
Once again, the answer was a conclusion only waiting to be made. This time, though, it came with a smile on the bushy-haired witch's face.
"Of course, Harry. I'd be happy to help. And I think I'll be leaving Neville with you, anyway."
OOOOOOOO
As soon as the small, somewhat dilapidated hut came into view in the distance, Hermione's words turned out to be true. The already somewhat subdued Luke Skywalker, though whether that was due to blood loss or some other, less easily defined reason Harry found hard to tell, seemed to sink in on himself even further. When finally, they reached the small area of compacted sand in front of the main door, he was truly dejected, and the only reason the wizard had not taken over steering their speeder was precisely because they were already at their destination. As for comforting the young pilot, he was completely out of his depth.
He did not even have an idea, what exactly was wrong, let alone how to fix it.
Luckily, Leia was more of a people-person than her boyfriend, something he readily admitted, at least to himself. Sitting next to him in the front of the vehicle, perhaps expecting exactly such a situation to come to pass when she had chosen her spot, the queen extended her hand and laid it, softly, comfortingly, on the young man's shoulder. For but a fraction of a second, he seemed surprised, startled, even, before leaning into her light touch, seemingly taking strength from it as his spine straightened.
"I…" he managed to croak out, but swallowed whatever was to come afterward, until taking a deep breath, letting out a sigh and continuing, "I should have made more of an effort. Shouldn't have been so involved in my flying, should have done more to learn from him when… when I still could. I should have been able to help him against Vader."
"You would have been killed, simple as that," Harry commented, flatly laying out what was a foregone conclusion. "The only reason I got a hit in on him on the Death Star was because he was surprised, cocky, or whatever passes for that guy's emotions. You would have tried, and it would have been a pointless, unnecessary death. I've seen enough friends die as it is."
"But…" Luke tried to protest, ever the gallant knight. Had he been like this once upon a time, sounded like this? Probably. Definitely, had someone asked him to defend his decision of going down into the chamber of secrets.
"No but," his girlfriend cut in, the hand that had been comforting only moments ago now lightly showing the young Jedi. "You were right where you were supposed to be; in the thick of it, bailing out my boyfriend and who knows how many others. Maybe every single person aboard the evacuation ships. Saved my life, too."
"Hmm…"
Deciding that it was probably time to give Luke some room to process it all, even as he was throwing Leia a wink for the 'bailing out' comment, Harry jumped over the outer railing of the Lars family's speeder, usable thanks to liberal application of repair charms, and headed toward the old general's hut. Wand held steadily in his right hand, since he still had to do some getting used to regarding his new hand and its inherent focussing capabilities, he pushed the door open gently. With a sorrowful croak, the sun-bleached wood swung back, letting out a gust of stale, dry air. No explosions, though, so that was a good thing. Nothing the old oddball might have done would have overly surprised the wizard at this point.
The inside of the small dwelling was modest and humble: rough synstone floors without covering, not that carpets were entirely necessary on a planet like Tatooine, a bed with an uncomfortable-looking mattress in an alcove over at the side wall, a few more, simple pieces of furniture… perhaps the only luxury item, if one could even call it that, was the sonic dishwasher. Maybe an old-school water dishwasher would have been the real luxury item, given the scarcity of water on this world. That very same scarcity had probably also been the reason that, while the interior of the hut was pristine, if a bit sandy in places, it had been obvious on the outside that someone had stolen the moisture vaporator right from its socket. It seemed like any fear people might still hold for the hermit whose home this had been for nigh on two decades did not extend to the very basest of necessities.
"It's clear," Harry called out to the people behind him, as he took his first few, tentative steps inside. Each fall of his feet kicked off a small cloud of fine dust and sand from the ground, leaving behind some very obvious prints. "Looks like nobody's been inside in months."
Silently, reverently, his two companions joined him in the small main room, first Luke, then Leia. The latter looking around more critically, more analytically, concentrating on the reason they were here in the first place, while the former was clearly either revelling in or tormented by old memories.
"Let's take a look around," the young woman ventured before, with a short glance at Luke, adding, "But we'll be respectful."
Without a word, the young Jedi trainee walked past the two of them and began looking through his late master's things: a chest, a wardrobe, a pantry. Nothing indicative of the kinds of possessions one might expect a Jedi knight and former general to have. Harry and Leia, too, joined the search, but just like their companion, they only found partially rotten supplies, a few of the simple robes Obi-Wan had liked to adorn himself in, and some kitchen utensils. It was Luke pacing between the inactive space heater and the side door that finally gave the wizard an idea of what exactly they were missing.
"I'm sure it has to be here somewhere. Ben must have had…"
"Stop, right there," Harry called out, causing him to halt mid-step. Great reactions this one certainly had. "Stomp on the ground."
Just like he had expected, when the other man did as he was asked, what came out was not the sharp sound of a shoe hitting a solid floor; instead, it was a dull thud.
"Trapdoor," Luke caught up with his train of thoughts. Quickly, he stepped away and crouched low to begin swiping away the fine sand dust that had settled all over the floor, revealing a small rectangle of metal set evenly into the smooth surface. Not even the hinges stood out, and had the old general bothered to lay something, anything across, it would surely have fooled all but the most determined of looters. With a groan escaping his lips, due to the surprising weight, Harry theorized, the young apprentice pulled open the heavy hatch.
"Wait a moment." A hand on the other man's shoulder, the wizard held him back, pointed his prosthetic left hand at the dark opening and cast.
"Lumos supensus."
A bright ball of light, just enough to illuminate the small basement now coming into view, left the palm of his hand, where, under the synthskin, the magically active phrik alloy and the crystal were waiting to be called upon by him.
"Now you can go. Just because you have some training in feeling and seeing with the Force, you don't have to start doing impractical things. It's not like Leia or I can see in the dark, is it?"
"Oh, uh… sorry, guys." With no more words following, Harry removed his hand from the young Jedi trainee's shoulder and watched him step down the narrow ladder; if everything else he had seen had not clearly told of Kenobi's true age, the means of descension into his cellar certainly did. A truly frail, old man, the kind he had sometimes made himself out to be, would have been unable to go down there. Tatooine's two suns really did age a person before their time.
Just like the main area of the hut above their heads, the wizard realized when he reached the ground as the last of the three of them and took in his surroundings, the basement was exceedingly simple. Raw synstone, basic furniture, barebones lighting, heating and ventilation. Here, though, it was more visible that Obi-Wan had been a warrior, a scholar and leader in a technologically highly advanced culture: an old datapad on a sturdy metal desk, some books in a shelf, and in a corner of the room, a small locker with what looked like a biometric lock. Directly opposite, in another corner, rested an intricately carved, wooden chest.
"I have a feeling it's you who should try to open that lock," Harry pointed out, looking at Kenobi's former apprentice, motioning for the steel cabinet in the back of the small room. "I would not be surprised if the old man had something here rigged to blow if the wrong person tries getting in."
Now showing some trepidation on his face, almost as if he himself was not entirely sure any of Obi-Wan's traps would be configured to spare him, Luke stepped up to the closet, pressed his thumb to the small pad configured for exactly such an action and waited…
And waited.
For a few seconds, seconds that felt like hours, possibly, but at least minutes, nothing happened Then, with an inviting cluck, the lock gave way and the heavy door sprung ajar, just a tiny little bit. Enthusiastic, whether about the prospect of finding something or about not being blown up was not readily visible, Luke began pulling the closet open. The contents, on first glance, seemed to be nothing special; regardless of how 'uncivilized' he had regarded the weapons to be, the old Jedi master had obviously kept a few blasters handy. From what Harry could tell by the lectures Javoc and Corsek would sometimes engage in, it was mostly gear used, once upon a time, by the Grand Army of the Republic. As Kenobi had fought as one of their generals, that made a certain amount of sense. There was also the obligatory survival gear: a tent to preserve heat during the night, a portable moisture vaporator and small generator, a light and airy cloak that would still completely cover the body to protect against the occasional, violent sandstorms. Valuable, sure, but not what they were looking for.
Fortunately, what they were looking for turned out to be standing in the same metal closet: down, in the back, out of the way, pushed into the corner, hidden. Whatever Obi-Wan had intended to do with the device's placement, they eventually found the small cylinder, its sturdy metal frame and obvious appearance of higher technology seeming oddly out of place in the old hermit's home. Obviously, none of them were sure, what this was, but if the self-exiled Jedi kept it around, it had to be important. Once they were all sure everything of value had been stripped from within the locker, they turned their attention onto the wooden chest.
"We already know he doesn't seem to want to blow you up," Harry ventured, letting his gaze shift between Luke and the intricately carved piece of furniture. "Who knows how that thing might react to me…"
"…or me," Leia added, acting the scared little princess he very much knew her not to be. "Let's get this done, it's like I can feel myself desiccating, and I've already drunk all my wat… hey!"
With an apparently wandless summoning charm, the small flask she had been wearing on her hip flew into Harry's left hand. Wand in his right, he began etching runes into the metal surface, one after the other. Caught somewhere between wanting to look at the chest and whatever it was the wizard was doing, Luke simply stood still.
"Get to that chest," Harry eventually muttered distractedly, even as he was finishing up the first line of the enchanting runes; it was a cluster he had been drawing quite a lot since arriving here, meant to multiply the liquid already inside a container to a predetermined point. As the second line was beginning to take shape, he began hearing sounds of rummaging from behind, where he knew the chest to be.
Finally, when he was just about to finish, a triumphant cry echoed through the small basement, screwing up the last rune. Immediately, the flask started getting hot.
"Ouch!"
They were only minor burns but, given that Leia's bottle was now a puddle of molten metal on the ground, he was going to have to share with her.
"Sorry," Luke announced sheepishly, before, with a wide grin holding up a tome bound in leather. "I found a book; it says, 'For Luke'!"