"So, what are you doing?"
The only reason the surprise question from behind her had not broken Hermione's concentration was the fact that she had cast this particular ward dozens of times in the past, was merely tweaking it the slightest bit, now.
"I'm putting up magic to protect this place from anymore scavengers," the witch answered the alien woman's inquisitive question. Truth be told, her she could understand the least of all of Harry's new friends; seemed nice, obviously, but even with her background in mystical skills and magical species, she was having something of a hard time adjusting to the concept of aliens. And whether that was helped or hindered by the Twi'lek's near-human appearance, that was hard to tell. Or maybe some fear of the devil from her childhood days had remained, now manifesting in her unease with the red-skinned humanoid. Hermione did her best not to snort at that idea.
"But won't it affect us, too?"
"No, you'll be fine," she assured their pilot, even as she was moving on to the next ward she had been planning to cast. "I'm omitting any wards that would keep anyone without magic out. Without the Force, too, I think."
"Oh." Jane smiled at her, somewhat insecurely, and Hermione was reminded of the woman's past, what little she had heard of it from the others. Still, she was right in the middle of setting up the protections she had promised Luke, and she was not going to redo all of them, which was decidedly possible if she stopped now.
"Was there anything else?" the witch therefore questioned, rather more curtly than she had, perhaps, intended to be. "Not to cut you off, but this is delicate work, I have to be very precise, or things could go badly for us."
Possibly sensing Hermione was not joking on this, Jane fell silent and simply continued to watch her work; still somewhat distracting, perhaps, but nothing that could not be ignored. And with her observer now a silent one, the witch continued with her task of layering magical protection all over the house in deep concentration. For despite what she had told the Twi'lek, it was actually more complicated than just leaving out the part of the magic that was supposed to keep any muggles away; no, even the idea of wards keeping away those with ill intent was harder to make a reality when there was no magic to make real, force into existence, said intent. Indeed, the only way the protections over the various tent-sites that they had occupied during their months on the run had only worked because they could afford to keep out all muggles and every magical wishing the three (and later two) of them harm.
When, finally, she was done, she was actually feeling physically as well as mentally drained; having pumped as much as she could possibly manage into the wards to make sure they would hold for years to come, even without anything to draw on around here, had really taken it out of her. Maybe, if the opportunity arose, an actual ward stone as an anchor should be added, just to keep the wards running indefinitely, if not at their full power. Then again, with how dense the magic, the Force, seemed to be around here everywhere, maybe a ward stone would even be able to keep running everything in tip-top shape…
Those thoughts were neither here nor there, though, as for the moment, she had no such stone available, and she was reluctant to ask Harry to part with one of the few she knew he had; he would do it in a heartbeat, obviously, but that did not make it a good idea. And for now, this was better than almost anything else.
"Do you want some water?"
Unnoticed by Hermione, or so she gathered in hindsight, Jane must have left for a while as the witch was engrossed in her casting. Only now did she also notice that, either despite pr because of the arid, hot air, she was sweaty.
"I would really like that," she replied thankfully, taking the earthenware jug she was being offered and greedily gulping down the entire contents; the way the cool liquid wetted her throat, parched from chanting her incantations in Tatooine's daytime climate, felt simply delightful. "Just what I needed."
"I can see you have spent a lot of time with… with Harry," Jane observed, looking at the older woman with an inquisitive, curious gaze. "You are sometimes very much alike."
Hermione decided not to press the question of how she had wanted to address Harry before correcting the slip-up that had not even happened, and instead chose to concentrate on the mildly surprising observation the former slave had delivered.
"We are? I hadn't noticed."
"Of course, you are," she countered, looking at the witch like, by all accounts, there were a few marbles missing from her bushy head. "When he does complicated magic, he's always thirsty afterward, too. And he drinks the same way, even says the same things when he's done."
"Oh." It was now on Hermione to be stumped and look back somewhat insecurely. Not that it was surprising, really; after all, spending most of your time with someone for years, especially years so formative as those of adolescence, something really was bound to rub off. Still, somehow, she felt ill at ease with this topic of conversation, so a little misdirection was in order.
"Did you have any more questions about what I was doing?"
And though she seemed to see exactly, what the witch was trying to do, at least if the small smile was to be believed, Jane acquiesced and started asking questions about magic.
OOOOOOOO
A small, leatherbound tome.
It was all that remained of Obi-Wan Kenobi, or at least it seemed like that to Leia. Sure, there were all the other relics they had found in his hut; gear and clothes, the small blast furnace he specifically mentioned in the little book, even the small home itself. But none of that, not even the house bore the same extensive mark of the old man as this comparatively tiny trinket.
"FOR LUKE"
It said this on the very first page, and Kenobi had held true to that approach all throughout the entire, handwritten volume. Written by his own hand, it appeared. An entire book, just for Luke, once again making the young woman question, whether she had ever really featured in the old master's plans, whether he had ever really seen her as a worthy apprentice, if for all of his exile, he had been preparing all this for him. It was an ugly, barbed emotion, jealousy, as much was clear. And had things not turned out for the better for her, learning magic from her boyfriend? Was she not happier than she would have been, even under Obi-Wan's dedicated tutelage, had he been able and willing to give it to her? Who knew… though she most certainly was happier than she had been under his somewhat distracted aegis, while it had been clear he was favouring Luke.
"Anything interesting in there on how to use this thing? Or at least how to transport it?"
Harry's questions seemed to echo through the small basement room far more loudly, than they needed to be. Or maybe it was just her own distraction, that had made the queen unprepared for hearing anything, anyone speaking, at all. Luke, obviously, had buried his nose in the handwritten tome, as soon as he had released the biometric latch holding it closed, while her boyfriend had been… well, she did not really know, what he had been doing, beyond the fairly generic description of 'rummaging'. Apparently, though, he had found whatever he had been looking for in the formerly locked closet in the back, and was now standing between his two companions, drawing both their attention.
"Hello-ho…" When the young Jedi once again failed to react, a small wave of Harry's left hand (he was getting used impressively quickly to his prosthesis) released a spell, eliciting a small yelp as it hit its intended target on Luke's arm. "Found anything?"
"Sorry, I was… distracted." Deliberately looking up from the page he had been reading, the blond man continued, "And yes; it explains the entire process of making a new lightsabre, including how to synthetically create a crystal with that blast furnace over there. It takes control of the Force to get right, but I'm sure I could get it to work."
It was on Leia to intervene, now; she was thirsty, and the now solid piece of metal that had once been her flask was not going to quench that need. Neither were the few sips Harry had had left in his. According to her chronometer, they were quickly approaching the night, too, and none of them were prepared or willing to stay, not if the relative comfort of a magical tent and an abandoned moisture farm were to be had.
"No need for that, now, Luke," she therefore interceded, beginning to rummage through all the stuff they had gathered up. Most of it was harmless, not even delicate technology and could probably be stored safely in Harry's expanded bag. Not so the furnace, or so she ventured; having that thing blow up would make for a rather ignominious end to their mission of getting her a wand. "We should get back to the Twilight and your aunt and uncle's farm before nightfall."
It took some manoeuvring, but eventually (with the liberal application of some magic and the Force on the two men's parts) the heavy piece of equipment they had been here to get was 'seated' safely besides her boyfriend and his bag in the back of the speeder. With Luke sitting in the passenger seat now, after the emotionally draining day and the tense ride they had had in the morning, Leia engaged the repulsorlifts, thus filling the already cooling air beneath Tatooine's twin sunset with the annoying whir of an older-model airspeeder. Following the directions of the young pilot beside her, she soon had them on the way back.
Once again, the whole thing was a bit fraught, though neither the same kind, nor to the same degree as it had been previously. In the back, her boyfriend was mostly looking thoughtful, staring into the distance, toward where the suns were already touching the horizon. What he was thinking, Leia was unsure, but he did not seem sad or morose; merely contemplative, like the past day had given him ample things to consider. Luke, though, simply looked to be lost, his gaze fixated on Obi-Wan's journal, his written legacy, without appearing to ever truly take it in. That appearance was only furthered by the fact that he had not turned a page in the entire twenty minutes they had been away from the old general's house.
"He once told me it would be my task to rebuild the Jedi Order, one day," he finally commented, out of the blue; his left hand was stroking the somewhat worn spine of the tome he had now closed. "I think he never expected to live long enough to be around for that."
He sounded forlorn, Leia noticed; not a tone of voice overly suiting of the otherwise boisterous young man she had come to know and like. It was disconcerting to see him like this, and while her first instinct was to comfort him, she knew better than to let herself be distracted as they were approaching a rather narrow canyon. Most certainly, she knew better than to stop now, in the middle of nowhere, while the suns were setting. That sounded like it was just eagerly inviting trouble. Apparently, though, Harry was well able to provide at least some solace by himself; stifled by the wind whisking past them, he nonetheless managed to say a few words to Luke that seemed to, if not give him guidance, lend some much-needed perspective, or maybe just the offer of a sympathetic ear. A single moment she allowed herself to throw her boyfriend an approving smile, before once again concentrating on the darkness in front, for between the steep canyon walls, night had already arrived, and even the speeder's powerful headlights had trouble piercing the inky blackness.
It was another half hour later that a group of three people, shivering from the cold of the desert planet's night, arrived at the Lars farm. The former farm boy, visibly drained from the day, was the first to vanish, quickly retreating to his own childhood bedroom. Whether to hide out or to sleep, Leia found hard to tell; she really did not know him that well, truly. The remaining two had barely started unloading the speeder when, framed by the warm light coming from within, Hermione Granger stepped out of their tent and strode over toward them, tutting all the way.
"Harry, you're shivering," the bushy-haired witch criticized, just like a protective older sister might otherwise. "Why didn't you put on a jacket? Or up a warming charm, for that matter?"
He mumbled something neither of the women understood, and while Leia was content to let it go as a simple oversight, Hermione was having none of it. "Hmm?"
Raised eyebrows, gaze travelling between him and Leia, fixating either of them in turn, she got him to speak up. "I… forgot."
"Honestly, sometimes it's hard to recognize you," her boyfriend's big sister sighed. "Then you do stuff like this."
Two waves of her wand had them soon swathed in a warming cocoon of magic, finally returning the feeling to even the tips of Leia's fingers, which had stopped being able to feel anything around twenty minutes ago. Very soothing, she mused, before throwing Harry an annoyed glance for forgetting; that she herself had not thought of it was not the matter, as for the moment, she was unable to do anything. That, obviously, would soon change, if things went according to plan.
"We should copy that book," Hermione proposed, pointing toward the volume left behind on Luke's hasty retreat. Whether she knew it was important, or just wanted the book to be available for her, who knew?
"We will," Harry assured her, before drawing the no-longer shivering queen into his side and making for the tent, "tomorrow morning."
OOOOOOOO
In the bad part of Mos Eisley (or even worse part, more exactly), waiting to hear from the Captain and the others about any contact with Zann, Arden had found other ways to entertain herself. In the midst of a ring of cheering beings from many different species and with a plethora of law-abiding and criminal backgrounds, she was raking in money. In the beginning, it had been people betting against her; now, it was her cut of the impromptu fighting arena's revenue that was most profitable.
Across from her, just waiting to be swatted like the fly he was trying to hide behind the thick, bulging muscles, her newest opponent approached; it was a Gamorrean, one of the pig-like aliens the witch had learned were often in the employ of Jabba the Hutt, serving as his guards and enforcers, at least on this little speck of dust on the Outer Rim. This particular specimen, though, looked to be of a different type: while the guards in the criminal's palace, according to what she had heard, were outfitted in an at least moderately uniform way, this one had certainly seen better days. Its armour, if it could even be called that, was battered almost beyond recognition, and the empty spots on the mesh holding everything together told of unrepaired damage; the axe now being held by his companion, a shifty-looking Rodian, was notched, some parts of it rusty, some others covered in what looked disturbingly like blood.
For this fight, however, her most important worry was not the alien's axe; it was not permitted and would stay out of it. Her most immediate problem was the Gamorreans' giant physical strength and thick hide, that would protect her opponent against most of the attacks she might level against him. Most, not all of them, though.
With a big grunt that was probably meant to be intimidating, the boar stormed in her direction, tusk bared in a gesture of dominance. If you grew up around the jungles of Dathomir, though, these specimens no longer appeared all that special, and like she had heard some primitive cultures liked doing with mere horned animals, Arden jumped to the side in that last of moments before she would have been skewered, torn to pieces, or otherwise horribly maimed. His opponent suddenly behind him, the Gamorrean tried turning, but before he could make it even halfway around, the witch's foot had already connected with the side of his left knee. A horrible crunch was the outcome, followed by a howl of pain as the green-skinned pig-man followed the relentless pull of gravity to the ground. What exactly she had shattered, torn or otherwise taken out of commission, she was not sure, but it did seem to be thoroughly debilitating.
The crowd was roaring with her triumph, as they should, but before she really had the opportunity to appreciate her victory, it was under peril, once again. Thinking her opponent defeated, the Dathomirian had unwisely turned her back on him to bask in the glory. It was that short moment of weakness that allowed the Gamorrean to regain his initiative. Howling, now both in pain and anger, the beast tackled her from behind, the damaged left leg hobbling behind somewhat limply. Still, even with only one leg, he was simply stronger than her, not to mention heavy. And that very same gravity that had, only moments earlier, forced him to the ground, was now helping Arden's foe overcome her.
Pinned down into the dirt, there was nothing the witch could do against the hail of blows that was now coming: left, right, left, right. The heavy fists made her head ring, the alien's heavy knuckles left bleeding wounds on her face…
Woozy, Arden took a while to notice she was not the only one who, in their moment of triumph, had lost sight of their surroundings; so wrapped up was her opponent in beating her black and blue, that he had neglected looking out for both of their legs. And her legs were now lying right next to his damaged left one. In a small break between the debilitating, painful blows to her head, Arden retook the initiative, wrapping her strong thighs around the Gamorrean's shin and then pulling.
If the scream of pain had not already told its own story, then the white of bone now sticking out of green skin would have. In shock, whether from pain or from the sheer surprise, the big body collapsed onto her, completely burying the much smaller witch under its heavy weight. Fighting for breath, both from exertion and the pressure on her chest, she pushed him off with considerable effort. Steadying herself on both arms against the vertigo that was threatening to overwhelm her, Arden rose; first to a seating position, and then, against her rational mind telling her to wait, to a standing one.
Immediately, she threw up onto the sandy ground. Everything was spinning, and even collecting on her latest win took everything out of her. Still, a couple hundred credits' worth of diverse currencies in her pockets felt rather good, though how she was supposed to spend CSA cash vouchers, she truly struggled to say; probably best to stash it as an iron reserve somewhere, rather than pay the exorbitant fees anyone doing currency exchanges way out here was bound to take. It would be a reserve she was unlikely to ever use, obviously, for with everything she had heard about the CSA she would rather look for help in Wild Space than with them, but one day she might not have the choice.
Stumbling over her own feet, blood in her face, she eventually let herself fall into a booth at the cantina she had been frequenting, to keep an eye on the local goings-on. Nothing supremely interesting or surprising; sure, it was something of a regular occurrence for someone to be severely beaten, though mostly outside, if the proprietor Chalmun had anything to say about, but that was almost expected of a place like this. After all, had she herself not both been beaten and severely beaten another being? There was no appreciable difference, really.
Without her having to ask for it, one of the servers brought her two of what had already become her usual, accompanied by a towel. Making the conscious choice not to question, when the latter had been cleaned the last time, Arden dipped the piece of fabric into the generic vodka she had been served and began dabbing at her wounds. It stung, obviously, touching her torn skin with the liquor, but it was the best she could do, at least for the moment. Simply healing herself with magic here in Mos Eisley, where the walls had eyes willing to snitch on you if the pay was sufficient, sounded like signing her own death warrant when the Empire heard of it. Letting one of the people that called themselves 'doctors' out here come anywhere near her, was equally out of the question, if for very different reasons. No, she was far from a vain girl, but to let one of those quacks work on her face was surely pushing things. Harry was by far the best alternative, or maybe Hermione. That, and lots of rest for her head.
Speaking of the others…
Before pulling out her comms device, Arden ensured the sound-dampening field around her booth was up, stopping any nosy onlookers from being able to hear, too. Then, she established the connection, frayed though it was by interference.
OOOOOOOO
"Have you heard from Zann or Fen?"
"What happened to you?"
Two voices, one of them directly next to him, one coming from the holographic commlink built into the table, echoed through the Twilight's conference room. As far as Harry was concerned, both were valid, as much was sure, but already knowing the answer to Arden's question, he was more eager to hear the witch's reply to Leia. A short staring match followed until…
"I earned some money on the side," the witch admitted, puffing out her chest in pride. "Beat up a Gamorrean, made a bit of money betting on the fights. Just something to pass my time."
Harry did not even bother commenting, moderately relieved that Arden had found an at least somewhat productive outlet for the anger she had quite obviously been carrying around; that it was not him was certainly an appreciated side-benefit. Beyond that, he was under no illusions that she would ever follow any directive telling her to 'behave' whatever that was supposed to entail.
"Your turn," the Dathomirian countered acerbically. "I'm getting bored, and the opposition is less impressive than I'd hoped it would be. Anything from Zann or his little lackey?"
Since it was Leia who had done most of the talking with Fen, it was her who relayed the content of said conversation. "We managed to get into contact with Fen by routing our signal through that comms buoy he sent us the details on. Just a written message, saying basically what you told us, and a reply that they're considering it. Sorry we don't have more to tell you."
Arden huffed disinterestedly, shrugging one shoulder, then winced in pain; apparently, her head was not the only body part that had sustained injuries in her prize fighting endeavours, and while Harry was still wondering, whether to bring it up, his girlfriend was already charging right ahead.
"Alright, you're not healthy," she declared, a steely resolve in her voice the wizard knew at least he would be hard-pressed to ignore. "Stay where you are, someone's coming to get you with the speeder. You shouldn't be riding a bike like this."
For the briefest of moments, it looked like the Dathomirian was going to protest, and Harry was sure she would have, had it been him who ordered her back, but with another huff, she accepted. "Fine."
"We're sending Javoc and Corsek," the Captain quickly added; it was, he admitted at least to himself, an effort to lock her in on her choice, on her agreement to get back to the moisture farm. If two other people were involved who were already braving the inhospitable sands of Tatooine, he was quite sure she would be less likely to withdraw said agreement. "One of them can drive back the landspeeder, one can take the speederbike."
"Fine," Arden repeated somewhat petulantly, before dismissing herself with a quick 'goodbye'. Before either of the two she had been talking to could respond, the hologram winked out.
"Bye." Harry's single word echoed weirdly through the room, that now seemed much emptier than only moments before, even though only a small hologram, not even the real presence of a person, was suddenly gone. "Damn… you think she's ever going to forgive me?"
Leia shrugged, a highly encouraging gesture if there ever was one. "I did, eventually. I am less… angry than our resident Dathomirian though, just from a general perspective."
"And I can't do some of the things I did for you to get Arden to forgive me," the wizard added, the nonchalance of his voice in stark contrast to the suggestively raised eyebrow and squeezing hand he had on his girlfriend's hip. "I have a feeling that would make you mad at me again."
"It would," she agreed, just before grabbing a hold of the hand he still had at her hip and guiding it just that last bit further down. "But I don't want to talk about being angry with you; you've got me thinking of a few much nicer things."
With an impeccable timing that normally, Mercer had the market cornered on, Hermione entered the conference room the couple had just been about to get amorous in. Blushing to the roots of her bushy hair, the witch stood rooted to the spot, even by just the rather tame sight of Harry and Leia making out, his hands squeezing her arse.
"This time it's our fault," the wizard admitted, just loud enough for the interloper to hear, as he withdraws both hands. "This is a communal room; can't expect to be left alone in here…"
With a light chuckle and none on the red cheeks she had initially shown in such moments, Leia turned in his arms, looked up at the taller woman and questioned, "What can we do for you, Hermione?"
Momentarily lost for words, and if that was not a sight to see, Harry mused, his best friend opened, then closed her mouth. Then again, open, and closed. Eventually, she found her voice again.
"I was looking for you, we're waiting for you with lunch down in the farm, but of course, if you'd rather be alone for a while, I'm sure we could set something aside for you, no problem. Maybe some of the meat, it's not special, a few vegetables. Maybe a warming charm, I mean how long do you… do you need…"
"You're rambling, Hermione," Leia interrupted the other woman, unable to stop herself from laughing. If he had to guess, Harry would have said she was amused by the thought that, not long ago, she might have been equally flustered. "And we'd love to join you for lunch. Enough time to kill later."
And with a saucy look at Hermione, followed by a light swat at Harry's left buttock, the queen left the conference room, laughing uproariously.
On some days, the wizard rather thought he had come to truly understand his girlfriend. This was not one of those days. A silence that was neither tense, nor completely easy, fell between the two friends she left behind.
"She's very… playful, when she wants to be," the witch eventually commented wryly, tucking a loose strand of her bushy hear behind the left ear, averting her slightly reddened features.
"Hard to believe, when you look and listen to her at other times, isn't it?" he chuckled, looking to where his girlfriend had left the conference room only moments earlier. "Manages to surprise me nearly every day."
Looking back at him, once again, Hermione was wearing a nearly beaming smile. "Oh, you really are quite enamoured, aren't you? I'm so happy for you, Harry, I really am. You deserve to be, too-."
In a way, it was a burden for her to be so nice and caring once again, for that made it hard, as far as Harry was concerned, to remain completely adamant about his choice, about staying here, letting Hermione go again, alone.
"I'm really sorry I can't go with you," he therefore said, out of the blue, after a few seconds of comfortable silence. "I just…"
And as he petered off, another reason, perhaps the most important reason of them all, came to him, a factor that he could not ever remember considering before now. "I just can't deal with the idea of losing everything again, having to rebuild all over. I've put so much work into everything here."
"I know," Hermione replied, letting herself plop down on one of the many empty seats around the conference table. It was like a few of the more desperate moments the two of them had shared during the hunt for Voldemort's horcruxes. Both of them had obviously had their doubts, and sometimes the only thing that had kept them going was the idea of ending it all, of rebuilding a better world. To think that all of that was now being squandered… it was truly demoralizing. And perhaps, it even boded well for whatever galaxy remained after the Emperor would finally have been dethroned.
"Harry, am I kidding myself?"
"Hmm?" He had drifted off, back to cold nights in the British countryside, warmed by jumpers and a rather meagre fire, and was suitably distracted when she asked her question.
"Am I kidding myself, hoping I can change anything by going back?"
If anyone else had asked him, Harry was unsure, what his answer would have been. A comforting lie, perhaps? The honest truth, covered in allusions and cushioned by kind words? But he had known Hermione long enough to appreciate how much she would dislike that.
"I don't know. Maybe," he admitted with a small, dejected shrug. "We both remember how little people seemed to care about the stuff Malfoy and his ilk were spouting, even back in school. Imagine how people like him with money and influence out in the world must be like. Wouldn't even be sure people like Lucius believed in the purebloods being any better…"
"…or if it's just a welcome con for them," Hermione finished his thought for him; obviously, it was one she had had before. "And with most people either too scared or too apathetic to do anything…"
She left unsaid what it would mean, though really, there was no need to explicitly voice it. Both their experiences made it all the more clear how little change actually happened, up until the point where maybe, just maybe, a line had been crossed. For the galaxy at large, that had been the destruction of Alderaan. Whether Voldemort's bloody reign would turn out to be the same for the witches and wizards of Britain, remained to be seen. Given what he had heard, Harry had his doubts.
"Lunch." It was Leia who interrupted their thoughts a couple minutes later, peeking through the door of the conference room. "Are you coming?"
OOOOOOOO
This story is going on pause, other stories will get updated on time.